Aberrant: War Journal - War Journal: Trans-D

[Heritage]

Prelude, Warpstation Alpha:

The Engineer-on-duty peered once again at the door to the t-port, then double checked the controls at his station - he was sure someone was supposed to have come through just now, but apparently he'd been mistaken. The base was old and falling part, and most of the electronics couldn't be trusted - yeah, that must be it… ::lookaround

- - - - - - -

Sliding effortlessly through the command center like a shadow, General Seaton 'Hack' Hackney, the 'Supreme Scout', was in no mood for idle chitchat, so he chose not to make his presence known. Bloody inbred RA monkey boys never did see a Scout unless you stood right in front of them, waving your arms like a lunatic. As always when contemplating the idiocy of the world, he tried to control his temper, because if he got too hot and bothered, his empty left eye socket started to itch, and no amount of fiddling with the patch would help. The slim, sour Brit hated visiting WS Alpha, hated it with all his being; he had theories as to why General Chimera used it as her base of operations, most of which centered around the theme of punishment. For whatever reason, Chimera seemed to feel Alpha is where she deserved to be.

Well, to hell with her and her Christ complex, why should he and Ballard have to drag themselves over to this tomb? Alpha was a Soviet-style death trap with stale air, crowded bunks and a bitter water supply; staring at wall maps once a week and hearing about dwindling reserves, lack of manpower and the penetration power of the new Cavalier missiles never seemed to accomplish much, other than inspiring fervent prayers for a skystrike. ::rolleyes

At the Engineers' quarters, little more than two bunk beds and a pair of workbenches crammed into a room the size of a walk-in closet, Hackney ran into, almost literally, General Henry 'Manticore' Ballard, the massive, heavily armored leader of the Cobras. Ballard's thick tail swatted at Hack in mild irritation, but the Scoutmaster nimbly dodged it, and the Cobra chuckled, a small avalanche of mirth.

Evening, Hack.

Evening, Monty - how are things in the trenches, as it were?

About the same - we're getting our asses kicked, but we're holding our ground. How are things at 'Mount Doom' - still pressing pants and starching shirts? ::sly

Very amusing. Ready for your weekly dose of angst?

Ballard snorted and shook his head.

It isn't always that bad, but yeah, let's get it over with.

The Cobra chief bowed and gestured towards the narrow hallway with an arm like a tree trunk.

After you.

Hackney grinned and started to enter the hallway that led to Chimera's quarters, but then stopped, head cocked to one side. The doorway at the far end was cracked open, there was no honor guard on duty, and from inside the room wafted the sounds of….a tango? After exchanging looks, the oddly sized couple crept down the hall, Ballard moving with surprising grace for a nova his size.

Once at the door, they peered in upon a rather amazing sight: the beautiful General Renee 'Chimera' Panchal, dressed in a spangly red sequined ballgown and black heels, sweeping a confused and somewhat frightened honor guardsman around her rather lavish quarters to the hot Latin rhythm. Though normally bald, she currently sported a thick head of black hair that she flipped dramatically as they turned and crossed the room again. Hackney whistled quietly and shook his head.

Well, it was bound to happen sometime - she's off her chump, she is.

Aware of her compatriots' presence at last, Chimera released the quivering guardsman, who seemed almost at the point of collapse, and the ballgown melted into a relaxed set of fatigues. Despite her best efforts, a huge grin was plastered across her face, and there was quite a bit of color in her chromatophoric cheeks as she hit the power button on an antique turntable.

That will be all, Sergeant Jacoby - return to your post.

Yuh-yes, madam. ::blink

As the guardsman staggered out of the room, the stunning nova closed the door after him, and turned to lean up against it.

Sorry, you weren't supposed to see that. ::blush

Ballard held up his hands.

Not a problem, Chim - I was over you, what, ten years ago? ::biggrin

Well, no one is ever over me Monty, but okay. ::devil

Hackney turned from his idle perusing of the wall of maps (lots of black and blue stickpins closing in from all sides, he noted), and nodded towards the stereo.

