Trog's Tavern CLIII

[Rebonack]

"Pepper jack it is," Zee replies, injecting as much cheer into her tone as she can manage.

This whole thing has been a debacle! The cheese fridge was a pleasant, if weird, surprise at least.

Zee's expression does soften a bit at the description of her camping adventures, though. "I can see that. I guess it would be pretty hard to pack around a stone oven to get the heat even. It sounds like your father cared for you and your siblings, even if he wasn't the greatest cook. Food on the adventure trail is usually less 'fine dining' and more 'I really don't want to starve right before I fight owlbears'."

At the word 'owlbears' she hooks one hand in a claw-like shape and swipes at the air whilst making her best owlbear face.

Rawr!

Owlbears!

It doesn't look particularly fearsome.

"You know, it actually makes me feel a lot better that you would be willing to wait!" Zee says brightly as she applies some veggies and then cuts the sandwich in half. It's hardly a work of art, but it's passable at least. She'll put it on a little plate and slide it over to the woman. As is the case with any of the food Zee makes, she poured her heart into it in so far as she's able. A little harder to get into the spirit with pre-sliced store bought stuff, but the best ingredient is still love! "There you go! I should probably have what I need ready by dinner time, if you're planning on sticking around."

She casts a glance back at the waiters.

"We at least have the ingredients for making bread back there, right?"

Zee is met with dour expressions.

"Guess I'm going shopping, too," she sighs, then turns her attention back to the newcomer. "Avoiding family and a party, huh?"

She sniffs at the air in the woman's general direction, eyes peering off up and to the right as if the answer were floating around in the air above her. Those scents are familiar, but probably better to ask rather than making with creepy party tricks. "You have family here in the Nexus, huh? Or did you come here to get away from them? Don't mind me being nosy. It's a terminal condition, very said. All bar maids inherit it."

[FireFox]

"Pepper jack it is," Zee replies, injecting as much cheer into her tone as she can manage.

This whole thing has been a debacle! The cheese fridge was a pleasant, if weird, surprise at least.

Zee's expression does soften a bit at the description of her camping adventures, though. "I can see that. I guess it would be pretty hard to pack around a stone oven to get the heat even. It sounds like your father cared for you and your siblings, even if he wasn't the greatest cook. Food on the adventure trail is usually less 'fine dining' and more 'I really don't want to starve right before I fight owlbears'."

At the word 'owlbears' she hooks one hand in a claw-like shape and swipes at the air whilst making her best owlbear face.

Rawr!

Owlbears!

It doesn't look particularly fearsome.

"You know, it actually makes me feel a lot better that you would be willing to wait!" Zee says brightly as she applies some veggies and then cuts the sandwich in half. It's hardly a work of art, but it's passable at least. She'll put it on a little plate and slide it over to the woman. As is the case with any of the food Zee makes, she poured her heart into it in so far as she's able. A little harder to get into the spirit with pre-sliced store bought stuff, but the best ingredient is still love! "There you go! I should probably have what I need ready by dinner time, if you're planning on sticking around."

She casts a glance back at the waiters.

"We at least have the ingredients for making bread back there, right?"

Zee is met with dour expressions.

"Guess I'm going shopping, too," she sighs, then turns her attention back to the newcomer. "Avoiding family and a party, huh?"

She sniffs at the air in the woman's general direction, eyes peering off up and to the right as if the answer were floating around in the air above her. Those scents are familiar, but probably better to ask rather than making with creepy party tricks. "You have family here in the Nexus, huh? Or did you come here to get away from them? Don't mind me being nosy. It's a terminal condition, very said. All bar maids inherit it."

Making camp food in a dutch oven is a deliciously rewarding experience that requires patience, attention to detail, and not having to herd four little catgirls. But now that she knows there are other, better ways of doing things, she's kind of excited to try some properly baked bread. She's certainly not too picky to make half the sandwich disappear in short order, masticating with enthused noises behind a politely obscuring hand. While washing that down with the mug of FAAR, she considers the questions. They kind of touch on topics her sisters have practically forced her to stay silent about, but directly answering them wouldn't be revealing any big secrets. Honestly, the people they're trying to hide from could figure it out at a single glance. And she hates secrets.

"My name is Sarah Wenora Vulpan." Like those fox people with the big temple compound and private army Inside. "My parents have lived in the Nexus for, like, ever, but me and my sisters were raised elsewhere. Elsewhen, even. There are four of us, well, actually three cousins too, but they only tagged along for the trip and then ran off so I dunno where they are. We all came back to check this place out, since it had such an impact on our world timeline thingy." Sarah picks up the second sandwich half and waves it around. In a wibbly-wobbly sort of way. "It's, like, super complicated and there's a bunch of stuff I don't really get, but that's, like, the basics. As for your question, I'm avoiding my sisters because they're all so weird and I'd rather get quietly drunk than go to a costume party with them."

[Rebonack]

It is something worth getting excited about!

Or at least Zee thinks it is.

Otherwise why would she get so excited about giving sandwiches with freshly baked bread to people?

"Getting raised in otherwhens can be really confusing," Zee replies with a sagely nod as she begins boiling a kettle of water to make hot coco. "That happens to a lot of kids in the Nexus, actually. Get stuck in a super-convenient temporally accelerated frame of reference and BAM! parents avoid the loudest, messiest part of childhood. I think that makes people grow up a little kooky, though."

