Difference between revisions of "On the Significance of Scars, Part One - RPLOG"
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| − | <div></div> | + | <div></div><br> <br>The small, dilapidated building stood along the edge of the wall separating Xanadu Gardens from the rest of Fairhaven Park. To a casual glance, the building might still seem abandoned, but a discerning eye would note signs of attempted repair and reclamation. It might have been anything, back when it was new - maybe even one of those characterless McMansions that sprouted like mushrooms in parts of Californina before P-Day. But it's been crudely renovated and rebuilt along the model of an office building. It was probably easy to spot back when it was first built, but with the current, wild state of the gardens' overgrown foliage, the building was now effectively set back into the line of woods that bordered the Field of Dreams. |
| + | |||
| + | Inside, it was quite different. Obviously, a significant chunk of someone's personal resources, and most likely some official Zephyr resources as well, have been invested in making this place a functional subdivision headquarters. To judge by the state of the interior, most of the building is occupied by a small but very active research & development team, focusing on both crafting and nanomagic. | ||
| + | |||
| + | The uppermost floor, by contrast, is set up as a living space, albeit a rather cluttered and neglected one. There are concessions to comfort here, though nothing very expensive-looking and much appears to have been scavenged and repaired to the best of the scavenger's ability (which isn't always too good.) There is a sort of nest consisting of a couch on which various pillows and blankets have been piled, and a neatly made, very unused-looking bed. | ||
| + | |||
| + | This is where Acetyl brought Galve after they were able to escape from the Swamp. Too exhausted by the ordeal of escaping to do much more than flee for home, and too shell-shocked to face the crowds in Zephyr's lobby which he'd have to pass through to get to his official apartment, he'd come here, to the Xanadu R&D building. It was hardly ready for its proper purpose, much less to be hosting visitors, but Acetyl had felt like he had nowhere else to go. Totally burned out, he'd plunked Galve on the unused bed before crawling into his unkempt couch-nest. He was so exhausted he'd fallen asleep with his pipe clutched in one clawed hand, lighter in the other, both unused. | ||
| + | |||
| + | Acetyl woke up the same way, hands feeling a bit cramped and tired from gripping the two objects all night as he slept. The subtle, dull ache was very minor, and would have been mildly annoying normally, but it was totally swamped out by the pain in the rest of his body. His nanites were mostly done repairing the damage he'd taken fighting the feral Male Gator on the way out, but his cells weren't done bitching about the trauma they'd suffered yet. Emitting an irritable, throaty growl, Acetyl pushed himself upright in the mess of bedding sprawled over the leather couch and lit the bowl he'd loaded the night before. Normally, infected agents benefitted little from drugs, but one of the benefits of Xanadu Gardens was that the drugs here worked. 'Cet had his suspicions about why, but no proof yet. It was one reason the R&D building was here. Zephyr, and Acetyl, both wanted to know what the hell was up with this place. A pleasant mystery, it was. He had enough unpleasant mysteries in his life. | ||
| + | |||
| + | Of course, exhaling a gout of smoke through his slit nostrils, Acetyl knew he had no one to blame but himself for that. Perversely, being in control of his own descent into the darkness made him feel less bitter about it. At least he was no victim of outside forces. Merely his own victim. He'd chosen this. | ||
| + | |||
| + | And speaking of which... Acetyl's sensitive ear twitched. He heard motion from the bedroom. Why did he make a bedroom, anyway, when he'd always slept on the damn couch...? Still grouchy and groggy from waking up, Acetyl took another hit, trying to decide how to handle what was coming. You rolled this joint for yourself, dragon. Now light it up and smoke it, he told himself cynically. "Oi. You up?" He called quietly, in case Galve had merely turned over in his sleep. But instinct told him the other agent was awake. Something about how the smell coming from the open door to the bedroom had changed.<br> <br>The scent had indeed changed. Still garbed in practically nothing but the meanger rags that he'd fled the cave in, Galve had shifted as he had slept. Nanites had taken over and he'd shifted back to his native form, a satyr-like kemo sheep. Stirring around, the effeminate agent pushed himself up on sore arms and surveyed himself. Pushing his fleecy hair from his eyes and clambering from the bed, he wandered out of the room still completely unclothed, still half-asleep and barely recovered from his previous condition and the exhaustion from the trip here.