So, what's the occasion? I haven't seen you this frisky in over a year.

Chimera strode over to a small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water - as she drank deeply from it, the thick black hair slid back into her skull, and then she pressed the cool bottle to her neck and temples as she spoke.

Good news, great news, actually, from Colonel Bledsoe over at WS Bravo - seems like the good Doctor Winz has had a breakthrough.

Ballard raised a thick eyebrow and Hackney tried in vain to look disinterested. The lovely reptilian nova dropped into a soft leather chair, took another sip of water, and then smiled so her yellow eyes twinkled.

It worked, gentlemen - the THRONE worked. The portals are open once more. ::biggrin

[Heritage]

Warpstation Bravo:

Some say that WS Bravo is the heart of the Greens, at least south of the blood-soaked "Yellow Brick Road" of I-90. Most folks think of Bravo as being little more than a gateway to pain and death, the last piece of 'civilization' you'll ever see before being warped into some hellhole, where you and your buddies will probably end up at the wrong end of some Joe's assault rifle. But a few lucky Greens know that there is so much more to Bravo than that.

There's the med ward, second only to the newer facility at WS Delta, where the docs do their best to put the wounded back together again. The Engineers consider Bravo to be their home, and are rumored to be working on all kinds of strange new technologies to aid the Greens cause. And they say the mules and packrats at Bravo's T&S depot can get you anything, if you have enough punchcards (and 1st Sgt. Kelso isn't on duty ::rolleyes ).

But there's something far more important at the Warpstation that not everyone knows about - it's not exactly a secret, but if you're just passing through on you way to the front, you might never have a chance to see it. It's a flight of stairs inside the cafeteria, just to the left of the entrance; no sign hangs over it, no reason to think it's anything more than another access tunnel of some kind. But if your ears are sharp, you might here music drifting up past the concrete steps, and if your nose is sensitive enough, you might catch just a whiff of fermented hops and barley... ::withbeer

Locals call it 'Downstairs, simply because that's where it is - a bunker-like space with a low ceiling, dim lights and alcohol, glorious, glorious alcohol. Downstairs is a sort of joint project between the Engineers and T&S - the gearheads make the stuff potent, and the packrats make it drinkable. It's got all the features one expects in a bar - stools, dartboards, a couple of pool tables in the back. There are restrooms that smell like death, and a jukebox filled with over ten thousand songs, and just enough room next to it for the brave or intoxicated to try and dance. Flickering neon signs advertise Budweiser and Ranier beer, and faded posters of girls in bikinis plaster the walls, even a few of Chimera herself from back in her XWF days ::wub

Pvt. Allison Bell is tending bar this evening, a redhead so pretty that you couldn't bring yourself to call her a 'mule', even if she was a T&S clerk by day. She was rumored to have a boyfriend somewhere in the 8th Infantry, but that didn't stop guys from flirting with her - however, her ability to teleport your pants away did tend to put the damper on most would-be Casanovas ::devil

The place is pretty slow tonight - a handful of Cobras pounding down mug after mug of 'Bravo Beer', a Scout in one of the booths serenely surveying the room. Just then, a dark figure ambles into the bar, clad in black from head to toe - Alison freezes for a moment, the way she always does when Col. Bledsoe enters her place. They say he took that Blackstar suit of a Gray he killed with his bare hands, but there were lots of stories about Bledsoe, and they couldn't all be true. No one had seen his face in recorded memory, and the fact that he was always so darn cheerful make you even more uncomfortable.

Bledsoe nods at Allison and gives her a little wave.

Hey there, Alli-belle! What's the word?

This friendly little greeting sounded much creepier coming through the grille of his facemask, all tinny and distorted. The unblinking red lenses of his spectra-goggles fix her with an unreadable gaze.

Um, things are good, sir. Peaceful. ::lookaround

The colonel chuckles, a truly hideous noise.

Good, glad to hear it. Is my table free?

As always, colonel.