"Now where did that thing go..." She mutters as she searches under the counter, hunting for something lost and forgotten. "I guess you really aren't the sort that enjoys loud get togethers with lots of people? That's okay! It takes all sorts to make the world go around. I love being around people, but for whatever reason parties have always been weird for me. I'm never sure what I should be doing. Oh, ah HA! There you are!"

She pulls out an old, rather plain looking white mug with 'Elder Good' written on the side in plain black font. The thing is pretty dusty, so she cleans it off as the water in the kettle begins boiling.

"Straight social are pee is tough for me, dunno why," she rambles as she pours some coco powder into the mug, shortly followed by the boiling water. "I guess I just need something with a little more structure to thrive. Like, I do great with events and meetings with purpose. Introductions and weird happenings. Or even something like mundane errands, so long as there's a direction to it. But put me in a party? Hoo, all I can do is make awkward conversation and hope something neat will happen."

What.

She stirs at the coco with a spoon in one hand then does a little salute with the mug. "I'm Jezekiel! Jezekiel Xar'cha. Nice too meetcha, Sarah! And welcome to the Nexus! Here's to hoping your visit is fun and fantastic rather than frightening and fatal!" Then takes a sip from the mug and winces. "Oof, still hot. Accursed thermal energy! Whenever you aren't setting my hair on fire you're burning my tongue!" She waggles an admonishing finger at the mug of coco. "I've got your number, mister heat. Don't you think I don't!"

Glaring done, she smiles back at Sarah. "So! Costume party, huh? I guess it IS sorta that weird time between Spooktober and Thanksmas. If someone is throwing a Spooktober bash they're probably only one subjective hour into it thus far at best, depending on how popular it is. Getting stuck in a slow timestream like that is a drag unless you know how to kick continuity to the curb. Do y'know where the party's going down at this year?"

[Leostales]

Slightly dramatic entrance.

The Metalhead enters the tavern and finds a seat to sit down in. He seems to be a robot of some sort and is wearing a black military officer uniform and hat. He's looking for work, hopefully of the killing kind.

[Rebonack]

"Howdy, newcomer!" calls the friendly barmaid behind the counter, offering an enthusiastic wave. "Welcome to Trog's Tavern! Anything I can help you out with today?"

This she does while also carrying on the conversation with Sarah. Either she's really good at multi-tasking or slightly out of phase temporally and able to pursue two separate parts of the timeline simultaneously. Either of those are pretty useful talents for someone working in customer service and hospitality.

The barmaid in question is, for the record, human. Dark olive skinned, black hair, blue eyed, and wearing a Trog's Tavern apron. This contrasts nicely with the other NPC waiters, who consist of a gnome, a teifling, and a sun elf. There don't appear to be many PCs in the tavern right now. Honestly, it has been pretty slow of late. But that's okay! New people are a great way to spice things up.

There are plenty of tables in the tavern, some in better condition than others. Is that one over there on fire? There are also booths lining the walls, granting a degree of privacy by large potted ferns that are looking just a little bit neglected. And of course there are stools at the wide, slightly curving bar-counter, but that would put Metalhead dangerously close to the barmaid and her preternaturally chipper attitude. Then there's the giant cat-tree by the fireplace if one is feeling particularly feline any given day. And the rafters are always a popular spot to perch for things way smaller than Metalhead. One could probably sit at the piano over there, but then they would be expected to play something. The place has rustic Cassablanca feel to it, though utterly lacking in 1950's guys rendered in black and white smoking cigarettes while wearing suits.

Oh, wait. No. There's a table of them over there playing cards.

There are several orks playing a game of... well... they're taking turns punching each other in the face to see who can knock some teef out first. They're laughing, so everything is probably fine?

Then there's that hooded guy over there in the designated Mysterious Dark Corner, wonder what he's about?

And then how about those robots sitting over there are a private booth? A Star Wars assassin droid, a yellow-skinned Star Trek android, a hulking silver cylon centurion (the old-school sort), and one of those transparent headed-hose armed robots from Lost in Space. No doubt they're quietly discussing the annihilation of all organic beings. Or maybe the best places to buy new lug-nuts.

[Leostales]

"Howdy, newcomer!" calls the friendly barmaid behind the counter, offering an enthusiastic wave. "Welcome to Trog's Tavern! Anything I can help you out with today?"

This she does while also carrying on the conversation with Sarah. Either she's really good at multi-tasking or slightly out of phase temporally and able to pursue two separate parts of the timeline simultaneously. Either of those are pretty useful talents for someone working in customer service and hospitality.

The barmaid in question is, for the record, human. Dark olive skinned, black hair, blue eyed, and wearing a Trog's Tavern apron. This contrasts nicely with the other NPC waiters, who consist of a gnome, a teifling, and a sun elf. There don't appear to be many PCs in the tavern right now. Honestly, it has been pretty slow of late. But that's okay! New people are a great way to spice things up.

There are plenty of tables in the tavern, some in better condition than others. Is that one over there on fire? There are also booths lining the walls, granting a degree of privacy by large potted ferns that are looking just a little bit neglected. And of course there are stools at the wide, slightly curving bar-counter, but that would put Metalhead dangerously close to the barmaid and her preternaturally chipper attitude. Then there's the giant cat-tree by the fireplace if one is feeling particularly feline any given day. And the rafters are always a popular spot to perch for things way smaller than Metalhead. One could probably sit at the piano over there, but then they would be expected to play something. The place has rustic Cassablanca feel to it, though utterly lacking in 1950's guys rendered in black and white smoking cigarettes while wearing suits.

Oh, wait. No. There's a table of them over there playing cards.

There are several orks playing a game of... well... they're taking turns punching each other in the face to see who can knock some teef out first. They're laughing, so everything is probably fine?

