Scene #1578: Another day in the life

Owner	Pose
Taro	Taro both does and does not worry when Nine sleeps for long periods of time. He does not worry because such torpors seem to have been 'built into' the GOLEM design. Given how many calories Nine consumes even on a relatively quiet day, metaobolism-slowing sleep periods between missions makes a certain amount of sense. He does worry because it also means that his 'brother' is not receiving sufficient stimulation, or else he wouldn't be triggered into those rest periods. That may be about to change. The android walks into their quarters - in theory the room is assigned to just one of them, but that distinction has more or less gone unnoticed except when one or both of them want their own privacy. He has a small rectangular cardboard box and a clipboard tucked under his arm, and while he's not being particularly loud as he comes in and moves around, he's not being terribly quiet either.
No. 9	Nine has a job, a friend and a purpose. He shouldn't be feeling this way. He has things to do and people to work for, people to work beside, and a friend to follow like a puppy. Though... of late, really, things had been cut down a bit more than even he would normally be comfortable with. Really, it's all his own doing. But everyone changed, and he didn't. He didn't follow. Things seemed to slow down, and he looks up and everything's changed. Old folks gone, new folks he has no idea who are and don't know him, much less care. It makes him, sleepy. And to be truthful each time he sleeps makes it worse. Worse and worse. Like everything is speeding past him at light speed and he's just, standing, still. He's sleepy even now, truth be told, and sits, yawning, jaws cracking, his eyes a dim burnished bronze color in his head. Crouched on the floor near the bed, he's sort of just staring off into space, the odd bit of humming thrumming softly here and there, rough and tuneless from the Golem on the floor.
Taro	Taro is not entirely unsympathetic. The multiverse changed while he was effectively dead, very literally so. At least Neo Arcadia benefitted from being moved further away from the Skaro Wastelands in the great reshuffling of the board...but that is neither here nor there. He crouches down by Nine, setting box and clipboard down on a convenient spot of floor nearby, then reaches out to none-too-gently shake the Golem's shoulder. "Wake up, Nine," he says in his improving BBC-accented English. "We have work to do. Would you like tea?"
No. 9	The head snaps to the side, the eyes flaring. Something of a man comes back more into those eyes. Struggling, struggling, focusing, focused. Blink. "Taro?" A glance around. "Uh. Tea? Yeah. Tea um. Tea would be good." He's normally ravenous when he wakes up, but he's not this time. Atrophication? Probably not. A suppression of hunger instincts? More likely. "...Work to- work to do? Uh, sure man, what've we got?"
Taro	That Nine isn't ravenous is noted, and potentially added to concerns. If he doesn't eat later when brought into the presence of food, then he'll be more worried. For now, though, he stands up again and walks over to the electric kettle, checks the water level, switches it on, then busies himself with the small ritual of brewing tea. "Master Hellsing has tasked us with training the rest of those under her command with dealing with multiversal threats. I made the suggestion of forming a new squad specifically for dealing with such threats, and so of course she's tasked me with organizing that."
No. 9	He seems kind of listless, but otherwise alright, one might suppose. Drooling slightly. But, not hungry. His voice is a mucky burr. "You'd be great fer doin that. you're always good at organizin stuff n' figurin things out. Annathin I kin help with tha?" He looks over, eyes sort of glazed and saliva drooling down his jaw. He wipes at it absently. "...Trainin up th' boys fer dealin with non vampiric threats s' a good idea tho. Means more boys'll come home at th' end a th' day. Always a good thing."
Taro	"Both Captain Victoria and I agree that it's only a matter of time before the rest of the Multiverse begins intruding here, and I doubt it'll be at a time of our choosing. You and I both know there are many things and people that will not obligingly turn to dust with a silver bullet." While waiting for the water to boil, Taro moves back to Nine's side, and crouches over to open the thin box he brought with him. "You have more field experience than I do, and that knowledge will be invaluable. You're also the strongest member of the new squad, which is also invaluable." He takes out a folded up bundle of tan colored felt cloth and holds them out in offer to Nine. An armband and beret. A very large armband and equally large beret.
No. 9	A grunt. "Better prevent them for the lil battle tarts with the sparkly wand shit and the short skirts and the buster bunker superpowers." A groan. "Monsters and demons r' one thing, but them lil magical sweetcakes 'll catch em offguard I guarandamnteeit." He looks down at the gift, over at Taro. Eyes wide, his movements slow and oddly reverent, he takes the armband and the beret. Combing big fingers through his ratty hair to some semblance of smoothness, he sets the beret at a rakish angle, automatically gaining about +3 douchebag points with a spreading grin as he ties the armband on. "How do I look?"
