Scene #5386: Four Parties and Six Obligations

Owner	Pose
Starbound Flotilla	The Starbound Flotilla have colonized an island somewhere out in the Pacific ocean, far northeast of Australia. The rings of coral are matched with rings of elaborate, sweeping radar towers, which seem to be both freshly produced and somewhat rickety; the Flotilla's short on funds these days, after all. The central island is small, and the center is packed with a series of small structures, perching dramatically at the top of the volcanic formation of the island's shape. The sheer variety of structures makes it a little odd to determine their purpose. The central "dock" appears mesoamerican, made of wrought stone bricks full of dramatic inscriptions, and covered in precisely arranged gems full of unusual technological function. It's the first thing each visitor will see, as they arrive on one of the Flotilla's crafts, or their own ships. The radars look like medieval towers, the sort of spire you'd expect to see rising high from a castle. The defense and security stations mounted throughout the natural surface of the island have a militarized concrete and steel look to them, harsh and practical, and yet made in an aged, almost 80s aesthetic. And as they descend through the docking system, the structure takes a more industrial look, with thick, sturdy girders bracing mass-produced wood, concrete, and steel in obvious ways. And yet, as the platforms bringing down the docking crafts latch into place and the new entries make their way into residential spaces and areas meant to entertain guests, it takes on a far more ornate, eastern look, with elegant paper walls, finely hand-carved wood flooring and ceilings, stylish paintings and decorations, comfortable wooden furniture, and, specifically, a nice little eating area just off the ship docks that overlooks a wide hydroponics floor -- almost hangar-sized -- with its large array of tables. Here is where the group can partake of six different cultures' worth of food, plus Moonfin's finely-made approximation of Hylotl tea (he hasn't had five years to painstakingly cultivate the refined leaves for REAL Hylotl tea).
Septette Arcubielle	With a couple of days to prepare, Septette has done her level best to recreate a slice of the Deep City in the utilitarian concrete base. After recruiting and directing any of the captains she could rope in, and investing her own meager (though indefatigable) skill in the project, they've made a single large room into passable reproduction of the interior of a high-class teahouse, directly adjoining the main dining area. The room is made of polished white marble with dark green serpentinite accents- a gorgeous veined mineral mined from deep-sea tectonic faultlines. Its walls are sculpted with arches and thin decorative pillars; the vaulted ceiling is at least forty feet up, and is engraved with decorative symbols. The center of the room has a handful of quite large armchairs and couches, all heavily reinforced, made with green upholstery and varnished wood so dark as to almost be black. They're all arranged around a round table carved of the same wood, stacked with heavy and ancient hand-written tomes. Next to it is a single pot of tea that fills the room with the smell of exotic spices- it seems heavier and more medicinal than what Moonfin has prepared. Septette sets down her well-worn book and moves to the adjoining room, heavy echoing footfalls announcing her presence. She adjusts her rich purple shawl carefully; it seems much better-kept than her usual ragged and faded attire, and is held together with a golden ornate brooch resembling a single skeletonized leaf. Standing at the balcony, her bladelike fingers twitch and fidget as her ribcage rises and falls in an approximation of shallow breath. Anxiety is foreign to the little machine. But this meeting deserves a careful attention to detail, if anything does.
Sombra	It's really clear that all the various members of the Flotilla come from different cultures, even more so when you look at their base. As Sombra arrives she looks around, finding the avian style the most familiar to her, though she's greatly amused by the rest of the base. Like they would ever be able to settle on just one style... The hacker looks rather relaxed as she walks up to the area overlooking the hydroponics floor, followed closely by everybody's favourite dark and gloomy edgelord. Then again, when doesn't Reaper look sinister? "Heya amigos... kind of you to invite us to this meeting, I brought some stuff as well!" she states with a wide grin as she carries a crate with... Mexican beer. "It's good that el Comandante finally has some time to talk too." Septette earns a slight nod, all along with a reasurring smile from Sombra. "So what are you cooking, amigos?" she asks of the Flotilla members next. At least Moonfin didn't go all out on the tea...!
