Doctor Who: The Clockwise Prolixity

[Epiphany]

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Doctor Who: The Clockwise Prolixity

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Consciousness returns by inches.

At first, you are aware of pressure beneath you. Then the sensation of coolness followed by hardness. As the seconds tick by, the pressure resolves and becomes something firm yet padded. The cool metal comes from thin support bars along the bed. Your own waking body's sensations call for more attention, though. You're breathing but it's an effort. It takes conscious thought to breathe. And to feel. Your mind feels wrapped in a blanket, muffled from the world.

Minutes pass and you begin to feel more like yourself, to even be aware of being yourself. Your nervous system has at last sorted out how everything fits together, allowing your fingers to grip those support bars or legs to press against the footboard of the medical bed. Vision and hearing are the last to return, though at first there's not much to hear beyond realizing that strange rhythmic noise is you breathing.

A dull metallic ceiling greets your eyes when they first open. Bright light projects from panels towards the far wall, yet the dark, well-used walls seem to absorb it, leaving you shrouded in light and darkness. There's an astringent smell in the air, of too much clean and nothing natural whatsoever. Gradually other details become apparent. This is a room. It contains beds bolted into the floor for stability.

And the other beds are occupied.

.

 

[Esbilon]

Ahassunu

Her mind is freed from the grip of unnatural sleep before her eyes or ears, and so it is her mind that she first sends out to explore this strange place. It soon recoils, however; the man who was with her what seemed like moments before is gone, and in his place are... aliens. Minds as unlike her own as those of animals and beasts of burden. Not even travellers from faraway places in the west or east are like these.

As sight and movement returns to her, she looks around her with fright in her eyes, and mirroring that fright, she draws up her knees before her, hiding behind her legs. She hugs herself closely as her mouth whispers the words of a Sumerian prayer;

"Gracious Ishtar, who rules over the universe,
Heroic Ishtar, who creates humankind,
who walks before the cattle, who loves the shepherd...
Without you the river will not open
the river which brings us life will not be closed,
without you the canal will not open,
the canal from which the scattered drink
will not be closed...
Where you cast your glance, the dead awaken, the sick arise;
The bewildered, beholding your face, find the right way..."

What others see is a naked woman with the darkened skin of mesopotamia, her black hair is a mess of curls as she hugs herself in fear. Her fingers are adorned with rings of gold, her arms with rings of bronze, and around her neck is a choker with triangular beads of gold and lapiz lasuli.

Spoiler: jewelry

http://sumerianshakespeare.com/media/c86860ffc8069cc7ffff86d7ffffe41e.jpg
http://sumerianshakespeare.com/media/c86860ffc8069cc7ffff86a7ffffe41e.jpg

 

[Purr]

Inside Chauncey's Mind (optional reading)

Spoiler: Inside Chauncey's Mind

Heya folks! This is one big introductory post with a bit of background for those interested. It doesn't directly affect in-game; I just felt like writing it. Don't worry! My future posts won't be nearly this long - it's just something fun to start with! Hope you like it! =)

"Home"

Spoiler: Mood music

"It's a Long Way to Tipperary" by John McCormack. An old beloved English song sung during the days of World War One.

Lyrics:
Up to mighty London
Came an Irishman one day.
As the streets are paved with gold
Sure, everyone was gay,
Singing songs of Piccadilly,
Strand and Leicester Square,
Till Paddy got excited,
Then he shouted to them there:

Chorus
It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way to Tipperary,
To the sweetest girl I know!
Goodbye, Piccadilly,
Farewell, Leicester Square!
It's a long long way to Tipperary,
But my heart's right there.

Paddy wrote a letter
To his Irish Molly-O,
Saying, "Should you not receive it,
Write and let me know!"
"If I make mistakes in spelling,
Molly, dear," said he,
"Remember, it's the pen that's bad,
Don't lay the blame on me!

Chorus

Smiling broadly, the last thing Chauncey remembered before coming to the present moment was sitting down in the comforts of his chair for a nap. He was at home again, home! And he well-remembered how he had gotten there.

After three long and bloody years on the front lines of World War One, after serving day and night without a break for all that time, shooting, serving, trying to put men back together, the dawn finally broke. One early morning Sunday a clean and well-dressed messenger from personnel had hastily pulled blood-stained, battle-weary Chauncey from his many patients on the front lines. There, he doffed his hat in apology and gave Chauncey a yellowed document.

"You see, sir," the dour-faced fellow had explained with great emotion, "you were mistaken for a Mr. Chauncey Round, a farmhand out of Wales! No one in all England had any idea that Doctor Chauncey Roundbottom was anywhere near the frontlines! Not until yesterday when that thing happened you were involved in. We are dreadfully sorry for this paperwork mixup--"

After these terrible years in war, Chauncey was at his absolute worst, at his very wits end. It was now only his Gang that had kept him from cracking under the stress. They were always by his side, but only in his head. To the messenger, he shouted, something he had been long used to as a man in constant battle. "Do my ears work? Did you just say you are... are 'sorry' for sending me to the Devil's front gates for the past three years? Now if someone so much as slaps a table hard, I leap on people to keep them from being shelled? 'Ho ho, it was all a terrible accident, dear boy? Do forgive us?'"

The messenger cringed. Chauncey raged on. "Curse this infernal war! I have had my fill of it! People killing people when otherwise they might be sharing tea! I have watched nearly every lad I grew up with get blown up or shot up or gone utterly mad! I have saved everyone I could but I have lost count of how many I have lost! I have had no reprieve for three years except to get rid of those monstrosities yesterday--"

"Yes, yes, about that, if you will pardon my interruption?"

Chauncey paused to listen.

"Dear sir! You are the only one alive that seems to know what happened! The enemy forces, those strange things, tanks, I think they called them, that came in plowing over everyone, well there has been no sighting of them anywhere! They say you did it! Sent them back to wherever they came! Everyone here says you are to be commended..." Chauncey snarled and waved him off. It surprised him. Chauncey had never snarled at anyone before. He turned his back on the messenger and began making his way through the battlefield to go back to his patients when the man added, "...and you are to report home immediately!"

That word stopped Chauncey Roundbottom in his tracks as sure as an artillery shell. "Home?"

"Yes, sir!" The messenger smiled as if for the first time and pulled a second document from his case. "You are going home!"

*​

"Chauncey's Gang"

Home! The very last thing Chauncey remembered was putting on his overcoat and sitting down in his chair, in his living room, in his family home, for a short nap. He had his cane, his pipe, and everything except for a nice cuppa - he had not had a single good cup of tea in three years. But now, dressed as the gentleman he was, Chauncey was ready to catch train and buggy to Oxford University again and the hospitals nearby. But first, a nice, little rest was in order. And so, top hat in his lap, cane at his side, he nodded off.