Taro	Taro gives an approving nod as Nine dons military beret and armband. "Not bad at all." Which in his scale of praise means 'very nice'. "Between you and the Warforged, this seemed to be the best choice in squad markings." Wait, did he say Warforged? Then, the kettle whistles, and he moves back to the table to shut it off.
No. 9	He nods, grinning wide, eyes flaring, and for a moment he looks like Nine again, proper Nine, crude and snarky and all. A blink though. "...Whassa Warforged?"
Taro	"Sentient constructs. From what I've gathered, Lady Psalm's world's answer to androids," is Taro's answer as he pours steaming water into the teapot. "She will be joining us, and she is bringing three of them with her. I've yet to meet them in person. Captain Victoria and her seconds are joining as well, along with Perkins. You remember Perkins, yes?" He's not trying to be condecending with the question, merely mindful of Nine's memory lapses. Teapot, very large mug, and normal sized mug are balanced and brought over to be set on the floor. Black tea today, with a dash of mint.
No. 9	Huh. "Magical androids." Well Nine's a biohazard cyborg, why not magical androids? He goes sort of glassy at the question. "...Perkins. Perkins Perkins..." He, shakes his head, looking kind of ashamed. Patronizing? No. No it's not patronizing, Nine's memory is just that bad. Ooh mint. Sip.
Taro	"The soldier that was in our group on the mission to Scotland. The one who didn't mind us and that you took a liking to." In case that isn't enough to jog his memory, Taro adds, "The man that you handed me to when I shut down while the building was collapsing around us." He sits down cross-legged on the floor, and picks up his own smaller mug. "There will be a few others, those we train to train the others, but overall the squad will not be that large. The ideal will be enough to be self-sustaining for a long deployment, but small enough that we can rapidly deploy in an emergency."
No. 9	Blink. "OH RIGHT." And that sizzles the fizzled lightning bits in his brain, and he's grinning. "I remember him in the helicopter. He was nice enough t' mention that I didn't stink when we were gettin rained on." He remembers him, and did rather like the man. He's glad he wasn't hurt that one mission. Sip. "I like it. Thanks man, for setting that up."
Taro	"Yes, him." Sip. "I thought it would be best to have someone who had met both of us and was not immediately offput by our inhumanity. We'll need those with such open minds in a squad like this." Taro hints a smirk as he looks up at Nine. "Though don't thank me just yet. I'm going to need you sharp and at your best, and I will need your help in putting together a proper training regimen for all of us."
No. 9	"Yeah, he's cool. I'm glad we get t' work with 'im." It's nice when you get people who aren't disgusted, offput or otherwise nauseated by you being different from them. He likes that. Sip. "...I'll... work on shapin up. I don't know why I'm doin this. It aint no good. Aint no good a'tall. I'll help us get a trainin regimen up n' runnin, no prollem." Sip.
Taro	"Master Hellsing has recommended that we use the Field of Trials for training sorties." Taro picks up his clipboard with his free hand. "I don't suppose you already have any training programs on file already that we could use?"
No. 9	A nod. "No havin to worry bout hurtin or killin folks. I'd be more comfortable there than annawhere else, I'll admit. While it's a bad habit t' get into, hittin t' kill if ya don' intend to, I'd rather not worry bout it myself." He pauses, his eyes going just a bit squirrely. "Truth be told I don't- I don't remember." He looks a bit worried about it.
Taro	Taro frowns slightly at that admission, or perhaps it's at the worry that goes with it. Still, he nods, and merely replies with, "Then we'll check the Field's files to see if you do." Followed by, "Using the Field would allow us to go all out without worry, including live fire exercises." Simulated live-fire, of course. He offers the clipboard to Nine. Even if the Golem is having one of his brain-poor days, he can at least look at the photos of their new squadmates even if the written words are escaping him. "This also means we'll have new neighbors. Lady Psalm and her cadre will need rooms while they are here. It would also make sense for Perkins and Victoria to move onto our floor as well, assming they're willing."