(Because no one is crazy enough to sit in your chair, she thought to herself ::sly)

He starts to head back to his usual corner table, then stops himself and fishes a laminated gold card out of a chest pocket, and waves it vaguely in the air.

Going to be joined by a few folks this evening - they're all gonna be on my tab, if that's alright. Oh, and I'll have a gin and tonic when you get a chance.

Allison nods, an unconvincing grin plastered on her face.

That's fine with me, sir - you boys have a good time. ::bigsmile

Bledsoe chuckles again and makes his way back to his table; he slaps one of the Cobras on the back as he passes him, which seems to send shivers of ice down the startled nova's back. Once at his favorite spot, he opens a zippered pocket on his chest and pulls out the Travel section from a ten-year old edition of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, and begins reading it.

OOC: Okay, any of the player characters can now arrive, having been told to meet Bledsoe at the bar.

[Bahamut810]

So, whats it going to be tonight then, eh?, Daredevil thought to himself.

He had just gotten his orders to meet Bledso at the bar. He wasent too thrilled about this as he should be. This could be anything...a promotion, a demotion...new orders to a top secret project dedicated to saving the world, one new nova at a time...

But no. There arent many missions for a baseline of a nova. Not that he was not happy about it, but all the best jobs went to thoes guys who could turn invisable or toss tanks with a brush of their hands. Not much left but little old (highly dangeroud) patrols in enemy territory...and an infultration occasionally. Not much for a 'Daredevil' like him.

He smiled as he opened the door and saw the stairs, and started decending. He remembered reading just that one comic book of the "Daredevil" when he was a kid. He always admired that guy...he was blind but he could do everything better then a normal person! Thats why he took his callsign after all, he was normal, but can do everything better then a normal person.

After a few seconds, he gets to the bottom of the stairs and looks around, spotting the unmistakeable Bledso seated at the table.

So, whats it going to be tonight then, eh? He thought again. Another obscure quote from another obscure source. It seemed to fit tonight though. Going to a bar to talk to a droog (who happens to be your leader!). He felt kind of like poor Peter. Just stumbleing along...going with the flow most times.

He makes his way over, and sits down.

"Hey there sir, so...whats it going to be tonight then, eh?"

[Nullifier]

Pat looked at himself in the mirror and chuckled. He knew he'd have to return the whole outfit in the morning, but the likeness was so uncanny that he couldn't help himself.

In a whimsical mood after recieving his orders to meet Bledsoe in a pub, of all places, Pat decided that for once he'd dress up as something other than a baseline child. Infiltrating the enemy was all well and good, but it was nice to do something that wasn't quite as demeaning or deadly serious. Looking in the mirror, he chuckled again, packed the pipe he held in his left hand with real, fresh tobacco, and lit it.

The figure that walked into Downstairs caused an immediate reaction among the Cobras sitting at the bar drinking. Their hearty laughter shook the tables and chairs. He even earned a good-hearted laugh from Allison the bartender. ::smiley1 ::smiley1 ::smiley1 ::smiley1 ::smiley1 ::smiley1

Ambling over Bledsoe's table, the four-foot-tall leprechaun sat down, took a puff on his pipe, and said in a slured, almost drunk-sounding, and certainly not authentic, Irish brogue, "Good evenin' to you fine gentleman, and how may old Pat be servin' ye?" ::smokin

[Asbjørn]

18 months, 1 week, 2 days, 14 hours, 9 minutes and 12 seconds.

Abwoon, I'll be glad to get out of this hole again.

The tall and well-built man striding purposefully through the halls and tunnels of WS Bravo isn't in a hurry. He looks like a scout straight in from some long-term recon mission, dressed in camo fatigues, worn but well-kept leather boots and an open front poncho, all in faded greens and browns. The ever-present hood that's given him his only name around the base is wrapped around his head and pulled down to almost cover his eyes.

Beneath the poncho an array of tools and pouches adorn his belt, between two old and worn knives, a waterflask and a standard sidearm.

Heading through the cafeteria he casts a glance at the timekeeper on the wall and mentally rolls his eyes. ::rolleyes

Late again... What is it with the clocks in this place?