It was so quiet. So delightfully quiet. And restful! No artillery fire, no guns, no screaming anymore. Just peace. He was there in this state of mind for a blissfully long time, his first since the War to End All Wars started. He dared wonder. Was this perhaps a little bit of heaven?

And then some daft gang of fools began trying to rile Chauncey out of it...

Spoiler: The Theme of the Chauncey's Gang

"Our Own World" by the Monkees. Because it fits and the Monkees still rock! =)


Lyrics:
One, two, three, four.

You, you blew my mind
You turned back time
You changed my tune
I looked in your eyes
Saw starry skies
The sun and moon

And you’re a dreamer just like me
We don’t need reality
We’re in our own world (Our own little world)
We’re in our own world (Our own little world)
We’re in our own world
That nobody else can see
Dee dee-dee dee, dee dee-dee, dee, dee dee-dee
Dee dee-dee dee, dee dee-dee, dee, dee dee-dee

We been writing rhymes
And trading lines
It sounds so good
We been making plans
To start some bands
Just like we should

And you’re a schemer just like me
Got no fear of authority
We’re in our own world (Our own little world)
We’re in our own world (Our own little world)
We’re in our own world
That nobody else can see

And no one knows where we go or what we do
And I don’t mind wasting all my time with you

’Cause you’re a dreamer just like me
Really don’t need reality
We’re in our own world (Our own little world)
We’re in our own world (Our own little world)
We’re in our own world
That nobody else can see (Dee dee-dee dee, dee dee-dee, dee, dee dee-dee)
Except you and me (Dee dee-dee dee, dee dee-dee, dee, dee dee-dee)
Except you and me (Dee dee-dee dee, dee dee-dee, dee, dee dee-dee)

"Chaunce! Hey, Chaunce!" It was Tommy. Young, bull-headed, brave Tommy who lived in the 1950s as a bodyguard to Italian mafia in Chicago. "Ya gotta get up! It's important!"

What was that? Chauncey wondered.

"Tommy right, Choo-an-cee! Betta wake up!" This sweet little voice virtually pulling on Chauncey's shoulders was Nina, a dear little village girl of the 15th century in what is now Brazil. "Pleeeeeease?"

Oh, God! Did he have to wake up?

"Yes, you must!" The old man with the thick Japanese accent was the wisest of them all. This was Tokurai from the century after that. "A new adventure awaits! There is good to be done!"

Chauncey sighed. "Well, why can't the rest of you be good to me for once and just let me rest?"

"Because!" It was cheery Doctor Vamu. "Heals with Laughter" was the meaning blind African witch doctor's name and he was every bit the phrase. Nearly everything he said was said in heartfelt, positive tones. "If you do not, you might not wake up, and then you might die horribly!" All said with the biggest of smiles. How Vamu made everything sound like a celebration no matter how dire was beyond Chauncey.

More voices came into his mind, all of them urgent and serious.

"Fine, fine! Out! All of you!" They obeyed. After all, they were all the same person. With that, his mind was mostly his own again. He had sent them to the outer reaches of his awareness where they would lurk and wait and hope.

But perhaps they were onto something, for Chauncey immediately discovered it was very, very difficult to attain wakefulness!

Present time

Chauncey's eyes finally fluttered open, not that they worked well without his spectacles. What was going on? Even after one of Lily's drugged-out stupors or Doctor Vamu's deepest tribal trances, Chauncey had never slept this deeply in any of his lives! Something was definitely amiss!

Chauncey took a deep breath and sat up. Where... or perhaps when... was he? This did not look at all like his living room! Where had his family home gone? The first thing he noticed was the smell; this was the cleanest room he had ever been in this life. He was sitting at the end of a row of tables... and each of them had people in them! As he reached for his spectacles, his nearsightedness failed to tell him of the occupant on the far end who had awoken before him.

"Good heavens!" he declared. "Can any of you hear me? It is all right! I am a doctor!"

With that, Chauncey let his time and duty as a World War One medic take over. He tried to dramatically roll out of the bed only to be stopped by one of the metal bars. Grimacing in embarrassment, he took up his doctor's bag and went from bed to bed checking on each of the occupants.

(Player note to all)

Spoiler

I would like to interact thusly with your characters, but if you don't want me to, I'll edit this post accordingly. I'm just trying to have fun and express what Roundbottom would do. =)

Again, my future posts won't be nearly this long. =)

basicallyaMarshWiggle This is especially true of S.A.B., Marsh. Let me know if this is O.K. with you? =)

Spoiler: Instrumental Mood Music

Though inspired by the 1920s, I still love this music and hope it fits the scene. =)
"Easy Winners" for The Sting soundtrack. The score is composed by Scott Joplin, conducted and arranged by Marvin Hamlisch (except for a few songs that say otherwise).

On the first bed (Marsh's character), Chauncey noticed a rather odd-looking machine of sorts. Oh, the joy! A machine to interact with and learn about! But there were two things that, in all of Chauncey's adventures, had not yet until today been covered - robots and aliens...

Chauncey adjusted his glasses. What could this device be? And what, by glory, was the purpose of all these beds and the people in them? Perhaps, he gasped, they were all part of some strange experiment? And this... this gadget was part and parcel involved! Better to take it along! He gently scooped up the little machine and carried it against his chest as if it were a tiny poodle. "Perhaps you will be of use later. Shall we see?"

On the second bed (Subject's character), there was a young man just younger than Chauncey. He was instantly reminded of all the young men he had served with in the war except this fellow seemed to be healthy-looking like any unconscious young man lying in a hospital bed. Chauncey reached inside his doctor's bag and took the lad's vital signs. They were slowed, but nothing seemed otherwise amiss. He thought about waking the fellow, but perhaps that would be unwise. Especially if this was all some crafty experiment! "You seem healthy enough, good lad. I do hope to chat with you... if you are able... if they have not turned you into something... peculiar."

On the third bed (Silanon's character), lay a monstrosity! It was true! All of it! This had to be some horrible nightmare of a science game to some evil and twisted mind! Chauncey reasoned that perhaps this fellow looked just like the one he had just visited, except now the experiment had taken on!

"Oh, in God's good name!" Terrified, Chauncey crossed himself and wailed above the unconscious green-skinned creature. "Just look what they have done! I bet you were once just as handsome as this fellow beside you once, but now look at you! Turned against your will into a reptile! And a detestably ugly one at that! To be utterly transformed turned into some ungodly bloated bullfrog, oh, the horror!"

Chauncey sighed, defeated. How could he do battle with such treacherous science? Perhaps the little machine beside him had some setting to reverse the transformation! Best to work on that later. Solemnly, he stood at attention and performed the Lord's Prayer for the poor soul. He continued his stroll. There had to be someone else he could still save from this devilish fate!