No. 9	Nothing wrong with simulated live fire. Nine's not much for live firing on allies. He tends to go a bit more all out than he cared. The last time they did something in the Field of Trials he ripped out an allied man's throat. He, doesn't want to do that for real. He takes the clipboard, looking it over and nodding slightly. "...Sweet. New neighbors are always good, and if Perkins and Miss Victoria move in, we can totes play DDR together, h-ha!"
Taro	Yes, let's avoid such unpleasant incidents in reality, shall we? Especially when they're still trying to convince their erstwhile teammates that these two heathen (or one heathen and one lapsed faithful) monsters have a useful purpose to serve. Taro sets his cup down, then reaches up to unsnap his tie clip and loosen his tie. "I still don't understand the purpose of these," he grouses mildly. Then, "I understand there's a recreation room or two somewhere in the tower, though I haven't been there myself."
No. 9	Hahahah, yeahhhh... A glance over. "I'm tellin ya man, it's both symbolic of the collar and hanging mythos associated with both nooses and leashes as well as givin you somethin fussy, expensive and pointless t' wear." A firm nod. And then he's laughing. "Recreation? Here? These guys are british. What do they do for fun? It'd be /fun/."
Taro	"A convenient manner in which to hang me should I make a grave error. How comforting." That was almost certainly deadpan. "You're fortunate in that there are no stock uniforms that properly fit you." Not that there were any that properly fit -him- either, but a tailor saw to that. Taro pauses for a sip of tea. "Watch the telly and play pub games, I imagine. Or football."
No. 9	A sniggering laugh. "Naw man, they're too short and just a touch too fragile an a bit too slick t' easily hang yerself with. Tend t' come undone, th' knots do. Jest enough t' hurt yerself n' not a lot more. S' an exercise in frustration." A snort. "Now thassa dumb word. Telly. It just sounds dumb. Telly. Telly. Who th' hell calls a television a telly? TV is the proper way a sayin that, telly just sounds dumb."
Taro	"They do," Taro answers, waving a hand in the direction of the door to indicate the natives. "I would personally call it 'the screen', but none of you use that term here."
No. 9	A shrug. "if it's your term for that it's perfectly valid, as valid as telly or TV, man. Anything's valid if it means somethin to you."
Taro	Taro gives a hint of a smirk at that, then with a nod at the clipboard, he begins shifting back to the original topic. "I'd like to start up a training regimen as soon as possible, once all of us are assembled and properly outfitted. Since I still have other responsibilities in Neo Arcadia...would you be willing to assist Captain Victoria with that in my absence?"
No. 9	A glance over. "You really mean it?" He points to himself. "Me? You think I really could? Keeping in mind that my troops are catatonic, you think I could help people, teach em how to, do, all that?"
Taro	"I would not ask you to lead." Taro is fully aware that Nine is content to be a follower. That is what he was meant to be: a follower of orders, not the giver. "Still, you've seen more and done more out there," he sweeps a hand to ward the rest of the multiverse, "than virtually any other Hellsing veterans. If you feel you cannot teach, you could share your experiences, show them them what they can expect. Insofar as any of us know what to expect." Which still amounts to teaching, even if he's using different words to say that.
No. 9	A nod. "I'll do my best, you know I will." He seems to take this seriously. "I've seen some things, it's true, and there's a lot out there you just can't prepare for. It's a wonder we've both made it as far as we did."
Taro	A deep nod. "Good. She and I are due to meet at..." Taro says the date and time, which he will remind Nine of later, and again shortly before then. "You'll join us, of course, so you two can be properly introduced." Then, as if it's just occurred to him, he peers a bit at his esteemed associate. "You haven't eaten yet, have you."
No. 9	Ah, he knows Nine. How fortuitous. The frequent reminders are appreciated, to be sure. "I wouldn't have it any other way." Blink. "No. Fuck I have not, and fuck if I aint suddenly fuckin raveous." He's even drooling. Just like that.
Taro	Pavlovean responses. Aren't they grand? There's the commissary...but the thought of taking Nine there in his current fresh-from-deep-sleep state...ill advised. Taro pushes himself to his feet and walks over to the desk. "I think I saw takeaway menus over here."
No. 9	Ill advised indeed, given that his kind are programmed to eat the top of the food chain, namely, former humans, a bit too close to human and not former enough. Drool. Even if he minded himself he'd be a surly sort. He nods, wiping at his jaw and moves to the little basket with the pile of takeaway menus, beginning to peruse them and writing down places and orders, swallowing and sort of staring down at the paper without seeing it. "Would you-" Swallow. "Would you care for me to send along a container of oolong tea? This place has a good tea, very rich without being too strong." Drool.