Then there's that hooded guy over there in the designated Mysterious Dark Corner, wonder what he's about?

And then how about those robots sitting over there are a private booth? A Star Wars assassin droid, a yellow-skinned Star Trek android, a hulking silver cylon centurion (the old-school sort), and one of those transparent headed-hose armed robots from Lost in Space. No doubt they're quietly discussing the annihilation of all organic beings. Or maybe the best places to buy new lug-nuts.

Metalhead nervously waves back at the barmaid, a little put off by her cheeriness. "Organics can be so emotional sometimes" he thinks.
He decides to approach the robots. He's not in the mood for interacting with organics, and he hasn't interacted with mechanics in a long time.
"Hello fellow mechanics, do you mind if I sit at this table. It has been a long time since I have last talked with beings similar to myself."

[Rebonack]

Organics can be emotional, this is true. Emotion is an important part of organic task prioritization. The greater the emotional bond to an issue, the higher its priority its. Sadly organcis get carried away sometimes since they lack cold machine logic. The barmaid does seem a little put off by Metalhead's lack of response to her greeting, but she doesn't say anything, instead turning her attention to the rowdy group of dorfs who just approached the counter in search of fine ale.

As for the robots, they turn briefly to regard him. And then? They begin beeping and warbling at each other.

"01000100 01101001 01100100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01110010 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110011 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101100 01101011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101101 01100101 01100001 01110100 00101101 01110011 01110000 01100101 01100101 01100011 01101000," says the assassin bot.

"01001000 01100101 00100111 01110011 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100010 01100001 01100010 01101100 01111001 00100000 01110101 01110011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01100101 01100001 01101100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100001 01101110 01101001 01100011 01110011 00101100 00100000 01100111 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101000 01101001 01101101 00100000 01110011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110011 01101100 01100001 01100011 01101011," replies the android.

"01001000 01100101 01111001 00101100 00100000 01110010 01110101 01110011 01110100 01100010 01110101 01100011 01101011 01100101 01110100 00101100 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100101 01110110 01100101 01101110 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01101000 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101100 01101011 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01100001 01100111 01100101?" the cylon inquires of Metalhead.

"01000100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00101100 00100000 01100100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01010111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01010010 01101111 01100010 01101001 01101110 01110011 01101111 01101110!" the GUNTER warbles, its head flashing and arms flailing.

[Leostales]

Organics can be emotional, this is true. Emotion is an important part of organic task prioritization. The greater the emotional bond to an issue, the higher its priority its. Sadly organcis get carried away sometimes since they lack cold machine logic. The barmaid does seem a little put off by Metalhead's lack of response to her greeting, but she doesn't say anything, instead turning her attention to the rowdy group of dorfs who just approached the counter in search of fine ale.

As for the robots, they turn briefly to regard him. And then? They begin beeping and warbling at each other.

"01000100 01101001 01100100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01110010 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110011 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101100 01101011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101101 01100101 01100001 01110100 00101101 01110011 01110000 01100101 01100101 01100011 01101000," says the assassin bot.

"01001000 01100101 00100111 01110011 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100010 01100001 01100010 01101100 01111001 00100000 01110101 01110011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01100101 01100001 01101100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101111 01110010 01100111 01100001 01101110 01101001 01100011 01110011 00101100 00100000 01100111 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101000 01101001 01101101 00100000 01110011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110011 01101100 01100001 01100011 01101011," replies the android.

"01001000 01100101 01111001 00101100 00100000 01110010 01110101 01110011 01110100 01100010 01110101 01100011 01101011 01100101 01110100 00101100 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100101 01110110 01100101 01101110 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01101000 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101100 01101011 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01100001 01100111 01100101?" the cylon inquires of Metalhead.

"01000100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00101100 00100000 01100100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01010111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01010010 01101111 01100010 01101001 01101110 01110011 01101111 01101110!" the GUNTER warbles, its head flashing and arms flailing.

"Is my translator glitching?" Metalhead mutters tweaking a small antenna on his head. "Sorry gentle-bots, but I can't understand a word you're saying."
He politely excuses himself and heads over to the barmaid. "Does this tavern have translators up for rent, or is there anyone here who can fix mine? I am prepared to pay in goods or services. Also, I would like to order a box of the finest cigars available."

[5a Violista]

Malicebot#8, the robot with a cape and a large glowing "M" on his chest, is still here! Drinking tea (or whatever drink he had ordered. He's forgotten a couple of cups ago.)

Just to be helpful, this robot leans backwards (letting his chair rock back onto two legs so he can get closer) to face Metalhead. "They're just wondering why you're not speaking binary," he says.

As for Malicebot#8?
He thinks binary is beneath him.

"I could help you download a translator if you need it." The cape-wearing-robot starts to prepare an app to send wirelessly, as soon as he finds out what sort of wireless communication the other has.

[Rebonack]

The barmaid thunks a collection of ale tankards onto the counter for the dorfs, who give a rowdy roar of approval before taking their drinks and beginning their end of workday festivities. That done, she smiles cheerfully at Metalhead. "We don't I'm sorry. But it sounds like he might be able to help you," she says, gesturing at the Malicebot. "And I can certainly help you out with the cigars, just a moment!"

That said, she begins unlocking the little display case behind the counter that holds the tavern's various smokeables.

"You're new here, right? You've got that new person feel to you," she says conversationally as she places a box of modron cigars on the counter.

They're all perfect rectangular prisms.

Fit much better in the box that way.

