It's eggs - RPLOG
From Flexible Survival
Participants
Date
20/3/2022
Log
(Fenris) The meeting point is an easy trip from the bounty board, just up a couple flights of stairs and into a large storage area near the science wing. An irate looking man in a well fitted business suit stands tapping his toe and constantly checking a very expensive looking watch. "Well?" he asks, "Where are these 'specialists?'" He frowns at a rather hefty looking man in a janitorial jumpsuit who just shrugs and leans on a pallette mover. Beside the pair is a rather sizeable stack of cardboard boxes on a pair of pallettes, each neatly marked with a green leaf stamp and a crayon scrawled address.
(Richard) Okay. Has anyone here seen The Ring? If so, you're looking at that movie series' antagonist's fat twin sister. It's all water weight, I swear. A mist-shrouded, swollen female yokai walks into the storage area and pulls aside her damp hair on account of not actually being some VHS monster that can see perfectly through her draping 'do. "Uh... is... Promethean Studies referred me up here. Is this part of the testing for this form, or...?"
(Bleu) A naked wolfboy pads into the room a few minutes later, his tail wagging a bit as he looks around the room. "I was told "Advance Geriatric Studies 101" was supposed to be in...here... Uh, excuse me, dude? What th' hell is goin' on here?" He looks confused.
(Junes) walking a tad awkwardly you see a feline that resembles the night sky walking slowly inside and asking "hey uh us this the specialist spot i heard about?" looking over everybody in the room casually
(Fenris) The janitor starts to respond to the two lost agents, but the man in the suit cuts him off. "About time you layabouts showed up!" he scowls, "I am supposed to be leaving for a golf game in less than an hour! Now! Get to work! I need all these packages cleared so I can get going." He folds his arms and taps a toe in agitation, frowning at the stack of boxes and at the operatives intermittantly. The boxes in question seem innocent enough. They are clean and well packaged, though a close inspection reveals that a number of them seem to be... ticking?
(Richard) Golf game. Right. Well, he's on his way to a Back Nine of some kind or another, and the wet woman of the well is on her way towards the boxes. She leaves a trail of wet floor behind herself, probably to the janitor's dismay. At least it's /just/ water. "I don't know what you'd be doing here for Geriatric Studies," she says to the wolf in passing. "Unless this is some kind of cross-departmental thing? Does Zephyr even have geriatrics to study?" And to the abyss lion, "I have no idea. Prommie Studies just sent me here to... I dunno, see how well this form lifts with its legs? Half the time I swear they just want me to parade around for voyeurs, I swear..." She's the first one to the stack of boxes, and the first to pick one up. The ticking in her box in particular is muffled by the cloying mist around her, and the carboard doesn't take too well to the damp environment as she hefts it up. "Where am I going with this thing?" She asks the apparent supervisor/country club member.
(Bleu) Bleu humps. "I'm not sure I could explain exactly what the Geriatric Studies are for," he quips, whilst staring at the sharp-dressed man. "Dude, do I look like a stock boy to you?" But, regardless, he approaches the boxes, and starts to sniff at one, his sensitive ears perking. "This box is...ticking. Dude, is this a bomb?"
(Junes) rolling her arms the feline lifts a box following the wet lady shrugs and asks "since were going to be workig together mind if i get your names? im junes and im sure this job wont be too hard!"
(Willy) as they others begin their inspections, A large water dragon that looks a tad familiar to sub enters the area. "Umm...I was told there was needed help with sorting packages?" the Dragon says as he sees others working on stuff, and meanders over to an untouched box, waving a bit of Bleu and Richard.
(Fenris) The executive snorts and flaps a hand at the pile of crates. "I don't know," he growls, "Make sure they won't explode or whatever it is you do! God! I was told you were professionals!" There is a visible vein pulsing in his forehead. The janitor gamely follows after Richard, forsaking his pallet mover for a mop and bucket from a corner of the storage room. Not all the boxes are ticking. But the ones claimed by the group all happen to be tickers. The boxes are all pretty much identical, unmarred cardboard, carefully taped and stamped with a big green leaf. Each has the words "For the Zephyr Egg Heads" scrawled on one side in what appears to be green crayon. The dampness of Richard's hands seeps into the cardboard, but does not seem to really do much damage.
(Richard) "I'm Richard. Rachel, if you prefer," The damp and comparatively diminutive woman says to the towering star-cat. Then she notices the janitor following her and gives an apologetic grimace to him. At least it's not /some other/ fluid, right? Ticky boxes are seldom a good sign, unless you're ordering a batch of pre-wound alarm clocks. Richard looks at the cardboard container in her arms. "Forget the ticking. What's the address on this thing for?" She walks back over to the executive to show him. "Sir, a couple of things - I'm a professional *shapeshifter* for the Promethean Studies Department, and have a look at who this box is for." Her mist-shrouded finger points to the crayoned recipient of the cardboard correspondance. "...I hate to say it, but I think you're being pranked."
(Fenris) Bleu's sniffer detects something familiar... something... breakfasty. Eggs? Definitely eggs.
(Bleu) Bleu looks down at his box. "Fuck it, I'm opening this one," he remarks. "I don't care. Eggheads. Ticking. This is ridiculous..."
(Bleu) Bleu starts to tear it open with his blunt claws.