Priscilla	Priscilla arrives last, but certainly not late. She's arranged transportation of her own, being /the/ VIP of the Concord, though nothing insanely fancy. It's mostly such that she can arrive in style, not restricting herself to her floor height of 6'6" and simplistic, one-piece dresses like she had when trying to blend in as just another friend of the Union. She's up at that 17-18 foot mark, dressed in Anor Londo's finest whites and golds, wearing her silver diadem with its odd, black stone, and doing little to mitigate her aura of divinity; albeit, hers is less a halo of wondrous awe and majestic sunlight, so much as a quickened pulse, a tingling whisper, a cold spike of adrenaline, and a subtle overclock of the senses --feeling more keenly alive, through some vague and unspoken risk to it. So, Septette going through the effort to construct a gigantic, vaulted meeting hall is convenient indeed. Fitting scenery, as well. Even though Priscilla's face could be frequently compared to the expressiveness of a doll, it's clear by the glint in her weird, catlike eyes that she approves, just looking around. "Thou hast done admirably well for thineselves, given such short time and so few resources. I admit, I am impressed." she speaks aloud, softly but with a voice that carries. The tip of her tail swishes in small, contended motions, nearly brushing the floor. "Lady Sombra." she inclines vaguely towards the Talon member. "And Sir Reaper. I believeth this is our first time meeting." Priscilla divides her scrutiny between him, and the purple-clad figure. "As well as Lady Septette. Thou we hath spoken, not in person. It is a pleasure to at last be face to face."
Reaper	Indeed, Death stalks behind Sombra! .. Well, Reaper, at least. His heavy metal boots thudding against the decking as if the man had never heard of the word 'subtle', his breath hissing in a barely restrained snarl from his sterile white mask. Curiously enough, however, even the Angel of Death has brought a wooden crate, balanced upon one shoulder with the other used to support it. Heavy enough to make the super soldier growl with the effort.. Or, you know, a freakish life stealing smoke monster shotgun guy growl with the effort. Where Sombra brought mexican beer - the spirits of any party! - Reaper has brought - Guns. A pair of long nosed tri-barreled miniguns, with the ammunition chains bouncing and rattling beneath them. Hey, Starfloat Flotilla were low on defenses, right? No better time to mingle with the local, down to earth tech that needs nothing more than mechanical motion to rip things to shreds. The sleek metal is a bit dented in places from use, but it's obviously been well cared for. Polished and cleaned and sheened with faint amber oils. And then there's Priscilla - Reaper pausing to look up. And then up again, before his snarled greeting. "Commander."
Septette Arcubielle	Sombra's presence elicits a slight, respectful inclination of the head, and an upward flick of her metallic ear-fins that slightly jostles her gilded headband. Reaper, when he arrives, earns no such thing- a subtle gesture of bad blood, or whatever could pass for blood between the two of them. "I'm curious to see what they've prepared as well," she remarks cheerfully while retrieving something wrapped in aluminum from a large grill in the kitchen. "I'm sure it exceeds my paltry skills in that regard." Her words may be humble, but the dish is not: it's a series of strange, if not bizarre, cuts of meat. Each one seamlessly blends two different types of flesh: every combination of light meat, dark meat, red meat, and poultry is present in a single contiguous whole, prepared in the same spice-blackened style. Judging by the size of individual cuts and remaining bones, the beast must have been at least twenty feet tall at the shoulder. "I had to compensate for a lack of skill in preparation with my skill at bringing down exotic quarry. Dawson's Khymera; a great monster felled just this last day." Priscilla elicits the exact same inclination of the head that Sombra did. If Septette has a metaphorical heart to quicken at that menacing aura, it does not show in her face; there is only that same easy, warm smile. That which has never feared death has little reason to fear an avatar of it. "A pleasure to meet you as well, Lady Priscilla. Glad you approve of the accommodations- I have always found myself impressed by the Captains' skill at architecture and construction."