On the third bed (Kaerri's character), Chauncey saw a strong-looking fellow just older than he. He compared this one with the young fellow on the first bed. He bore a terrific mixture of human characteristics from apparently all over the world. He had never seen anyone like this fellow. Could it be that this fellow was in mid-transformation? Immediately, he checked for scales, gills, a tail, even dead flies on his person. Nothing. Chauncey sighed in relief. Then he checked this man's vitals. Like the first lad, this man's signs were strong yet slowed. Plus, this man was armed with pistols and a cutlass of things in addition to other strange odds and ends. A warrior? A pirate of some kind? Best to leave him be and hope he did not awake thirsting for flies or something equally unnatural.

On the fourth bed (Arynne's character), Chauncey beheld a pretty lass. Certainly, she seemed older than he, but she seemed a little like a fey creature from some fairy tale or another. Chauncey found himself admiring her - she was cute in more ways than one, but what of her apparel? Like both of the men he had examined, she wore odd clothing that he could just not place. Was it time to ask the Gang? Chauncey shrugged and instead checked her vital signs. She was much like the others. His attention returned to her apparel; it seemed to lean toward the scientific. How delightful! Another mind to share the sciences with! And better yet, someone else who did not seem to need to carry weapons of war upon their person. Chauncey smiled and moved on.

It was on this fifth bed (Esbilon's character) that Chauncey noted that the body was not stretched out like a sleeping person, but instead curled up and looking at him! Those eyes and her hair, her face, everything about her was tremendously beautiful! Blimey! He was shocked, taken aback, at first believing her not to be real but some strange apparition, but his mind so very well immersed in technology, medicine, and science would not allow further illusion. He needed facts!

He saw that she was breathing, that she was aware, and... that someone had stolen her clothing! Even her knickers! Was there no limit to a person's selfishness as to steal from an unconscious lass? But why leave the jewelry? Could... could it be? No! Perverts! Scandalous and disgusting perverts! These experimenters, whomever they were, were going to get a piece of his mind, by Jove!

But first, a gentleman's duty required he attempt to return this lady to the realm of dignity! But somehow he doubted she spoke a bit of the Queen's English. Chauncey wondered if she were Egyptian. She seemed like a woman from another time, but all that mattered now was that she was healthy and clothed.

With the best of compassionate intentions, Chauncey tipped his hat and smiled to her. "Hello!' he tried to make eye contact and spoke slowly. "I am Chauncey. I am a doctor. I do not expect you to understand my words, so if you please, hear the heart in them."

He slowly and carefully withdrew his spectacle case from the inner pocket along with his papers and pens. Then, he carefully took off his now-empty overcoat and offered it to her, or if she allowed, he draped it about her shoulders and then backed away and turned to allow her to button the coat without his prying eyes... or anyone else's he hoped.

One question loomed over all - what to do in this peculiar new world he had found himself in? He peered at the mechanical device (S.A.B.) in his hands and caressed it as if it were a living thing. How he admired technology. Perhaps, Chauncey mused, he could find a way to activate this device and get some answers?

 

[Kaerri]

Torrey Singer

Spoiler: Before...

He bent attentively over his work, shaving a thin curl of wood here, a shred of sawdust there. Wood was in short supply, most of it going to make the ships and other necessities, and so he'd learned to make his carvings from tiny bits indeed, which required not only more skill but a great deal more care. A slip on a large block, and one could adjust. A slip on one of these little ones, and the intended creature might have only three legs when it ought to have four, and that would never do. He had little enough left to him, but his pride in his craftsmanship was a constant. Some days, he felt it was the only constant...

Torrey sat up straight with a sigh, setting the wood and knife on the table. Apparently, focus was in short supply today too. If he continued without it, he knew, the carving might get finished, and might even be technically correct, but it wouldn't have the spirit he sought to put into each. Very well. Perhaps it was time for something more active. He stood up, folding the knife and dropping it and the partially-carved bit of wood into his pocket with its untouched fellows. He liked to keep a few pieces on him in case opportunity arose between other tasks, when returning to his cabin aboard the pirate ship Firecat was impractical -- those moments between sighting prey and actually reaching cannon range, for instance. And his fellow gunners seemed to take heart from his apparent unconcern for the upcoming battle, which was also a plus.

There was no battle likely today, though. Having taken two prizes earlier in the week, the captain had sent both back to Home Port with skeleton crews, which reduced available manpower considerably, and set those remaining to work on repairing the damage their prizes had done in return before being captured. And at least the captain was a moderately good sort; the prizes' crews (those who hadn't been killed in the attack, at least) were also on the way back to Home Port, under guard, and would be sent back to their own homes as opportunity arose. Torrey knew of plenty of pirates who would've tossed the lot, dead and living alike, over the side without a second thought.

He unclipped one of his sheathed combat knives from his belt, sliding it into his left boot instead. If his mind would focus on fighting today, he'd make use of that. And maybe work off some excess energy into the bargain. Not target practice, although he did take his two pistols. Just because the captain had declared a day of repair and maintenance didn't mean the Government Military wasn't lurking about somewhere, and undercrewed or not, one had to be prepared. No, today was for swordplay, he decided, reaching for his cutlass. Drawing it from the sheath, he inspected it briefly before thrusting it back in with a nod, and clipped it to his belt in place of the knife. If there was no one else in the sparring room (and it was unlikely; the others who shared his rest shift were primarily pistol-men), he could always do a bit of shadow-fencing against the dummies. He scooped up a bit of leftover lunch and tucked it in another pocket, in case he got hungry, and turned to the cabin door.

Awareness returned gradually. When he drew in breath, an odd astringent smell filled his nostrils, vaguely reminiscent of the ship's infirmary. Had he been injured? He didn't feel any pain, not that he felt much of anything at the moment. Part of him thought that worrisome. The rest didn't care...yet. Sensation returned to questing fingers, and he realized he was on a bed of some sort, barred on the sides in metal. That didn't seem quite right. He heard someone speaking. A man, he thought vaguely. The words seemed familiar, but he could make no sense of them. His brow furrowed as he tried to pull his foggy mind into order. With an effort, he forced his eyes open, fingers moving restlessly while his eyes stumbled into proper focus. All motion suddenly stilled, save his heart, which sped into overdrive, as he saw the room around him. Good God, am I in quarantine? I don't remember any leaks -- I checked the seals, the filters, everything! There weren't any tears, I'd swear to it! On the other hand, neither did he remember anything after leaving his cabin for a bit of weapons practice. Had he been injured and lost part of his memory? His gaze darted around the room, noting the complete unfamiliarity of it all. His mind evidently found that relaxing. Surely quarantine would have something familiar, but even the lights were different here.

Then he noticed the room's other occupants.