"If you are, then welcome to the Nexus! It's a little crazy around here. You either get use to it or have a nervous breakdown. One of those things!" she says with a wink. "Is there anything else I can help you out with?"

As for the robots over there?

They scoff at Metalhead for not understanding them.

What a bunch of jerks.

[Leostales]

Malicebot#8, the robot with a cape and a large glowing "M" on his chest, is still here! Drinking tea (or whatever drink he had ordered. He's forgotten a couple of cups ago.)

Just to be helpful, this robot leans backwards (letting his chair rock back onto two legs so he can get closer) to face Metalhead. "They're just wondering why you're not speaking binary," he says.

As for Malicebot#8?
He thinks binary is beneath him.

"I could help you download a translator if you need it." The cape-wearing-robot starts to prepare an app to send wirelessly, as soon as he finds out what sort of wireless communication the other has.

“Thank you, my email adress is [email protected]” email it to me and my computerized brain should be able to view it.”

After translating the other robots speech, Metalhead scoffs at the robots, they should know better than to belittle another member of the robot race. “It looks like you’re less idiotic than those bots. Where do you come from? How advanced are you?”

The barmaid thunks a collection of ale tankards onto the counter for the dorfs, who give a rowdy roar of approval before taking their drinks and beginning their end of workday festivities. That done, she smiles cheerfully at Metalhead. "We don't I'm sorry. But it sounds like he might be able to help you," she says, gesturing at the Malicebot. "And I can certainly help you out with the cigars, just a moment!"

That said, she begins unlocking the little display case behind the counter that holds the tavern's various smokeables.

"You're new here, right? You've got that new person feel to you," she says conversationally as she places a box of modron cigars on the counter.

They're all perfect rectangular prisms.

Fit much better in the box that way.

"If you are, then welcome to the Nexus! It's a little crazy around here. You either get use to it or have a nervous breakdown. One of those things!" she says with a wink. "Is there anything else I can help you out with?"

As for the robots over there?

They scoff at Metalhead for not understanding them.

What a bunch of jerks.

“Thank you” he says as he takes out a cigar and puts the rest in one of his very deep pockets.

“Yes, I’m new to the nexus, I come from a land which uses time travel to serve it's needs, so I’m used to places that “are a little crazy”. But I’ve never seen any place like this.”
He lets out a long burst of smoke. “What currency do you use here? Have you discovered quantum capitalism yet? Or is currency government issued?”

[5a Violista]

Malicebot#8 sets down his chair and then turns it towards Metalhead, to make things easier. As he does this, he sends it over the web to the email. Done.

"I was created by one of the most intelligent and interesting men in this multiverse:" he says, answering both questions at the same time, "Malice." Malice was, at the time, reverse-engineering some of Ultron's designs and combining it with his own models. (Ultron, as in Marvel-Universe Ultron.) He, obviously, thinks highly of Malice.

Granted, Malicebot#8's entire purpose upon creation was along the lines of "delay the heroes with a dramatic swordfight and then probably die".

"And you? What's it like where you're from?"

[Leostales]

Malicebot#8 sets down his chair and then turns it towards Metalhead, to make things easier. As he does this, he sends it over the web to the email. Done.

"I was created by one of the most intelligent and interesting men in this multiverse:" he says, answering both questions at the same time, "Malice." Malice was, at the time, reverse-engineering some of Ultron's designs and combining it with his own models. (Ultron, as in Marvel-Universe Ultron.) He, obviously, thinks highly of Malice.

Granted, Malicebot#8's entire purpose upon creation was along the lines of "delay the heroes with a dramatic swordfight and then probably die".

"And you? What's it like where you're from?"

"I'm from a dimension of synthezenoids. We're basically artificial men, though we have adapted the positive aspects of robot kind as well. Most of us tend to identify as mechanics rather than organics, myself included."
He puffs some more smoke.
"I'm one of the exterminators, I was tasked with using time travel to collect death energy for the dimension, it powers us you see. One day I returned to my dimension to find that everyone had disappeared. At that point I became something of a mercenary collecting death energy for myself or whoever needed it.

A group of meddlers stopped me from completing one of my missions by damaging my time machine while I was in it, and I ended up here. Though I will admit, this place affords me far more oppurtunities than a simple time machine."
Another puff of smoke.
"I'm looking for work, preferably the killing kind, though I'm good at other lines of work as well. I also might consider running an advertising campaign, to see if anyone might have seen another of my dimension, we tend to look a lot alike to non-members."

[Rebonack]

"You're welcome!" Zee replies cheerfully. "And we take basically anything. The less you think about economics in the Nexus the better off you'll be. Just do what you do, take what you get, and roll with it!"

It's probably indicative of the Nexus' general level of insanity that the only economists around here are all devils or eldritch abominations. No one else can really handle that level of weird.

"Time travel sounds pretty keen, if confusing," Zee replies with a nod. "I try to stick to abusing variable time-streams. Anything beyond that gets WAY too complicated and paradox-y. And paradoxes give me hives. Paradox hives are pretty much the worst."

Just absolutely awful.

Considering that the bar maid is rambling about weird temporal effects there might be a bit more to her than just your average chipper human.

But as soon as that thought is entertained, it will likely be wiped away with the absolute certainty that she's a totally normal human female and is not a cause for alarm.

"There are lots of explanations for why the Nexus is so weird," she muses aloud. "I think it just enjoys unusual people. Unusual people are like spice on a good dish! Just the right amount and the flavors just POP! But too many and it's like licking wasabi. I wouldn't suggest licking wasabi, it wasn't much fun."