<br> <br>Sounds of motion. Yeah, the other was awake. Acetyl realized they'd never even had a chance to exchange names. Pilot of your own destiny, indeed, the Storm Dragon grumbled internally, feeling annoyed with himself. You'd be better off sleeping with strangers like everyone else does, old thunder lizard. Well. Too late for that now. Stretching his digitigrade legs beneath the blankets, doing his best not to catch the fabric on his spurs, Acetyl turned automatically, drawing another hit from the glass pipe as he glanced at the doorway. Expecting a bunny, the Storm Dragon blinked and looked around more sharply as a sheep emerged. His nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, but after a few seconds he sat back again, recognizing a native shift. He hadn't been expecting that, but he supposed it wasn't important. He himself shifted around at times, as a Nanite Adept, so he couldn't hold it against someone else if they sometimes found it useful to be something else. For all he knew, the bunny form had been forced on the other agent as part of the captivity. The idea was uncomfortable. The whole situation was uncomfortable. Again, Acetyl turned the guilt he felt into a mental weapon and cut himself on it, bleeding out the guilty feeling so it turned into a sort of self-loathing resignation. He'd had his fun, after all, done whatever he damn well pleased with no thought for the consequences, that night. Now he was sane, sober, and the bill had come due. Time to pay the price of admission. | ||
| + | |||
| + | You've got no one to blame but yourself, man. It's a fully mackin' triple overhead and you're going to surf that son of a bitch or it's going to kill you. And you're the one who brought a board and swam out to the lineup, aren't you, sonny? So start paddling. Catch it, or it's gonna catch you. | ||
| + | |||
| + | Acetyl went to light the bowl again, but found it empty. He sat up, reaching for a low, battered coffee table in front of the bedding-strewn couch, and seized his grinder, preparing to load a new bowl. As he worked, he hummed to himself, not looking at the sleepy sheep. As much as he wanted to confront the issue right away, it was clear at a glance that the other was still in a fragile condition. Better start slow. "Wake 'n bake, man. If you smoke, c'mere and take yer turn. Then food." This all was spoken without looking at Galve, but after a few moments, the Storm Dragon looked over his shoulder at the sheep. "Never caught your name, by the way." He didn't offer his own.<br> <br>Slowly waking, Galve caught a smoke cloud in the face as he entered the main room and staggered for a moment, waving his hands around to clear the air as he coughed. | ||
| + | "S-sorry... I dont smoke." He said, coughing again. When he finally managed to clear his lungs, he moved into a less direct line with the smoking dragon as a precaution. "Galve.... my name is Galve...." he said, replying to the request. | ||
Revision as of 04:48, 19 September 2016
Participants
Date
18/9/2016
Log
The small, dilapidated building stood along the edge of the wall separating Xanadu Gardens from the rest of Fairhaven Park. To a casual glance, the building might still seem abandoned, but a discerning eye would note signs of attempted repair and reclamation. It might have been anything, back when it was new - maybe even one of those characterless McMansions that sprouted like mushrooms in parts of Californina before P-Day. But it's been crudely renovated and rebuilt along the model of an office building. It was probably easy to spot back when it was first built, but with the current, wild state of the gardens' overgrown foliage, the building was now effectively set back into the line of woods that bordered the Field of Dreams.
Inside, it was quite different. Obviously, a significant chunk of someone's personal resources, and most likely some official Zephyr resources as well, have been invested in making this place a functional subdivision headquarters. To judge by the state of the interior, most of the building is occupied by a small but very active research & development team, focusing on both crafting and nanomagic.
The uppermost floor, by contrast, is set up as a living space, albeit a rather cluttered and neglected one. There are concessions to comfort here, though nothing very expensive-looking and much appears to have been scavenged and repaired to the best of the scavenger's ability (which isn't always too good.) There is a sort of nest consisting of a couch on which various pillows and blankets have been piled, and a neatly made, very unused-looking bed.
This is where Acetyl brought Galve after they were able to escape from the Swamp. Too exhausted by the ordeal of escaping to do much more than flee for home, and too shell-shocked to face the crowds in Zephyr's lobby which he'd have to pass through to get to his official apartment, he'd come here, to the Xanadu R&D building. It was hardly ready for its proper purpose, much less to be hosting visitors, but Acetyl had felt like he had nowhere else to go. Totally burned out, he'd plunked Galve on the unused bed before crawling into his unkempt couch-nest. He was so exhausted he'd fallen asleep with his pipe clutched in one clawed hand, lighter in the other, both unused.