Most of them seemed normal enough, if oddly dressed. His eyes were caught and held by the one that wasn't normal -- the oversized, bulky blue-and-black lizard-thing on the bed next to him. It had something that looked like a pistol, of a design as strange as the creature itself, and that set Torrey to sitting upright and reaching for his own firearms. Somewhat surprised to find them both there, he glanced down at himself and realized all his gear was present, just as it was in his last memory. That was strange enough, in a medical facility (for surely this was, whatever else it might be), that it shook his focus off his strange neighbor (who, after all, didn't appear to have woken up yet). He turned to the one mobile person present just as that gentleman spoke again.

With the best of compassionate intentions, Chauncey tipped his hat and smiled to her. "Hello!' he tried to make eye contact and spoke slowly. "I am Chauncey. I am a doctor. I do not expect you to understand my words, so if you please, hear the heart in them."

Well, at least he spoke English. Torrey glanced at the woman Chauncey was speaking to, and quickly looked away, blushing. Poor girl, bad enough to wake up here -- wherever "here" was -- but to be naked too, in front of all these menfolk! He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, testing his newly-woken strength, then cleared his throat to catch Doctor Chauncey's attention. "Hey," he said. "I'm Torrey. Where are we, and what the --" He glanced at the women present, despite one not being awake yet. "--ah, what's going on here?"

He too spoke English, with what those somewhat familiar with it would identify as a British accent, but those actually from the U.K. would find it puzzling to determine just what part of the island he was from. Oxfordshire, possibly, or the Midlands, but neither of those was quite right.

 

[Arynne]

Spoiler: Prelude

It was late. In the darkened halls of the museum, one room still had light.

...and they said to Balaam, son of Beor,
"Why do you fast, and why do you weep?"
Then he said to them: "Be seated, and I will relate to you what the Shaddayin have planned,
And go, see what the elohim have done!"

The woman bent over the shattered fragments of a plastered wall, moving and shifting them with the delicate concentration of someone assembling a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle. She had been at this since the tiny fragments had been delivered a week ago, and in that time she had had no more than four or five hours of sleep a night. It had been obvious at first glance that that red and black markings on the pieces were some kind of deliberate design, and the mystery of it had consumed her.

"The elohim have banded together;
The Shaddayin have established a council,
And they have said to Shagar and Ištar:
'Sew up, close up the heavens with dense cloud...

On the third day, she had realized that the markings were not geometric designs, but words -- words written in a dialect of Aramaic so archaic as to be closer to Canaanite. Bit by bit, the text began to emerge. Now, struggling to keep her fingers from trembling with fatigue, she slid the fragments around, trying combination after combination, until the last few lines were clear:

...That darkness exist there, not brilliance;
Obscurity and not clarity;
So that you instill dread in dense darkness.
And - never utter a sound again!'

After that, she knew nothing more.

Darkness, dense and smothering, gave way to dim light, an astringent smell, and the unmistakable feel of a medical bed. For a moment, Ivy Llewis lay still, trying to process.

Obviously, I'm in a hospital somewhere. How did I get here? Was I an an accident?

As her still-fuzzy brain chased itself round in circles, she realized something was off: the persistent beeping and clicking noises that seemed to be the background music of every hospital ever were completely absent. She could hear nothing. Nothing save her own breathing and--

A burst of voices suddenly struck her ears: a woman, saying something in a frightened whisper she could not quite catch but which sounded naggingly familiar; a man speaking soothing words in a British accent; and another man, with a different British accent, sounding confused. Ivy sat bolt upright, then winced and clutched her head as the rapid shift in altitude sent spikes of pain through her skull.

She forced her watering eyes open again, so she could see who was in the room with her, and then gasped suddenly, other concerns briefly driven from her mind at the sight. "Oh my lord...!"

 

[Esbilon]

Ahassunu

A man walked up to her as she finished her prayer. He looked almost as alien as the place she found herself. Well-fed, though, clearly a man of great means, no mere commoner would have such a girth! His words were a garbled nonsense of strange noises, but his meaning was clear enough. Chauncey must be his name, though she despaired at the thought of wringing her mouth into a shape that could form such a sound, and he was offering her his cloak.

"Ahassunu," she said, pointing at herself, as she reached out to take the garment from him. She allowed herself a small smile at that, it was a rare thing for a man to give her clothes, the opposite was much more common.

She stared at the unfamiliar piece of clothing now in her hands. The cloth was unlike anything she had seen or touched before. Thicker than the thickest winter clothing, the threads and seems more carefully sewn than on the robes of nobles and priests. It was unadorned and dark, though, not at all in line with its quality.

Carefully, she draped the thing around her shoulders. For a moment, she considered putting it on in the same manner the man, Chauncey, had, but quickly abandoned the thought. Her movement would be too greatly hampered in the unfamiliar garment if she had to run. Instead, she buttoned the top button and wore it as a cloak.

With no immediate threat in sight, she let her legs slide down again and arranged the coat to mostly cover her, though it was probably a good thing she had long left the modesty of other women behind.

"Thank you," she told him in Akkadian, and offered a smile that would probably do more to communicate her feelings than her words.

 

[Silanon]

Kal'Thocalas

Spoiler: Eleven days ago

This was the day. Soldiers and scientists, technicians and aviators - everyone knew it once the thirteen seers gathered, scanning the sky for the inevitable sign of the Ancient One. He was right there, as close to them as they allowed - Kal'Zeveros on his right, and Kal'Lucadas on his left. Both of them in battle armor, prepared for whatever the future had in store for the Zil'Thaneian blades of the eigth cycle. After weeks of preparation, another attack was about to begin, as soon as the moment to strike was just right - today, presumably, since the seers never were wrong in their prophesy.

They waited there, silently, for what felt like the life cycle of a kyot - calm as always, awaiting the orders of those who were in command. Finally, there was a light in the sky. As bright as a star, but quickly moving, like a meteor - and yet so much more than that. He was about to point it out when the chanting already started; only thirteen voices at first, then hundreds more, one after the other. The hymn of honor, the hymn of trust. And, in the end, the hymn of departure. Only he and his companions remained silent, as demanded by the traditions. If things worked well, they'd be here in twelve days, singing the hyms of glory and victory. Until then - twelve days and eleven nights, to land a strike against the enemies' heart. When the carols ended, he crossed his arms, and those around him followed quickly - a voiceless thanks from those who soon enough would only whisper into their mics until the task was fulfilled. In unison with his brothers and sisters, Kal'Thocalas, member of the eighth cycle, grabbed his mask and put it on. His vision became a bit more restricted, darker - and a more than familiar scent welcomed him. Neither sweet, nor truly delightful; the smell of ash, and death, and glory - the scent of war.