Starbound Flotilla	Septette is an old friend, deserving accommodations if anyone does. Biteblade seemed particularly insistent on helping her out. She hugs Septette as if to assuage her anxiety. Maybe the Floran can detect the anxiety, even through Septette's complete lack of expression? No, not really, Biteblade isn't nearly that psychic or anything. Statistically she just spends more social time around Septette hugging her than not. It's SUPER weird. George says, "Ayyyy! Skully, nice touch!" He hoists a beer right out of the crate and gets to work drinking it. "Glad you could make it. I've got your ship on call in the dock. I was thinking you yank out and redo the SAIL lattice, and I give it a sweet digi-calavera paintjob for you, yeah?" Yes, indeed, it's time for that SHIP PAINTING minigame. The eating area is serving up quick. Moonfin and Seft are the ones to bring out a disturbingly varied set of dishes. Pavo has created several dishes comprised mostly of heavily prepared berries and seeds, which sort of season themselves. Albert's got a number of extremely plain and rather dull, but INTENSELY nutrient-packed gene-mod crop foods with minimal preparation. Biteblade's got so many different bits of steak, poultry, ham, and other meat products that it's hard to track, and she even seems to have misguidedly thrown some Boneboo dishes in for Reaper, which tend to be very spicy and look like actual bones, but are disturbingly edible. George is offering the classic american styles of "food" almost as a prank to piss Moonfin off, but they're actually alright if you don't mind increasingly formal-looking pizza. Moonfin, of course, has brought in various rice-based vegan dishes prepared for hours and hours. And Seft... Well, Glitch food is pretty horrible for organics. She just sticks to helping serve. Speaking of which, she helps Septette bring the dish out, settling it into a place at the table for the others to take easily. She seems fascinated by it herself, almost as much as Biteblade is. Albert, meanwhile, takes the miniguns in both arms, getting Pavo to help settle them into a cargo area near the meeting place. "Hmmh." He says, unboxing and assessing them. He disassembles and rapidly reassembles parts, with a critical look. Then, with a grateful grunt, he nods to Reaper. "Thanks." He says, simply. Man of few words, just like Reaper. They speak the language of resources and that seems good enough. "Like Seft said before. Call us if our engineering will help." That offer to make Talon a proper base of operations stays on the table, from Seft. Speaking of the table, Moonfin has come to join Septette and Priscilla. "Ah, but nothing we could have ever made without assistance from each of you. Please, allow me to make this an opportunity to thank you both directly at once for the assistance rendered during the Horizon operation, either by subordinate or by arms. All we build is owed in part or whole to you."
Sombra	George is always a person she can appreciate, perhaps because he seems to simple to a fault. Perhaps Sombra just likes her new nickname. "Drink and be merry, George," she assures him. And then he brings her attention to Estelita, the ship she had used on their first mission together. "Ah, right. Feel free to do that, I do like having some sweet tech, but I also want it to look good," she grins. At the arrival of their commander, the hacker turns her gaze skywards so she can look up at the tall, divine woman. They have met before face to face during a mission, but it will be nice to be in a setting where they can actually talk and discuss their plans, instead of Sombra trying to contain a situation along with other Concord members. "El Comandante~" she greets, all while she curtsies. It looks a bit strange as she's still holding onto the crate of Mexican beer, but she manages. "I do hope the drinks will suit your taste." This is said to everybody, and Sombra sets the crate down next to where they're all going to sit down to eat and drink during this rather informal meeting. Why, she even begins passing out beers, trusting that everybody here wants one. Heck, Reaper will get one just for the sake of not leaving him out. "It's good you're getting settled in here... let me know if you need any help with the tech as usual, sí?" she asides to the Flotilla members before she leans forward to inspect the curious meat that Septette has prepared. "Hmmm, what's this?" Meat is something she won't say no to, and the latina hacker begins helping herself once things have been set down on the table, making sure to grab some of everything. She isn't picky, and well... one of the Flotilla members might feel slighted if their food is ignored. While Albert is a man of few words, it's easy to tell that he's satisfied with Reaper's gift as he doesn't say anything besides thanks. If it was merely satisfactory he might just have grunted. Sombra looks a bit pensive when Moonfin extends their gratitude to the people present, and then she smiles a bit, a gleam in her eye as she glances to Reaper, gesturing for him to sit down next to her if he hasn't already done so. "It's always good making new friends, Moonfin. Especially when there's so much to be done... as a matter of fact, Talon has something planned for us in not too long that we might need some help with... Tell me, are any of you people fond of costume parties?"