Taro	Taro relinquishes the basket and its contents to Nine, moving aside Nine makes up a list. Which he reads as it's written down. That his own diet or lack thereof is remembered in the middle of this is quite thoughtful. "I'd like that. Thank you." Once Nine rounds out the list, he moves to retrieve and don his coat. "Go ahead and start calling. I'll go 'round to collect them." A short time later...several restaurants around Hellsing Tower have seen a nice order filled, the Hellsing coffers have been slightly lightened, and whoever rode up with Taro in the lift is left wondering which squadron ordered out tonight, the android returns with several bags and boxes amblazoned with the names of the eatiers from which Nine ordered. Although he personally objects to eating anything off the floor, sitting themselves and the boxes of food on the floor picnic-style is acceptable.
No. 9	Sitting on the floor is one thing. Eating off the floor like an animal gets you one step closer. Sitting on the floor however is like, newlyweds in a brand new apartment. Not that- that- don't go there Nine, no, bad. There's a big warm carton of a rather nice oolong tea, just pleasantly warm and waiting to be drunk. Indian, mediterranean, chinese, japanese, italian. A lot of carbohydrates, a lot of protein, and he tries to be as neat and close mouthed as he can be while he works his way through it, after some rather embarrassing first few ravening bites. A pause, egg foo young in it's styrofoam container lifted up, near his mouth. "...So what were we going to call this?" Omnomnom.
Taro	A meal shared by brothers. Close enough. Taro takes a sip of the oolong, and finds it pleasing enough to use a proper teacup for it rather than the disposable insulated cup that had been packed in the bag. As usual, he tries to not watch Nine too much as he eats, his gaze focused on the window instead. "We've been provisionally named M Squad," he answers after a sip. "Or Mike Squadron...something was mentioned about this 'Mike' being a NATO recognized term." He gives a small nonplussed shrug at that.
No. 9	A feverish sort of grin. "Monster Squad..." He shakes his head. "No Mike. No Mike we are-" The fork CLANKS down, "Monster Squad." A firm nod, and a fierce grin. "...It's perfect!"
Taro	Taro gives a quiet, amused snort at the suggestion. "That would be more descriptive, wouldn't it?" While he doesn't directly say that he's doing so, a few files in the Hellsing network are having their names updated. He glances down at the spread before them, and with some curiosity reaches for one of the soup containers. "What was this again?"
No. 9	And he's cackling, clapping, a fork sort of waving helplessly in there somewhere. "So it's decided then!" Pleased Golem is pleased. A glance over. "Oh that, bouillabaise. It's a fish stew from France. A delicate wine broth with tomato and fish and shellfish and, other, things. Little rock lobsters and such. S' really good. You serve it with a lil piece of toasted bread at th' bottom."
Taro	"We'll need a squadron badge, of course." Taro ever so carefully peels back the lid, then wafts the disposable bowl's contents under his nose. His brow furrows slightly, but then he picks up a spoon and dips it in. Just the broth, avoiding the more hearty bits. Sip. Pause. Swallow. "An interesting blend of flavors."
No. 9	It's delicate and yet rich, a soft briney compliment to the fruity wine notes touched with faint oaken roundness and kissed with the almost citrusy bloom of tomatoes to the broth. It is rather resplendant with the notes the shell and flesh of the rock lobster, the warm richness of the fish and the oceanic flavors of the clams and oysters. All in all not a bad little broth.
Taro	Complex, not as delicate as tea, yet interesting all the same. The soup is claimed as his own, though the hearty bits will be left as dregs. "France, you said? Hm..." Taro shifts the topic somewhat yet again as Nine eats and he technically drinks. "I wonder if Master Hellsing would mind if we dedicated one of the helicopters strictly for our squad's use..."
No. 9	He's trying to hide his face, the smile there. Technically drinking, yes. Hell, a lot of british people enjoy boullion broth as a drinking thing. Same sort of thing, right? Right? Right. "Ooh yeah, and then we can paint it all crazy- OOH, WE NEED AN EMBLEM!"
Taro	Yes, exactly. In whatever worldview Taro has of food and drink, this has fallen into the drink category. Taro hints at a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I think Master Hellsing would disapprove of paiting it a non-standard color. Besides, that would make it a more obvious target." Sip. "But yes, we do need a badge or emblem."