For a moment, his mind is just a collection of elusive thoughts - memories, delusions, even squeaky whispers that sound like a kyot stuck between a gun safe and a wall. Kal'Zeveros, as always on his right, but this time wounded, requesting help. A single glance tells him more than he needs, no medic will ever be able to help him. His armor already prepares for self-destruction, granting him the death worthy of his mighty deeds. Soon enough, the brave man will be engulfed by blazing flames, perhaps taking another foe with him. Something cold underneath his back, hard like metal. Again the whispering, different this time, close to him if he's not mistaken. Instincts take over, his breath calms down, trying to show no sign of his alertness. Kal'Lucadas, almost on top of the generator. Only a few more moments at most, holding position like a rock between the ladder and his prey. His pistol in hand, almost overheating, the angry glare in the closest creature's eyes that tells him that mercy would be ill-advised.
Again the same sound, a bit further away - other noises as well, somewhere, likely close enough to strike as soon as he moves. His hand slowly moves towards his belt, right where his pistol would usually be - the well-known trigger seems to welcome his claw.
Nothing. Why nothing? What happened after that? Did we succeed, or did my body burn just like Kal'Lucadas in front of my eyes? Why do I not remember the outcome, even though I kept the Nameless at bay? Or didn't I?
He blinks carefully, notices unusual lighting, as well as the unfamiliar smell. Not much heat, just brightness to be seen; multiple movements in the corner of his eye - warm, but colder than his kind. Slender, fragile, most likely no threat. All of them armored to different degrees, one on the floor, some of them standing, on two legs just like his kind. But they aren't like him, or like the Nameless. They are - different. Unknown. Why is he here, and not a seer, or a sage? What do they want from someone like him? One has something that looks like weaponry, but no mask is to be seen - an armed non-warrior; or even worse, a warrior without a mask.
Ash, fire, explosions, orders and screams - I heard them through the mask, just like during all those fights I remember... the mask...
His hand reaches out for the valuable item, and feels the well-known contours. Assurance, wherever the war has brought him.

Even if someone has noticed the careful blinking, he will likely not be prepared for the sudden movement of the alien body on the second bed. Covered by black scales, blue on the edges, that remind of natural plate armor if you so will, and wearing a futuristic combat suit on top of that, the creature by the name of Kal'Thocalas suddenly leaps up from the medical bed, landing right on his feet. Each movement seems to be instinctual, precise to a degree that suggests an inhuman familiarity with each single cell of his body. His right hand - more of a claw, honestly, that looks as if it could tear through clothes, skin and flesh with ease - has grabbed the pistol, and points it right at the one who might be the only threat in this place - Torrey. Meanwhile, the head performs sudden movements, mustering each sign of heat and movement that presents itself - most importantly, that includes the other living beings in this room. He ends up gazing at the armed man, and his left hand reaches out for a mask that seems to be chained to the rest of his suit, as if it'd be important. Slowly, almost as if he'd emphasize that this gesture has a universal meaning, he grabs the mask and puts it on, gradually hiding his face behind the item that reminds you of a mixture between bird and insect. Once he is done and his amber-colored, gazing eyes are hidden away, Torrey can likely still feel that Thoc musters him carefully, as if he'd await him to do something. You all can hear a very deep growling, very much like a distant avalanche if you ever heard one.

 

[Kaerri]

Torrey Singer

Torrey whirled, sensing rather than seeing the movement of the big lizard-creature. Idiot, you knew it was armed! His hands dropped to the hilt of knife and sword on his belt, and one foot made just the slightest of movements as if to place himself between the armored black-and-blue-scaled opponent and the clearly non-combat-types elsewhere in the room. Then he paused, staring into the other's eyes in that moment before it -- he? -- put the mask on. Then his feet moved again, just slightly, this time to draw any potential fire away from everyone else, leaving himself the only living thing in Thoc's field of fire. A different sort of mask settled over his own face: one of complete non-expression, the one he wore like a shield in combat. With the same deliberation that Thoc had used to put on his mask, Torrey drew his hands away from his weapons and held them there, not in the "hands-up" pose of surrender but the open-handed gesture of peace. In a quiet, neutral tone of voice, he said, "Don't hurt them. We aren't your enemy." I hope, he added mentally, wishing he could cross his fingers. He'd seen intelligence in those amber eyes before the mask had covered them. He hoped he hadn't missed unprovoked hostility.

 

[Esbilon]

Ahassunu

As the demon springs into action, her eyes flee from the kind man before her and at once the entirety of her attention is on it, whatever it is. Carefully, she slides off the strange bed she has found herself on, and sends out her mind to learn its intent.

OOC: First diceroll! I'm going to use the Psychic Special Good Trait to read Thoc's mind. You can resist with a Resolve+Ingenuity roll if you wish, and in any case Epiphany is the judge of what Ahassunu can understand of such an alien mind.

Result: 8 (dice) + 6 (Resolve) + 4 (Awareness) + 4 (Psychic) = 22

 

[Silanon]

Kal'Thocalas

As the man moves, Thoc's head clearly follows each step, swiftly adjusting his own stand to be prepared for anything. Moreover it almost feels as if he'd study his current target, trying to estimate what exactly the unusual creature is capable of. Meanwhile, the growling continues, seemingly without much of a change in it - you might get the impression that it grows louder as Torrey steps away from the others, but that could just as well be a delusion. Finally, as Torrey actively avoids to draw his weapons, Thoc seems to pause for a moment in response - staring straight in the eye of the obvious threat in the room. Judging by his reaction, a warrior - a strange one, though, either very arrogant or naive. To show that he would not need a weapon, despite all the warnings he gave. So be it. As a response to the peaceful gesture, Thoc lowers his pistol, while simultaneously raising his left hand, spreading its four fingers as if to show off the sharpness of its claws. The resulting gesture is somehow similar to Torrey's, though certainly more threatening. The eyes - they are not like the Nameless. He acts as if he knew parts of the law, and yet he did not bring a mask.

Roll to resist: 12 (dice)+2 (ingenuity) +5 (resolve)=19

 

[Purr]

Shortly Before.

She forced her watering eyes open again, so she could see who was in the room with her, and then gasped suddenly, other concerns briefly driven from her mind at the sight. "Oh my lord...!"

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, testing his newly-woken strength, then cleared his throat to catch Doctor Chauncey's attention. "Hey," he said. "I'm Torrey. Where are we, and what the --" He glanced at the women present, despite one not being awake yet. "--ah, what's going on here?"

Chauncey found himself delighted. Two have awoken and one is another believer in Our Good Lord and Savior! "Torrey, is it? Pleased to meet you, good sir!"

Chauncey then waved gently to get the apparently-scientifically-oriented woman's attention. "Good day, madam, or whatever time it is." Confound it all! Chauncey realized that despite his having a timepiece, there was no way to know what time it was here, wherever and whenever here was! "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Doctor Chauncey Roundbottom..." and here he took a leap of faith, "...from the year 1917. I am as new to all this as you are! Pray tell, does anyone have the slightest notion of what is going on?"

"Ahassunu," she said, pointing at herself, as she reached out to take the garment from him. She allowed herself a small smile at that..."

"Thank you," she told him in Akkadian, and offered a smile that would probably do more to communicate her feelings than her words.