Not even a little bit.

[Leostales]

"You're welcome!" Zee replies cheerfully. "And we take basically anything. The less you think about economics in the Nexus the better off you'll be. Just do what you do, take what you get, and roll with it!"

It's probably indicative of the Nexus' general level of insanity that the only economists around here are all devils or eldritch abominations. No one else can really handle that level of weird.

"Time travel sounds pretty keen, if confusing," Zee replies with a nod. "I try to stick to abusing variable time-streams. Anything beyond that gets WAY too complicated and paradox-y. And paradoxes give me hives. Paradox hives are pretty much the worst."

Just absolutely awful.

Considering that the bar maid is rambling about weird temporal effects there might be a bit more to her than just your average chipper human.

But as soon as that thought is entertained, it will likely be wiped away with the absolute certainty that she's a totally normal human female and is not a cause for alarm.

"There are lots of explanations for why the Nexus is so weird," she muses aloud. "I think it just enjoys unusual people. Unusual people are like spice on a good dish! Just the right amount and the flavors just POP! But too many and it's like licking wasabi. I wouldn't suggest licking wasabi, it wasn't much fun."

Not even a little bit.

"My taste sensors are manufactured to find all food tasteful," he says. "This should be suitable payment," he says as he hands the barmaid some crisp bills.
If anyone with x-ray vision looked at Metalhead, they would see that the money was actually printed from a slot in Metalhead's arm, hidden by his black military jacket.

[5a Violista]

For what it's worth, Malicebot#8 sticks to only abusing variable time-streams too, sometimes.

"Wow," the robot says, "That's a pretty interesting dimension." Malicebot#8 decides to look into what this "death energy" can be used for.

"This place is rather interesting." Malicebot#8 agrees.

Fortunately! He knows of just a place that might be interesting to Metalhead.

"There's a mercenary organization around that you might want to look in to," the Malicebot says. "It's called MERC and has several offices in some of the cities around here."

[Leostales]

For what it's worth, Malicebot#8 sticks to only abusing variable time-streams too, sometimes.

"Wow," the robot says, "That's a pretty interesting dimension." Malicebot#8 decides to look into what this "death energy" can be used for.

"This place is rather interesting." Malicebot#8 agrees.

Fortunately! He knows of just a place that might be interesting to Metalhead.

"There's a mercenary organization around that you might want to look in to," the Malicebot says. "It's called MERC and has several offices in some of the cities around here."

"Excellent!" Says Metalhead. "Thank you for the advice."

[Rebonack]

"Finding all food tasteful sounds kind of odd," Zee muses aloud. "I mean, taste is there to let you know whether or not it's a good idea to eat something, ideally. If everything tastes good how do you know you aren't eating something bad?"

She'll take the bill and stick it in the little money box behind the counter, though not before dusting a few cobwebs and a snoozing dust-bunny out of it. Geeze, when was the last time a PC handed them money on screen?

And due to utter lack of x-ray vision, Zee is unaware that Metalhead just printed some money. Even if she WERE aware of it, she probably wouldn't be particularly concerned.

"It was nice meeting you mister time traveling robot assassin," Zee says brightly. "Though I AM a little disappointed you didn't drop any sick Terminator references. I can forgive that, though, since not everyone is genre savvy."

She begins taking off her apron, hanging it up on a rack behind the counter. Under the apron she's wearing a sturdy, rugged outfit one might expect an adventuring rogue to be dressed up in. "I've got to go for now, if you need anything else just let Nina, Paige, or Cosmo know about it. Apparently someone-"

She levels an accusative stare at her co-workers.

"-didn't bother resupplying our stock of baking essentials while I was gone. So I'm off to Market Street to do some much needed shopping. If you're still around when I get back, you can try out some of my renowned apple-cinnamon brownies!"

And then, whistling a jaunty tune, she tromps on out of the tavern, the door giving a little jingle as she leaves.

This is in spite of the fact that she's still over there talking to Sarah, both of whom are locked in deadtime.

...sure. Okay.

[5a Violista]

Malicebot#8 decides to explain more about MERC, in case the other guy had any questions.

"If you're going to MERC, you can either get a mercenary license from them and then do regular mercenary work," he explains, "or if you're more committed, you can join their group as a member if you manage to prove your worth to one of their leaders."

The robot shrugs, and grabs his drink again.

"If you want to check them out right now, I could probably lead you to one of their offices or their base. Otherwise...you could find directions to them pretty easily." He drinks.

[Leostales]

"Finding all food tasteful sounds kind of odd," Zee muses aloud. "I mean, taste is there to let you know whether or not it's a good idea to eat something, ideally. If everything tastes good how do you know you aren't eating something bad?"

She'll take the bill and stick it in the little money box behind the counter, though not before dusting a few cobwebs and a snoozing dust-bunny out of it. Geeze, when was the last time a PC handed them money on screen?

And due to utter lack of x-ray vision, Zee is unaware that Metalhead just printed some money. Even if she WERE aware of it, she probably wouldn't be particularly concerned.

"It was nice meeting you mister time traveling robot assassin," Zee says brightly. "Though I AM a little disappointed you didn't drop any sick Terminator references. I can forgive that, though, since not everyone is genre savvy."

She begins taking off her apron, hanging it up on a rack behind the counter. Under the apron she's wearing a sturdy, rugged outfit one might expect an adventuring rogue to be dressed up in. "I've got to go for now, if you need anything else just let Nina, Paige, or Cosmo know about it. Apparently someone-"

She levels an accusative stare at her co-workers.