Still a few minutes early for the appointment, he casually heads down the stairs and stops at the base. Pulling the hood back a little in the darker room he peers around to see who else is there before walking over to the bar.

A surprisingly friendly smile greets Bell as he pulls the hood all the way back and taps on the bar to get her attention.

"Whisky! Or the closest you've got, anyway... On Bledsoe's tab." ::biggrin

He points a thumb over his shoulder towards the colonel's table, and takes a look at himself in the mirror behind the bar. Short-cropped brown hair on a face that looks around 25, deep brown eyes, clean-shaven for once. He still looked like he'd grown up in the bush, though. Not too far from the truth, really... ::sly A slight smile crosses his lips as the redhead bartender appears with his drink and blocks the view - improving it tenfold.

"Thanks."

Running his hand through his hair he takes a sip of the booze and walks towards the colonel's table.

Hope nobody knows the bastard. ::confused Seen him once or twice wouldn't matter, but if they know him they'll see it, despite the age gap. On second thought... Who cares? These guys will know the truth pretty soon anyway.

Closing the last meters to the table he nods at the guys already there and offers his hand to shake to each of them.

"Hood here."

That done he pulls up a chair and faces Bledsoe.

"So this is it, Colonel? Going back in?"

[phoenix]

Things I Know About Bledsoe:

Creepiest man ever

Always wears Gray Blackstar combat suit

That's all - Faith's entire list that she had been working on for upwards of a half hour. It's very professional-looking, like everything else Faith is responsible for, but she has to admit that it was somewhat lacking in actual content. There are other items, of course, the list is actually a good two thirds of a page long - but about fifteen minutes into the endeavor, she had crossed off all the rumors, and only two items had survived. She hadn't been able to think of anything else during the second fifteen minutes, even after literally ransacking her memories. She sighs, and looked at the monitor of her "computer", which shows a half-empty beer and the smiling, frozen face of Allison the bartender. She presses Enter, and the tastefully decorated office vanishes from around her, and the bartender - indeed, the rest of the bar - jumped back into the natural motion of time, which Faith had briefly chosen to ignore, along with reality itself. Taking another pull at the beer, the comely woman stands up from the bar that, to outside observers, she had only just sat down at. Bledsoe himself and his party are still there, where they had frozen earlier for the benefit of her internal - great merciful Zeus, is that a leprechaun? She's used to seeing unusual things working for the Greens, but that's a little too... Green. Still, her composure never wavers, and with a winning smile all around, she takes a seat at the table, sitting between the man in the hood and the one quoting from old 20th century political novels.

"Hi everyone. I'm Faith London."

[Alex Green]

*Bledsoe,* the somewhat frazzled looking Paul Green thought as he walks out of the med ward. *Creepy guy. Like the color Grey. Maybe he wants front line support? Back line support? Some sort of stealth mission? Facial surgery? A warm sunny day?*

Good looking in a non-descript way, Paul didn't really stand out among novas. Tall and slender but not abnormally so, dark hair, light skin, and an overall air that said he needed more sleep. Somehow he vaguely combines both ‘Fresh out of medical school’ with ‘Old enough to have the edges worn off’. {Think John Carter from ER}.

Paul’s medical suit shifts into something vaguely off duty sweater-ish as he walks. *No way to tell but it’s unlikely to be good.*

Arriving “Downstairs” Doctor Paul surveys the soundings, and the scenery. Some stood out more than others, Allison, a leprechaun, and yes, Bledsoe. He walks over to Allison and gets a bottled water and then joins the others at the table.

“Paul Green reporting.”

[Damanor]

Brad pauses in the entrance to Downstairs, taking a moment to look at his surroundings for familiar faces and readily accessible exits. ::lookaround Moving into the bar, he pauses to talk to Allison. To turn himself into another face in the crowd, he uses the worst pickup line he can think of.