"Ahassunu..." Chauncey repeated softly. What a lovely name! He wondered what it meant and where it had come from and who had given it to her and... well, there would be more time for that later. She appeared to show him gratitude which just made his day...

Present Time.

...but then the reptile experiment suddenly awoke. And he was violent!

If he was able, Chauncey immediately put himself between the ladies and the... the poor befouled devil that was likely once a man! Perhaps it was reverting to primordial instincts of a reptile and therefore could not discern human body language and the spoken word any more! Whatever the case, the ladies had to be defended! This Torrey fellow seemed to be a good chap, protective and bravely keeping the attention of the woebegone fly-eater. Chauncey felt it was time for him to put that opportunity to use!

Chauncey turned to the gadget. He did not want to think of it as his gadget as so far it did not seem to belong to anyone. But... how to operate such a device? He had, after all learned some fine things from everyone in his Gang, and had some practice with technology far beyond his time. Perhaps he could turn the tiny little thing on and it might produce some kind of barrier to defend everyone here - at least until they were able to talk it all out. Nothing like a good peaceful chat to make friends by! Chauncey began his tweaking while keeping an eye on things.

(For the Gamemaster and anyone else interested)

Spoiler: OOC

I would like to attempt to roll Ingenuity + Technology to have Chauncey activate S.A.B.. Should I roll or what do you propose, please?

 

[Arynne]

"I've got to be dreaming," Ivy muttered, hands going back to her head. "That's the only possible explanation for a lizard man, a Brit from the First World War, and a woman wearing Mesopotamian jewelry being in the same room. Classic example of dream illogic."

 

[Purr]

"Forgive me, my dear. " Chauncey reached over just long enough during his duties to pinch the lady on the wrist, just hard enough to tell her - this was no dream!

 

[Purr]

Chauncey tried to get the device working!

Spoiler: Activating the S.A.B.

Ingenuity (5) + Technology (5) + Trait: Technically Adept (2) + 2d6 (7) = 19

EDIT: This is the first time I have rolled dice since The Staff re-added the feature. Please ignore the second roll. I didn't see a result and so tried to refresh the page. It still didn't show so I rolled again. I understand now it only shows when you hit Post Reply. =)

 

[basicallyaMarshWiggle]

Spoiler: OOC

Purr Success! Or, maybe S.A.B. just turned itself on? Who knows...

>>systemsstartup=1
>>memorycore1=0
>>reset:memorycore1...resetting…
>>1%... 5%... 15%... 37%... 78%... 97%... 100%
>>memorycore1=1
>>SYSTEMS_OPERATIONAL
>>setX=27
>>setY=45
>>setZ=178
>>calibrationXYZ=1

A distant blue light shimmered to life behind the bot's single, slightly offset-from-centre lens. Several focussing rings shifted back and forth as the stout, moustached face of Chauncey was brought into view. His meaty arms, elongated and warped slightly by the fishbowl effect of Sab’s lens, could be seen extending past the reaches of visual range.

>>tamperalert.exe
>>tamperalert.exe=intrusion_detected
>>logged;tamperalert.exe=end_process
>>portals:1+2=open
>>mobility=1

Small hatches on either side of Sab opened with a gentle click, and stick-thin arms of dull grey metal unfolded from where they had been stored. Another click, and the rods telescoped out to their full length, almost as long as the arms of the man who still carried him. They gently grasped his exploring fingers and pushed them back towards their owner, even as a quiet, rapid hum began to emit from Sab. The ‘bot floated away from the man serenely, turning this way and that to take in its surroundings and companions, ignoring - or perhaps unaware - of just how tense the situation was between the pair of warriors. Finally, Sab floated up to the same height as the curious, portly man’s head. The lens whirred and re-focussed slightly.
“Have you seen him?” the 'bot asked.

 

[Esbilon]

Ahassunu

The creature's mind is as alien as its appearance, and Ahassunu lifts a hand to her head to steady herself after peering inside it, resulting in a minor wardrobe malfunction due to the improvised manner of her clothing. Paying little heed to her surroundings, she brings her mind close to Thoc's once more and tries to help Torrey convey the idea of an armistice. The alien being seems to understand war, but not peace, so that is what she shows it. Hostile armies fighting, with their richly-dressed commanders clashing against each other. Then the same commanders and their closest troops leaving behind their weapons to confer between the armies. The idea is as alien to this creature as it is to her, but despite it all she attempts to make it see that putting aside your weapon can be a sign of humility and a wish to speak, rather than an act of arrogance or showmanship.

OOC: Using Telepathy now. The mental images can be resisted with an Ingenuity + Resolve roll, but it does not need to be.

Roll: (5) dice + (3) Ingenuity + 6 (Resolve) = 14

 

[Kaerri]

Torrey Singer

Torrey lets out a soft sigh of relief, hardly more than a long exhale, when the other lowers his pistol. Whatever this thing was, at least they'd gotten past immediate threats. That was good. On the other hand, Thoc's raising of his clawed hand somehow didn't seem quite in line with a proper ceasefire. That was bad. But not as bad as the lack-of-shots-fired was good. On the whole, Torrey figured they'd made some progress. He just wished he knew what to do next. He was pretty short on experience with this sort of thing, not having to deal with communication issues when encountering the occasional mutated animal back home. None of those had any intelligence to speak of, and it was pretty much "kill it before it kills you." Ergo, this wasn't one of them. Which left the question of just what it was. Torrey hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation between the noncombatants, but he had caught Doctor Chauncey's introduction, which for some reason included the year he was from. Food for thought, when one had time to think about it.

Which Torrey didn't, just now.

He hadn't moved while Thoc lowered his pistol and raised that clawed hand, but now he allowed a small smile to appear. He was careful not to let his teeth show, however. Some animals saw that as a threat, and he wasn't sure whether this animal-looking person would do so as well. He kept his hands where they were and his eyes on Thoc, but tried to let his body relax a bit. Subconscious cues might work better than obvious ones, just now. He felt almost like he did the time he'd run into an aggressive dog: he didn't really want to fight this guy, whoever he was, and had to come up with ways of conveying that without words.

 

[Silanon]

Kal'Thocalas

Behind the mask, two wary eyes carefully follow the little movements of the fighter in front of him. It's hard to know what to expect, given his reaction: If he is impressed by Thoc's mighty claws in comparison to his little paws, that does not show too much. In fact, his lips seem to twitch instead as if he'd consider to call him out even though he wears his mask - luckily, he does know better than to declare war on the Zil'Thanei for now. He almost seems to relax after that, perhaps it was meant as a warning - showing what he'd be willing to do in all of his arrogancy. Or he tries to provoke a reaction, as foolish as that'd be - after all, no warrior can declare a war, that's what the masks are there for. But as he does not seem to respect the masks, perhaps he expects the same from others? It'd be fitting for an undisguised warrior, at least if the tales are true.