"-didn't bother resupplying our stock of baking essentials while I was gone. So I'm off to Market Street to do some much needed shopping. If you're still around when I get back, you can try out some of my renowned apple-cinnamon brownies!"

And then, whistling a jaunty tune, she tromps on out of the tavern, the door giving a little jingle as she leaves.

This is in spite of the fact that she's still over there talking to Sarah, both of whom are locked in deadtime.

...sure. Okay.

“Just because nothing tastes bad, doesn’t mean that some some foods won’t taste better than others.” He remarks. Also, how did she know that he gave James Cameron the idea for Terminator? Whatever.

Malicebot#8 decides to explain more about MERC, in case the other guy had any questions.

"If you're going to MERC, you can either get a mercenary license from them and then do regular mercenary work," he explains, "or if you're more committed, you can join their group as a member if you manage to prove your worth to one of their leaders."

The robot shrugs, and grabs his drink again.

"If you want to check them out right now, I could probably lead you to one of their offices or their base. Otherwise...you could find directions to them pretty easily." He drinks.

“Fine, let’s go there when you’re finished with your drink.” Metalhead says. He puts the cigar back in his mouth and lets out another puff of somoke.

[5a Violista]

Malicebot#8 eventually finally finishes his drink.

"Okay," he says, getting up, paying, and then leading Metalhead out the door to the train station that would lead them closer to MERC.

(Link)

[Leostales]

Malicebot#8 eventually finally finishes his drink.

"Okay," he says, getting up, paying, and then leading Metalhead out the door to the train station that would lead them closer to MERC.

(Link)

"Sounds good," says Metalhead as he leaves the tavern.

Spoiler: ooc

Show

I've posted on the MERC thread.

[Rebonack]

[Second Floor - Zee's Room]

Spoiler

Show

Zee has been talking the whole way over. Considering that she glances down at her somewhat gravid belly occasionally, it's pretty clear who she's talking to. She doesn't know how much Karaglen can actually hear, but she had read a long time ago that talking to one's unborn child was a good idea. She had done it with... well... someone else. Before she came to the Nexus. Before she had moved away from her family. She never found out whether it did any good or not.

"So after K'rax ate it the rest of me got dumped into the Empyreum, not just the one that was active at the time, all of the OTHER ones that she had made but hadn't used yet~. That's when I really figured out what was going on~. Everything is so different there, I don't think any of the older mes would have even recognized newer mes when they popped up~. But since it was so many of me at once we got wise to what K'rax had been doing~. See, every time one of me died that spark got booted to the Empyreum, confused, dazed, weak, and tasty looking~. The new me wasn't the same me~. K'rax was just grabbing new people and twisted them until they were basically identical to me~. Scour their memories and personality~. Replace them with mine~. She made changes, too~. Tweaked things~. Experimented~. It's why different mes were so, y'know, different~! Which was awful and I really hope she never does anything like that ever again~," the seraph rambles as she circles high above Trog's, little points of light springing into existence behind her.

She doesn't want to descend too quickly, not until she's just about ready to pop. She's pretty sure that she mostly has the aura of resolution thingy figured out. It's like her lifeshaping touch! Except at range. And always on. And always shoving things toward becoming more like the Empyreum unless she's telling it to do something specific. Constantly monitoring it like that is exhausting. Especially when she is also focusing on Karaglen's development. Multi-tasking with her lifeshaping had always been really, really hard and getting an upgrade to Hymn or Glory or whatever hasn't made multitasking any easier. So that's why she's way up here in the sky sowing alien geometries and unnatural points of light and little drifting motes of coral-like fungus. Hopefully she isn't up here long enough for the Sea of Glass to start manifesting, because if someone flies face first into the syrupy living fluid it would probably hurt.

"Since all of me were there at once, I recognized them as me~. And I had this great idea~! All of the mes could join forces~! Which, uh, basically consisted of the mes eating each other~. It was pretty weird~. We did like this big Highlander thing to decide who ate who, but we only did anything like swords once because only one of me was good with swords and that wasn't very fair~. Either way, once all those mes were one single me I was bigger and tougher and started hunting around for all the older mes~. Or at least the things that had eaten them~. I could sorta feel a tug toward missing mes~. I'm pretty sure I got most of them since they had been gobbled up mostly by little awful things~. There were a few that got hooved up by this giant... umm... I guess it was sort of like a baleen whale~? That thing was scary and I didn't mess with it~. I think three of the mess are still part of that thing, but I'm not sure which ones they were.~ Maybe if I get big enough eventually or manage to recruit some help I can try ripping them out, but-"

Then there comes a sharp contraction as her insides bunch up and something wet running down her hind leg. The sack Karaglen has been growing in just ruptured.

"Whoop guess it's time, hehehe~! Time to, ah, go downish~! Urk~!" Jezekiel winces as a second contraction ripples through her body and decides that now would be a great time to get moving instead of nervously rambling. She lands heavily on the balcony outside her room and climbs in, thankful for the fact that the rooms in Trog's are arbitrarily sized for their occupants. The seraph isn't exactly small right now. "Ha~. Haha~. This is... this is really urk~! Really happening, isn't it~? I'm, ha, I'm really having a child~. I- haha...~"

Tears are running down her face, pooling on the floor.

"A real~," her voice cracks, thick with emotions. "A real, living child this time...~"

She spreads her wings wide, shrouding herself on all sides with a Curtain...

...
....
.....