"Do have any prune juice? How about a date?" ::cheesy

Once Allison gets his drink (and mentally files him as yet another stupid, irritating flirt) Brad moves on to Bledsoe's table. Nodding at the others, he introduces himself. "Chameleon". He sits down with his back to the wall, as close as possible to the nearest exit.

As surreptitiously as possible, Chameleon studies his companions. *God, I hope the leprechaun isn't supposed to be a scout. Still, I'd rather have him drawing attention than me.* He takes a sip of his prune juice with his left hand, leaving his right free.

[Heritage]

He makes his way over, and sits down.

"Hey there sir, so...whats it going to be tonight then, eh?"

Bledsoe looks up from his paper, nods and sets it aside.

It's Nick, isn't it? Nick Engall?

He indicates a chair with a black-gloved hand.

Please, have a seat! What can I get you?

Ambling over Bledsoe's table, the four-foot-tall leprechaun sat down, took a puff on his pipe, and said in a slured, almost drunk-sounding, and certainly not authentic, Irish brogue, "Good evenin' to you fine gentleman, and how may old Pat be servin' ye?"

The very perceptive can see the bottom of the colonel's mask sag a little - his jaw has just dropped. The red lenses stare blankly at the mythological sprite, and then Bledsoe's whole body starts to shake, and a positively horrible sound that must be some sort of guffawing squawks out of his mouthpiece.

That is hi-larious, friend! All that effort for little old me? Alli-belle, get my wee little friend the closest thing to Irish whiskey you've got; break out the lighter fluid if need be!

Allison's good humor (well, almost everyone's, actually) is somewhat eroded by the sound of Bledsoe's metal-shredding belly laughs, but she nods and keeps up a brave, happy face.

A surprisingly friendly smile greets Bell as he pulls the hood all the way back and taps on the bar to get her attention.

"Whisky! Or the closest you've got, anyway... On Bledsoe's tab."

Allison's seems to be somewhat cheered by the sight of Hood.

Well howdy, stranger! Looks like your lucky day, 'cause I've already got the good stuff out ::wink

She pours two drinks from a spun aluminum flask marked 'Initial Whiskey Experiments, Mark I', and puts it back under the counter.

Here-

She holds out both glasses.

One for you, and one for the little people. ::tongue

Closing the last meters to the table he nods at the guys already there and offers his hand to shake to each of them.

"Hood here."

That done he pulls up a chair and faces Bledsoe.

"So this is it, Colonel? Going back in?"

The colonel has managed to regain his composure at last; he shakes his head and fiddles with his goggles before looking up.

'Scuse me! Yeah, looks like it, Hood - we'll get you back home in no time, son.

"Hi everyone. I'm Faith London."

Bledsoe does what passes for a double take, and then speaks in a somewhat suaver, less distorted tone.

Why Miss London, I'm delighted you could join us! Please, sit, sit! You know, they serve leprechauns here!

Arriving “Downstairs” Doctor Paul surveys the soundings, and the scenery. Some stood out more than others, Allison, a leprechaun, and yes, Bledsoe. He walks over to Allison and got a bottled water and then joins the others at the table.

“Paul Green reporting.”

The black-clad one nods a greeting.

Thanks you for joining us, doc - we've got quite the little party going on here, with a few more due to show up.

"Do have any prune juice? How about a date?" ::cheesy

Once Allison gets his drink (and mentally files him as yet another stupid, irritating flirt) Brad moves on to Bledsoe's table. Nodding at the others, he introduces himself. "Chameleon". He sits down with his back to the wall, as close as possible to the nearest exit.

After handing him his drink, Allison gives Brad the most withering look from her 'get lost, you stupid prick' arsenal, and then turns her back on him. At the table, Bledsoe can be seen to be stroking his chin thoughtfully; he simply nods in response to the shifter's greeting. He murmurs, seemingly to himself.

Almost a full house - soon, very soon...

[Asbjørn]

Hood hands Pat the Leprechaun his drink and raises his own, glancing around the table.

"Well, for those of us with the sense to fill our glasses... Cheers!"