He lowers his clawed hand, just in case the man decides to do something stupid - only a fool awaits an attack with open arms. But before he can do anything in addition, perhaps challenge the creature to either strike or back up, there is a sudden feeling - similar to what you might feel if you dare to get too close to a seer. The feeling as if cold eyes would watch you, no matter where you try to hide. Only that this time, there is more than that - a wave of emotions and other thoughts that don't belong where they are. Other beings that he hasn't seen; questions that he can't understand. But also insecurity that he would not have expected; after all, he's the one out of place here - right? The masked head suddenly turns around, trying to find the one who sees through thoughts - standing next to one of the metally things, surrounded by the others. Of course, it can only be her - just like at home, the seer wears less armor than all others. And given the design of hers, she truly must be well-guarded. That bears the question why all the others are allowed to stand that close to her - the closest one of the bunch is, given his current activity, clearly a technician - why else would he take care of the floating thing that hovers next to him? And the other one who got touched by him - he'd be dead if she was a seer! Just to be safe, Thoc makes two steps backwards - staying on guard as best as he can while returning the seer's gaze. Then, another wave of thoughts hits him - different this time, more on point. As if she'd try to speak to him, more in pictures than in words.

Two groups of beings that look similar to those assembled in this room (apart from a floating robot and him, that is), seemingly attempting to fight each other in a rather primitive manner on a weird, fawn ground. Perhaps, she wants him to help with them, teach them how to win a fight - but that'd be a commander's task, not his, and a seer should certainly know that. The happenings change - as both sides realize that neither of them knows how to fight a war, they meet each other peacefully. Foolishly laying down their arms, trusting that they're better at hiding their second weapon than the others. That's it, apparently. Does she want to make peace, perhaps, and is in need of assistance? Warriors make war, not peace - she's a seer, it's her task to make peace, isn't it? Hard to say what she wants, exactly - and that's what Thoc says. Another growl, though quieter this time. He crosses his arms for just a split-second in case that she understands, stowing away his pistol for just this moment. Then, he warily musters the others - why are they here, accompanying a seer? And why, exactly, is he in the same room, far away from those who'd guide him?

 

[Esbilon]

Ahassanu

It understands! Is the first thought in her mind as she sees the creature's reaction to her attempts at communication. It understands something at least, she quickly amends her thought. Its verbal response sounds more like a growl than actual words, or even the blather of these foreigners. She reaches out in its direction with an open hand, and speaks softly, not because she thinks it will understand, but because that is how you treat skittish beasts. "Do you understand me?" She attempts in Sumerian, "do you understand me?" she repeats, this time in Akkadian. Her tone is calm and calming, but truly she does not even trust that to give sure guidance, instead she turns once more to the gifts Ishtar has bestowed upon her and reaches out with her mind to discover how her attempt was truly perceived.


OOC:
Psyuchic result: 3 (dice) + 6 (Resolve) + 4 (Awareness) + 4 (Psychic) = 17

Well, that was poorly done. Remember that you don't need to resist the intrusion if you don't want to.

 

[Epiphany]

.

.

In the background, the room hums with an unfamiliar, mechanical sound. A distant susurration from the ventilation systems must sound foreign, if unremarkable, to those who've never encountered such a thing before. The thrum of electrical power through the walls, powering the lights and computers, likewise is like nothing many of the people here have experienced.

The air is clean, sharp with antiseptic, an even more unfamiliar scent to those from time periods that lacked the concept, if not the means. And the temperature is...well, about 17 °C, a touch cool for humans. And there's no sign of other activity anywhere. Despite the glass paneling of the walls and the doors, there's no sign of anyone here.

From the far end of the room comes a strange sound. A screen on the back wall panel lights up, flickering through a thousand symbols a second, all of them unfamiliar. Then a whirring, mechanical sound as a computer interface below lifts up and out.

That was English. For those of you who speak English.

.

 

[Purr]

Chauncey's spectacled eyes were wide - there certainly was a lot going on at once here, inside and out!

When the tension broke out between the woebegone fly-eater and this heroic Torrey figure, Chauncey found himself jumping between the tension and the two ladies. They could not come to harm! But then the tension seemed to die down and he was able to return his attentions to the little mechanical device.

The mechanical device became alive in his hands! And then it grew hands of its own all the while floating in the air all by itself! Without realizing it, Chauncey took a step back to respectfully give the little machine space, for that is what it seemed to need.

Finally, Sab floated up to the same height as the curious, portly man’s head. The lens whirred and re-focussed slightly.
“Have you seen him?” the 'bot asked.

And then it spoke! In proper English, no less!

The young doctor found himself so very fascinated and flabbergasted that he was struck at a loss for words even if the rest of the restless lives inside of him were expressing the opposite. In moments like these, there was but only really one option before him.

Spoiler: Inside Chauncey's Mind

Player note: Time for Chauncey's Gang to enter the scene! =)
"Beat Box (Diversion One)" by the Art of Noise. This is a band with a sound like no other and they make a perfect auditory introduction into Chauncey's Gang. Plus, I just can't get enough of the beat and that piano at the end. So grand and smooth! =)


Music and pleasant noise, loud and crystal clear, resonated all throughout Chauncey's mind like one great concert. It was constant with sound and feeling. There was always something playing from some time. He didn't understand most of the music, but he was long, long past worrying about it for it had been this way all of his waking life - this one, that is...

All of Chauncey's lives heard it too for they were contributing to it. From Doctor Vamu in the 10th century, wildly and happily banging on his drums of animal hides, to Kix cheering high in the sky while jamming on his favorite transatmospheric guitar in the 54th century, it was always like this in Chauncey's mind. Something was always playing, there was always energy and strange inspirations. Non-stop. That is, unless Chauncey requested peace by pushing all this to the edges of his consciousness.

Ultimately, he was in control. All of his lives respected that. After all - were they not the same soul, the very same being?

So... inside Chauncey's mind, it was one performance after another, each song expressing something in his own personal never-ending jam session. So too were his lives very aware of what was going on outside. Like an ever-present gathering of movie-goers in a non-stop IMAX theater, Chauncey's Gang were the peanut gallery in his life. Being a peanut gallery, someone in his mind always had something to say.

Lily, the beautiful blonde-haired flower child of the 1960s and 1970s, shouted sweetly to Chauncey. "Oh, far out, man! It's a robot, Chauncey! Y'know, in like those silly comic books?"

Habib, handsome and stylish but not tall, the 21st century lover from the Middle East and France, looked at Lily. He was smiling and pleased. He pointed. "Even better! This is... like a mini-R2D2 from the ancient movie, Star Wars!"

DJ Heavenly, the African-American breakdancer and music maker from the 1980s and 1990s, sounded indignant. Her black curls shook as she whirled fiercely to Habib. "Ancient? You betta step off, shorty!" She crossed her arms and faced Chauncey's memories with pride. "R2D2's my boooooy! You mess with Artoo an' you get wrecked!"