No. 9	Actually traditionally that soup is served separate of all the thick bits. You can get it in fancy places with just the broth, so maybe it's just right for Taro. "Good point. I dun wanna be gettin you blown up before we deploy. But yes emblem, emblem..."
Taro	The perfect choice for an android who has the definite bias against solid food, then. He enjoys the soup as he does his teas, with sips that savor the chemical compositions that make its flavor. "It would rather defeat the purpose, yes." Deadpan humor there. "I suppose it would be hubris to suggest any variations on my personal sigil. It's too Dal'cian anyway. Something more 'British' is called for, I think."
No. 9	A thoughtful pause, and he's slurping down some hot and sour. "Hm." Slrp. Now Taro has him in the mood for soup. "What about some permutation of the two? Slrp.
Taro	"Mm. I suppose it could be worked in somehow," Taro says with a small, graceful shrug. "Still, something that reflects the name would be a better choice...what would best reflect that we are called to fight monsters aside from vampires?"
No. 9	His eyes narrow, and then close. He seems to be grinding his way through it, but in the end he just ends up shrugging, lookind disappointed and sad. "I... I got nuthin." A pause. "Guess it's somethin t' think on."
Taro	"It doesn't need to be decided right away," Taro agrees, not sharing in the disappointment but acknowledging it with a nod. "This is but newly formed, after all. Perhaps one of our new teammates will have an idea." He sets the soup aside, closing the lid so as to keep the leftovers warm and setting the spoon on top. "Are you feeling better?"
No. 9	He settles, with a sigh. "Yes. I don't feel like eaten someone annamore. Which is good." He shivers all over. He does not want to slip that last little bit. No no no. He settles. "Yeah. I tried t' eat th' stuff that went wonky first- th' rest ages well, sorta jells in it's flavors..."
Taro	"Good. I imagine trying to eat me would be unappetizing." More of Taro's deadpan humor, his way of making light but not making fun of that particular flaw. It's safer to do that now that the Golem is partially sated. Then, more seriously, "You've been showing remarkable restraint since we joined Hellsing. You should be pleased with yourself for that."
No. 9	A laugh. "One of the things I like about you Taro. You're a great guy and you don't smell like food. Nathan smells like food. I tried to eat him once, I am ashamed to admit. I'm glad I failed." Shiver.
Taro	Now that admission makes Taro raise an eyebrow. "You tried to eat Nathan Hall." Half question, half statement.
No. 9	A shiver. "I wasn't in my right mind. I'd gone on a walkabout, which involved being away from people and trying to find myself. I went feral, started eating, bison, I think. Nathan tried to, snap me out of it and I, jumped him and, well... I came to before I'd eaten him." Shiver.
Taro	Taro nods slowly, eyes narrowing in an expression of distaste. "I know you are fond of the man...for your sake and his, I'm glad that you did snap out of it before that happened."
No. 9	A nod. "I've bitten folks before, but I aint never swallowed nothin but an accidental bit of blood. Seven's the cannibal, not me, and he dun even do it no more. A twitchy quiver.
Taro	"Mm." He's learned enough, and the subject is discomforting to Nine. That it -is- discomforting to Nine is something of a good sign. There is nothing wrong about being a bringer of death, but one should at least be civilized about it. And thus it is dropped. "The next time you order takeaway, please keep the restaurant that made this," Taro holds up the small bowl of the soup he'd been drinking, "on the list. I rather liked it."
No. 9	Yes, civilized, because eating a dude is just about as opposite of civilized as he can think of getting, without bringing further atrocities into the mix. A nod over. "You know traditionally they separate th' solids from th' broth, I can just order th' part you want, or have em separated."
Taro	"Ah. Well, if it's not too much trouble to order only the broth..." The remains of the soup (along with whatever else may be left, if anything) is slipped into the small fridge, and the empties to the dustbin. Yes, dustbin, because it's England. Taro takes back his clipboard as well, setting it on the desk along with whatever manual that's been his reading material this week. "Feel free to find something on the telly to watch, if you like," he offers. "It won't disturb me while I'm catching up on reading."
No. 9	A nod, and he smiles, one metallic thumb coming up. "Absolutely. And sure! Maybe they'll have that, what is it, Benny Hill on or somethin..." He does turn it on, but it's rather low. Unfortunately it's not long before Nine is asleep, curled up on the floor. But it's not the deep death sleep of before. This time he looks relaxed, contented and happy, drifting in blissful slumber.