Reaper	Subtle or not, it doesn't appear that Reaper notices Septette's jibe. Or if he does, he just enfolds it into his usual sour mood with a faint growl to himself as the weight of the crates comes off his shoulder. Burdens; A world of burdens. But he does pause as the ancient robot reveals her cut of delicacies, only to turn away with disinterest. SNUBBED! Sombra's thrown beer caught between metal claws, glanced at once, and set aside as well with a faint snarl. Someone is just determined to be a party pooper, aren't they? But when Albert finally comes to take hold of Reaper's gift - which is, of course, more death - the cowled and moody Lord of the Edge moves with him. Thick arms crossed over his chest as he watches Pavo and Albert set them up in defense points. His response to the thanks is, of course, more growling, but he does not his head brusquely in return. "Doubtless. My specialty is in tearing the works of mortal life down; A resource to build one back up again would be... useful." If one could see his eyes behind the mask - all of them - doubtless they'd be dramatically narrowed at that last word. A faint groan of metal as his attention shifts back to the food, before he decides to do the usual goth thing and edge his way towards the back of the pack. -AWAY- from the hot, delicious food stuffs. Hsss! Either making room because he's polite or doesn't want to smell it.
Septette Arcubielle	Once everyone is properly seated at the table, Septette carefully unfastens her filigree brooch and pulls the royal purple cloak off of her shoulders, resting it on the back of her reinforced chair. Evidently she sees little need for other clothing- the incomplete armor plates that constitute her 'skin' look more like a flesh-tone skeleton assembled from the contents of a sadist's knife drawer than anything human. Seeing the yggdroid in motion dancing across a battlefield is nothing like seeing her up close and at rest. If anything, the latter is more unsettling: it's easier to see the numerous redundant mechanical systems ticking away under her tan exoskeleton, blackened and eroded by the centuries. Severed wires hang forlornly from her servomotors, masterfully-crafted clockwork seizes and grinds against itself, and crystalline arcane motors gutter ominously at intervals- by rights, she ought to be broken. Yet her movements remain immaculately graceful and inhumanly precise. Whenever a motor fails or a gear seizes, she continues moving as if nothing were wrong. Her limbs are wrenched against their mechanical limitations by some intangible animating force, exerting just enough strength to force the motors or shred the gears' teeth while continuing to pace through her delicate motions. It's an intensely uncanny thing to see in action that only becomes stranger the more one gleans of her inner workings. The force that dwells in her bones may be invisible, but it has an undeniable pull: her red crystalline core bleeds enormous amounts of harmless magical radiation like a leaking nuclear reactor, suffusing the air with ambient energy. To the magically attuned, it might even feel soothing, like sitting next to a roaring fireplace on a cold night. Septette neatly slices up her food with her fingers, poking tiny pieces into her mouth and making appreciative faces. It doesn't seem like the morsels have anywhere to go- she doesn't have anything like a proper throat- but somehow, they disappear anyway. "Costume parties?" She adopts a thoughtful expression, pausing mid-bite. "Like a masquerade ball? Mmm, they're not much fun if everyone can tell who you are anyway. But an off-world one could be fun... I might be able to go incognito for once."