Chauncey stepped in. He waved his hands frantically. "A moment! Just... just a moment, all of you! Will one of you please teach me what a robot is?"

Chauncey's Gang looked at each other. Some shrugged, others moved to speak. John, the 22nd century American engineer and astronaut, gained the floor. The caucasian military gentleman was direct. "Chauncey, recall the Tank Golems we helped dispel?"

"Oh heavens, John! Must you bring them up?"

John leaned forward. "I'm afraid so, sir. Now listen close. The Tank Golems, I believe, were an advanced form of artificial intelligence. Machines with self-awareness. This robot you have before you is similar in that it seems to be an artificially-intelligent mechanical construct likely made to perform specific functions. By its question, it may be looking for the one it was created to serve."

Chauncey wrung his hands. "Oh, I pray I have not offended it by trying to activate it!"

"I doubt you have, sir."

"Oh, all right. So what do I do with it, John?"

"For now, just treat it like a lost animal. Just remember any 'feelings' it might display are also artificial. Programmed. Otherwise, it's just a mechanical animal. You want to help it get to its master, don't you, doctor?"

Chauncey shrugged and waved. "Oh, you all know me better than that! Of course I do! Thank you all!"

And with that, Chauncey returned to the present scene, the sounds of encouragement and applause from "his" gang roaring in his mind.

Outside of himself, Chauncey seemed to mutter and murmur to nobody in an eccentric fashion. He wrung his hands, shrugged, and waved shortly, but not to the S.A.B.. Not to anyone the others could see. This behavior lasted but for a few moments, but when he was done, he seemed refreshed. Enlightened. He addressed the... what did they call it again? Ah, yes! A robot!

"'Him?'" He asked the diminutive droid. "Pray tell, who is 'him'? I would most certainly like to be of assistance, but the only 'hims' I have seen are those present. Do have a peek?" He indicated good Torrey and the scaly, misshapen horror.

Then something seemed to happen inside the room itself! The room became alive and it spoke?

Chauncey faced the far end of the room, saw the monitor, then turned to the whole group. "Did anyone else hear that? 'Language assimilated'?" Then he spied the interface and gasped. What could this be? Almost like a man in a trance, Chauncey was drawn to the interface by the magnetic and all-inspiring power of simple human curiosity.

"Ah, hello?" Full of wonder, Chauncey smiled like a little boy. He spoke gently into the interface. "I am Doctor Chauncey Roundbottom of the British Expeditionary Force. May I be of assistance?"

 

[basicallyaMarshWiggle]

“Pray tell, who is ‘him’? I would most certainly like to be of assistance, but the only 'hims' I have seen are those present,” the human responded. A wave of emotion swept through Sab’s circuitry; an unexpected, yet strangely familiar awareness that he was...tired. Or rather, that he had been once more disappointed. He didn’t have time for considering why or how, though. More urgent matters demanded his attention.

“...Do have a peek?" he heard the human finish. Curious, Sab floated up and slightly to the left, so as to peek over his shoulder at the reptile and the second human squaring off for a fight - or perhaps to make peace.

>>WARNING
>>SubDir_1D=0
>>Expand: Sub-directive 1D=Manners are important.

Sab floated back to his previous position in front of Chauncey’s face. “Thank you,” it said abruptly. Manners; they were indeed important. Chauncey, however, wandered off as if spellbound by the local translation machinery. Sab's lower processed had automatically logged on to the device once it had activated, a matter that seemed of little consequence to him but apparently full of startling revelation for the human. Sab logged a reminder to scan the human later. The human likely would not wish to be interrupted.

>>Obj1=0

Sab nodded to himself - an impressive feat considering he didn’t have a neck. As yet, his primary objective remained unfulfilled; and for the little grey-and-blue ‘bot, fulfilling it was the very reason for his entire existence. Sab methodically selected his next target, floating gently over to the man who was facing off against the lizard. His repulsors hummed as he moved as close as he could into Torrey’s line of sight without completely cutting off his view of the Zil’Thanei.

A beam of cyan light shot from what looked to be a small radar dish on the robot’s front and landed on the the chest of Torrey. It paused for a second before splitting into two, with a fainter shade of blue present between the two beams. It waved up and down,scanning the pirate all the way from his head down to his leather boots, before returning to the point where it had began. The two beams united briefly in the centre of Torrey’s chest once more before retreating back to the ‘bot. The whole scan took perhaps a second, certainly not any longer.
“Greetings,” said Sab in a polite voice. “Have you seen him?”

 

[Kaerri]

Torrey Singer

Torrey tenses once more when the creature before him turns its head to face the most vulnerable of the group -- the girl wearing only the coat loaned to her by Doctor Chauncey. But the creature doesn't seem to have any hostile intent towards her, for it not only stepped backwards but put its pistol away and crossed its arms briefly. Torrey let out a long breath of relief and stood back himself, though he kept a wary eye on the other armed being.

A movement at the edge of his field of view caught his attention, and he started to turn towards the strange panel and the stranger voice that had come from it, but stopped when a tiny floating... thingy approached and cast beams of light over him. Torrey instinctively flinched and tossed up an arm to cover his eyes, but the light seemed to do no harm. He glanced down at his chest, where the beams had merged and vanished, just to be sure, but apparently the light was just a light. Maybe the thingy couldn't see well in here? It seemed to be a device of some sort, but nothing he could recall seeing before. Possibly it was connected to the panel and voice at the far end of the room, where Doctor Chauncey had drifted and was now talking back.

Torrey shifted position so that he could see both the floating device and the strange armed person, and as many of the others as their relative positions would allow, and answered the former. "I see at least three 'hims,' counting myself. Which one did you mean?"

 

[Arynne]

"This is a prank," Ivy announced firmly from her corner, crossing her arms. "If it's not a dream, it's a practical joke. And it's not funny. He can take off the ridiculous costume now. Who built the robot? One of those idiots from the School of Engineering?"

She looked around, and her eyes fell on Ahassunu again. "Wait a minute -- I recognize that necklace!" Her eyes widen with outrage. "How did you get it out of the museum? How dare you treat a priceless artifact like a toy, whoever you are?"

 

[Purr]

The properly-clothed woman's actions caught Chauncey's attention. For one long moment, he watched and listened. Then he murmured again, this time to himselves. "Yes, yes. Stage One - shock. Stage Two - disbelief. By the time she reaches Stage Five, she ought to be all right. 'Ought to' being the operative words. This all assumes, of course, that she does not catapult herself pell-mell into a panic."

Chauncey kept an ear open while he went back to examining the fascinating new technological device. Once again, his love of technology had dwarfed his great love of medicine. "Now then," he spoke aloud again, this time to the interface as he studied it carefully. "Let us see if we can find out... What is your primary function?"