Acetyl woke up the same way, hands feeling a bit cramped and tired from gripping the two objects all night as he slept. The subtle, dull ache was very minor, and would have been mildly annoying normally, but it was totally swamped out by the pain in the rest of his body. His nanites were mostly done repairing the damage he'd taken fighting the feral Male Gator on the way out, but his cells weren't done bitching about the trauma they'd suffered yet. Emitting an irritable, throaty growl, Acetyl pushed himself upright in the mess of bedding sprawled over the leather couch and lit the bowl he'd loaded the night before. Normally, infected agents benefitted little from drugs, but one of the benefits of Xanadu Gardens was that the drugs here worked. 'Cet had his suspicions about why, but no proof yet. It was one reason the R&D building was here. Zephyr, and Acetyl, both wanted to know what the hell was up with this place. A pleasant mystery, it was. He had enough unpleasant mysteries in his life.
Of course, exhaling a gout of smoke through his slit nostrils, Acetyl knew he had no one to blame but himself for that. Perversely, being in control of his own descent into the darkness made him feel less bitter about it. At least he was no victim of outside forces. Merely his own victim. He'd chosen this.
And speaking of which... Acetyl's sensitive ear twitched. He heard motion from the bedroom. Why did he make a bedroom, anyway, when he'd always slept on the damn couch...? Still grouchy and groggy from waking up, Acetyl took another hit, trying to decide how to handle what was coming. You rolled this joint for yourself, dragon. Now light it up and smoke it, he told himself cynically. "Oi. You up?" He called quietly, in case Galve had merely turned over in his sleep. But instinct told him the other agent was awake. Something about how the smell coming from the open door to the bedroom had changed.
The scent had indeed changed. Still garbed in practically nothing but the meanger rags that he'd fled the cave in, Galve had shifted as he had slept. Nanites had taken over and he'd shifted back to his native form, a satyr-like kemo sheep. Stirring around, the effeminate agent pushed himself up on sore arms and surveyed himself. Pushing his fleecy hair from his eyes and clambering from the bed, he wandered out of the room still completely unclothed, still half-asleep and barely recovered from his previous condition and the exhaustion from the trip here.
Sounds of motion. Yeah, the other was awake. Acetyl realized they'd never even had a chance to exchange names. Pilot of your own destiny, indeed, the Storm Dragon grumbled internally, feeling annoyed with himself. You'd be better off sleeping with strangers like everyone else does, old thunder lizard. Well. Too late for that now. Stretching his digitigrade legs beneath the blankets, doing his best not to catch the fabric on his spurs, Acetyl turned automatically, drawing another hit from the glass pipe as he glanced at the doorway. Expecting a bunny, the Storm Dragon blinked and looked around more sharply as a sheep emerged. His nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, but after a few seconds he sat back again, recognizing a native shift. He hadn't been expecting that, but he supposed it wasn't important. He himself shifted around at times, as a Nanite Adept, so he couldn't hold it against someone else if they sometimes found it useful to be something else. For all he knew, the bunny form had been forced on the other agent as part of the captivity. The idea was uncomfortable. The whole situation was uncomfortable. Again, Acetyl turned the guilt he felt into a mental weapon and cut himself on it, bleeding out the guilty feeling so it turned into a sort of self-loathing resignation. He'd had his fun, after all, done whatever he damn well pleased with no thought for the consequences, that night. Now he was sane, sober, and the bill had come due. Time to pay the price of admission.
You've got no one to blame but yourself, man. It's a fully mackin' triple overhead and you're going to surf that son of a bitch or it's going to kill you. And you're the one who brought a board and swam out to the lineup, aren't you, sonny? So start paddling. Catch it, or it's gonna catch you.
Acetyl went to light the bowl again, but found it empty. He sat up, reaching for a low, battered coffee table in front of the bedding-strewn couch, and seized his grinder, preparing to load a new bowl. As he worked, he hummed to himself, not looking at the sleepy sheep. As much as he wanted to confront the issue right away, it was clear at a glance that the other was still in a fragile condition. Better start slow. "Wake 'n bake, man. If you smoke, c'mere and take yer turn. Then food." This all was spoken without looking at Galve, but after a few moments, the Storm Dragon looked over his shoulder at the sheep. "Never caught your name, by the way." He didn't offer his own.
Slowly waking, Galve caught a smoke cloud in the face as he entered the main room and staggered for a moment, waving his hands around to clear the air as he coughed.
"S-sorry... I dont smoke." He said, coughing again. When he finally managed to clear his lungs, he moved into a less direct line with the smoking dragon as a precaution. "Galve.... my name is Galve...." he said, replying to the request.