Starbound Flotilla	Albert shoves his face into his hands in a way that could almost be despair. The reason for this becomes clear when George's face lights up like it's a christmas tree. "Hey hey, I heard costume party?" He says, eagerly. He's already got a chunk of Septette's food, and every so often he shoves Biteblade's gnashing face away from it to encourage her to go get another portion her own damn self. "Everything you just said has me interested! Tell me more." He looks absolutely into this idea. Oh, and he's also brought over a small control panel, something for Sombra to operate to run customizations on her small little craft the Flotilla set aside for her. "Aye, could be quite a way to blend ourselves in! We've a look that's a little out-of-place 'round this world." Pavo caws out a laugh. "But the rustbucket ought to fit in easy enough, and the rest of us can find ways, aye! Our last operation had enough a chance of profit I'd like hearin' what ye have to offer in this one..." Her eyes have lit up too, but more a light of greed than anything else. Albert grunts an agreement. "Moonfin says 'we create as much as we destroy'." He says. "If this sort of base suits tactical needs, contact us later. Pick a place." After all, Talon has been quite a help so far. The favor ought to be returned.
Priscilla	To be sure, Reaper looks about as edgy as he sounds. Priscilla had certainly expected a hard man, but what she sees is someone deliberately trying to evince the imagery, as well as the anonymity, of death, in his own tactical 21st century style. There is an eerie moment where his resemblance to the Darkwraiths and their choice of battle attire strikes her full force. Still though, he's carrying a pair of guns gigantic enough that the physical feat is pretty impressive. "A high pragmatic gift. I applaud thine sense." says Priscilla. "Though I cometh bearing no small pleasantries, taketh heed that funds art being allocated as we speak." She bears the gift of dosh. "I find mineself no less so, Lady Septette" she then says, in full honesty. "As well as the exquisite taste involved in the construction of this particular chamber. A clear eye for detail, as well, perhaps." For a little while, all she wants to do is stand back and observe the Flotilla, to see what various skills, dispositions, habits and tastes she can pick up on right away. "Thinketh little of it." she says to Moonfin. "I can well see that mine faith was more than well placed in thee. I had not fully imagined so robust a collection of talents, nor quite thine depth of resourcefulness. I am gladdened that the Concord is able to rely upon thee." With that, she takes a seat. One of the big, reinforced ones, so conveniently laid out. Another advantage of sticking to being huge is that she probably has enough room to sample some of everything brought to the table; partly out of politeness, but partly out of genuine interest. As cordially as she can, she declines the beer, opting for Moonfin's tea instead. Priscilla and alcohol do not mix. Undeniably, she spends quite a while sizing Septette up. Staring, even. Priscilla herself kind of ticks into the uncanny valley here and there, with her rather strange collection of traits bleeding into her otherwise perfectly goddess-like appearance. The fey mishmash of little touches of horns and scales, fluff and tail, eyes and teeth, interspersed though, don't come close to comparing to the bizarre, yet fascinating oddity that Septette's construction is. "I cannot say I hath ever attended one." she then says, rather conversationally, given the object of her focus. "Pray, elaborate."
Sombra	When Reaper decides to not join them and snub off the treats, his fellow Talon agent can't help but roll her eyes. "You could at least sit with us," she points out, her tone suggesting that she /can/ call him by her usual nickname for him. If he's going to ignore the food, then Sombra is determined to eat just to show her appreciation. And so she does. Picking up the various pieces of food, she takes a bite and then nods at Septette as she asks regarding the costume party. "Sí, I've found intel that suggests a target will be present at an event. Usually they are surrounded by lots of guards and can be a bit hard to get to normally... but at a costume party? If we have enough people we could pull it off easily. And yes... with costumes you should be able to blend right in, amiga." And as she warned the others about, she does summon a few screens as she taps the air in front of her, holovids popping up as she begins scrolling and typing with one hand, eating and drinking with the other. Though she also takes the small control panel from George, and she looks amused. "You're really a man who knows how to have fun, don't you? And yes, costume party. Big, elaborate costumes, wigs, music, facepaint, masks..." A chance for them all to blend in. Lots of people, chaos that they can slip through in the aftermath... "You don't mind helping with a few more costumes than planned, do you Gabe?" she asks, turning to look over her shoulder at Reaper. "Though you might want to size down for such an event, el Comandante," she states as she looks up at Priscilla. "I'm certain Gabe is working on a strategy for infiltration, how to set proper teams and handle any unseen elements. The rest I'll think of on the fly, careful planning will only get you so far, you know?"