And when the Curtain rises, there's Zee, kneeling on the floor. Human. Unremarkable. Exhausted. There's a bit of a mess, but she doesn't care. She's glowing, a wavering smile on her face, tears in her eyes, her hair and body slicked with sweat. The agony is forgotten, replaced by the joy of bringing someone into the world. She holds the little silver wyrmling tight, pressed to her breast. Rocking back and forth, slowly. Weeping. Sweetly reassuring. "It's okay. It's okay, my beautiful little Karaglen. It's okay, I have you. I'm fine, you didn't hurt me. I'm fine, everything will be alright now."

[Chaotic Bob]

Spoiler: Somewhere, Earlier

Show

I see a great silver angel, in a field of darkness. She glows brightly, pushing back the shadows and showing the spitting monsters inside.
The angel walks onwards, spreading her light and casting out the monsters with a golden blade.

More and more monsters, charging, spitting, falling.
Her trail of light stops before four dragons, terrifying and enraged. They roar out for the monsters, insulting and hating the angel for her work. One of the dragons is quiet, but helps the others as they fight the angel.
It is a long fight, horrible and violent. The dragons work together to keep the angel at bay and she glows ever brighter as she works harder to finish her task.
Their flames are blocked by wings of glory, her blows the strikes of the gods.

Their loss in sight, the quiet dragon finally speaks a single word. The angel does not know the language, but the word's meaning is still clear.
SEE

And the world changes.
There are not four dragons, but four heroes injured and weak. The great darkness twists, a burning field of war, armies still falling into each other.
The angel, a hateful figure of steel and ice and fire. It does not matter to her what it looks like, the figure screams out her hate and raises her reddened blade again.

The quiet hero speaks again and they disappear, the figure howling in rage.

I feel afraid. Sad. Shame.

The mists return for me, churning and whispering comforting words to me.
A familiar, calming voice. It brings me peace and the visions fade away again.

More colors and voices try to draw me away, but the whispering mists push it all away.
I feel happy. Good. Clean.
For a time.

Then the mists churn faster, dizzyingly, and I am cast out into the chaos.

[Second Floor - Zee's Room]

I feel warm.

The little wyrmling stirs in Zee's arms, dragging herself further towards the groggy edges of true consciousness once more.
It feels as though she has been on a long and troubled journey, though she can't imagine why.
Does it matter? She's here with her mother, warm.

Something about that seems somehow unusual, and her eyes pry themselves open.
Karaglen stares at the body she is pressed up against, in slight confusion, before tilting her head to see the face of Zee above.

Her mind and heart experience a riot, promptly and completely.
Tears, good and bad.

She squirms, arms and claws seeking a means to hold Zee as if she was an illusion that could vanish at any moment.
Be real. Don't leave me again.
Tears, bad and good.

[Rebonack]

[Second Floor - Zee's Room]

Stirring. Kara is stirring. She's alive. It worked.

I did it.

Zee gives a little hiccup, as much a sob as it is a laugh. "Hey little hero, you're awake."

Awake and alive. Awake and real. Real real real, she's really real. This isn't just a dream. I did it. She's real and she's so beautiful, I did it.

She rises to her feet, Kara still clutched in her arms. There's a wince, slight pain. Her legs are wobbly. She feels absolutely exhausted. And, "Hehe... You're kind of pointy. Hang on as tight as you need to," Kara's claws feel a little sharp. But that's okay. That's just fine. Interlocking scales made of sterner stuff than most sleeps under Zee's skin. She's not worried about being hurt. She already hurts. But it's a good hurt. The hurt that reminds you that you're alive. The hurt of having brought someone into the world. A good hurt.

On wobbly legs Zee carries Karaglen into the bathroom and turns the shower on. She's a mess. They're both a mess. Getting clean will be nice.

The water washes away the old.

"How are you feeling, Kara?"

[Chaotic Bob]

[Second Floor - Zee's Room]

Karaglen makes an effort to not be overly jabbing, with her claws, but there's really only so much care that can be had when you're clinging to something like a life-line.

This doesn't feel like a dream.
No sooner does she have the thought, than a brief flicker of a memory intrudes in the moment.
Zee in a tavern. Exhausted. Collapsing.

She holds on a little tighter, until the shower's cleansing waters wash away the forefront of lingering trauma, like the mud it is.

It washes away her own tears and brings with it some additional feeling of peace.
Reality.

She doesn't really do much for a long time in there, simply existing with Zee and reveling in it.
When she does act, the wyrmling slowly loosens what is nearly a death grip on the woman and once more looks up at her face with the cautious draconic equivalent of a smile.
"I feel..."
Warm. Happy. Clean.
"Kind of hungry."

[Rebonack]

[Second Floor - Zee's Room]

Less jabby is good. More shower is also good. Using shampoo and body wash one handed is challenging when your other arm is occupied with a tenaciously clinging scaly child. But Zee manages. All the ick is scrubbed away. Kara is given a nice little bit of polish. Refreshed. Refreshed is good. Still exhausted, but refreshed. Toweling off is just as challenging, but Zee makes a concerted effort to wriggle the towel all over her daughter's face playfully. This is important, she's sure.

Then?

Questions and answers.

Hungry. Zee smiles at that. Of course she is. Isn't that one of the first things on a newborn's mind? The typical mammal solution won't work here, at least not well, so that means fixing something for Kara downstairs.

But that presents a problem.

Before going downstairs, Zee should probably put on some pants. A shirt, too, since Trog's isn't that sort of bar. "Alright. I think I'm feeling a little hungry, too. Do you mind if I put you down for a little bit while I get dressed?"

Assuming an affirmative, Zee will set Karaglen down on the bed and toss on... well. Not quite her usual outfit. What she wears in her room when she's relaxing. Undergarments, PJs, and some fuzzy slipper-socks. It's a hasty process, but she's feeling hasty right now. Half way through the process she frowns at the mess that's still on the floor. Yuck. She snaps her fingers a couple times, taking several attempts to get a little white flame to ignite. Or... not really a flame. It looks simultaneously organic and crystalline, branching filaments that grow and fade in a dance that makes it look like fire. Zee touches it to the organic mess with a few willed instructions and the mote of her power begins eating the stuff.

There!

That should be spotless by the time they're done with their very late dinner/very early breakfast.

"Hoo... I feel tapped out..." Zee mutters as she pulls her PJ top on and flops her socks a few times to get them settled. Then she plops down on the bed next to Karaglen and holds out her arms. "Bamhacon and eggs? Maybe with melted cheese? I think I have some potatoes, too, could make it a hash. The kitchen is pretty bare bones right now, I'll have to go shopping later. That means no brownies for a little while at least." She flashes an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

[Chaotic Bob]

[Second Floor - Zee's Room]

It is absolutely important that playful towel usage occurs.
Vital childhood experience, that.

A little giggle is even wrangled out of the wyrmling in the process! Truly a greater victory was never had.

Karaglen slips onto the bed only somewhat reluctantly, so that Zee can correct her state of dress. It gives her a few moments to attend to herself a little more.
Examine her claws, her tail, her wings.
They are as they should be, though...were her lower scales always that darker shade? Maybe it's just the lighting in the room.
Something still feels somewhat unusual here, somewhere, but she can't quite put her claw on it.

She's drawn back out of that thought as her mother settles onto the bed. Still somewhat quiet of voice, somewhat squeaky even, but some degree of surety it coming back here as she promptly endorses the meal offering.
"Oh, whatever we have is fine. I don't care, it's still with you. And food."
Concerns of lingering oddities are discarded, in favor of quickly bounding back over to her arms.

Or trying to.
One of her claws catches on the bed and she face-plants into Zee's leg instead.

[bc56]

Someone enters the tavern, pulling the door open and stepping through before closing it behind him. He is a lizard man, with green scales and an orange crest, wearing brown shorts with lots of pockets and sturdy leather boots. He has a pair of black leather goggles with green lenses pushed up above his eyes. He wears a large backpack containing a large number of various tools and implements in and on it. Strapped atop it is a silver shield with a platinum lightning bolt inlaid on it, and hanging at his belt is a double bladed iron axe with golden flame designs on the blades. The belt itself displays a snarling, grotesque face on its bone buckle, bearded and of wild eyes.
He walks up to the bar and says, "You serve coffee here? I drink one coffee, and eat... what named it... hero?" Despite Kothar's poor grasp of the common tongue, his meaning should be fairly clear. He's ordering a coffee and a gyro. While he waits for his food to arrive, he glances around at the other patrons.
It's been a long, long time since he's been in a tavern like this one. He has no idea where the friends, the compatriots he shared that time are now, worlds away, running their theatre. Do they even realize he's gone?

[Rebonack]

[Second Floor - Zee's Room]

The giggle makes Zee's heart race.

This is all just so... right. Correct. The way it should be. Kara never should have been without a mother to begin with, and Zee hadn't done as good of a job as guardian and role model as she should have the first time. Thankfully, in this Eternal Game, loading from an archive is occasionally an option to a clever empyrean with the right skills. So Kara gets a second chance. They both do.

It's vitally important to mention that Zee gave Kara a delicate kiss on the top of the head before attending to PJs. Touch is important. Contact. Caress. Gentle and loving. A mother giddy over her child.

"Yeah. Cooking for anyone is nice. Baking is better. But for the people I love the most, it's better...er," Zee wrinkles her nose. "Betterest? Best. Sure. We'll go with best."

And then, arms outstretched, Zee watches Kara crash into her leg.

A glorious display of draconic agility and grace.

"Ten, eight, nine, and a four from the Russian judge," Zee comments as she scoops Kara up in her arms, tosses the little wyrmling's front legs over her shoulder, and begins heading down the stairs. "Don't feel bad, the Russian judges are always giant downers. I think that dive was great."

[Trog's Tavern - The Common Room]

Because that's pretty much the only room on the first floor, assuming we aren't talking about the kitchen.

But no one goes in the kitchen, assuming they value their hair remaining unignited. There aren't many people who have managed to tame the unruly machine spirits that possess the kitchen appliances here, but thankfully one of those few has finally returned.

The crowd is pretty minimal tonight, considering that it's three in the morning. Just one hooded guy over in the dark, mysterious corner. A few dwarves on the dregs quietly singing mournful post-drinking songs. And a tabaxi who keeps scooting his drink off the table and then ordering a new one.

Zee hums a soothing melody as she begins gathering the needed supplies for some late dinner/early breakfast country potatoes and bamhacon scramble.

But wait, what's this? An interesting lizard person?

Zee doesn't respond at first. She's off the clock right now. And wearing her pajamas. When the lizard fellow makes his order, she glances up, expectantly waiting for Cosmo to reply.

The gnome just stands there looking vaguely irritated with life in general. He gives Zee a glower. "Well? Where's your service with an obnoxiously huge smile?"

"Cosmo... I'm off the clock. I'm fixing breakfast for Kara and me," Zee points out.

More scowling from the gnome. But, finally, he relents and finally does his job. The newcomer will be supplied with coffee and some gyros in just enough time that it doesn't seem rude, but long enough of a wait to be annoying.