He then takes a sip and almost doesn't make a face as he puts it back down. ::wacko ::crazy

"Holy bone, that stuff is strong. Had worse, though..." ::bigsmile

To the more observant people around the table Hood seems more excited about being here than curious about why. He shakes all the newcomers' hands and introduces himself, then sits back in silence like everybody else for a few seconds.

Pretty soon, to break the silence, he glances over at Pat and says

"So... Are you dressed up for the occasion, or is that your normal uniform?" ::sly

[Prince of Boredom]

Tesseract looked up from the computer screen, there was still so much of this world's recent history he was trying to learn, and glanced at the clock. It was time to meet with Col Bledsoe. It was frustrating really, getting used to 'watching the time' again. There was a time, not long ago, that he could ensure that could always be at the right place at exactly the right time. But he had willingly sacrificed that power to be here, Dullesville they called, but they didn't know how well they had it. Their world, their culture still had hope, still had a chance; his didn't.

He got up from his desk, turned the computer off and willed his eufiber suit into a dark blue approximation of Col Bledsoe's favorite attire, minus the mask. As he left his room and closed the door behind him, time stopped and the world froze. Tesseract slowly made his way down the hallway, navigating the maze of Greens of all shapes and sizes frozen in place like perfect wax statues. As he entered the cafeteria he made his way down the stairs to 'Downstairs', where he ahd apparently caught Allison in mid-pour as the beer seemed to simply hang in the air, violating gravity and every known law of physics.

As he stepped up to the table where Bledsoe and his guests were, the world started again. To Bledsoe and the rest of the inhabitants of 'Downstairs' it appeared that Tesseract had simply materialized from nowhere. No fanfare, no 'bamf' and smell of brimstone, no flashes or nifty effects; he just wasn't there one minute and was the next. But that wasn't the really unsettling part.

At first glance, Tesseract seemd like a very fit, relatively handsome normal (as what passed as normal with the Greens) guy. He stood about 5'10, had the build of someone who liked to keep in shape, and his brown hair was kept short and neat. That was of course, at first glance. What seemed to unnerve anyone that had ever been around Tesseract was this feeling that he was always moving, or shifting somehow. The problem was, you could never actually catch it. You could catch it out of the corner of your eye; the sense that his shape was subtely morphing, but when you looked directly at him, it seemed to stop. And the worst part was, it was constant.

Tesseract just stood there for a moment, his eyes glazed over, seemingly lost in thought. But in the fourth dimesion, his head had turned to the 'left'. He was scanning the past, 'seeing' Col Bledsoe enter 'Downstairs', watching as each of his guests appeared and introduced themselves. Then he turned to look to his 'right'. Deciding that he was pleased with the outcome of the meeting that hadn't yet happened, he again focused his attention on the 'now'. "Sorry I'm late, I'm Tesseract." His voice seemed to echo, like someone speaking from within a cave. He smiled to himself and took a seat, prepared to listen to the Col's speech... again.

[Bahamut810]

Please, have a seat! What can I get you?

"Howsabout some whiskey. I need some after my last mission. Which reminds me...Ill need to pick up my PC's to get some more ammo..."

He nods and greets people as they come, tipping his glass where needed. He makes normal small talkin in a charming way (because im sure we dont wanna RP that do we ::sly ) untill...

To Bledsoe and the rest of the inhabitants of 'Downstairs' it appeared that Tesseract had simply materialized from nowhere. No fanfare, no 'bamf' and smell of brimstone, no flashes or nifty effects; he just wasn't there one minute and was the next. But that wasn't the really unsettling part.

In an instant, his glass drops on the table (spilling what little 'whiskey' there is left) and he is holding a pair of large .45 cal pistols at the arrival. It takes him a part of a second to realise (and not recognise) just who appeared...in a DAD outfit...in the middle of Bravo...and the only person known to really wear thoes dosent teleport (as far as I know at least)...and is sitting next to us. He looks confused for a second...guns never wavering from their target (which happens to be the poor guys head).

"Sorry I'm late, I'm Tesseract."

"Uhhhh...Who? Col? You know this guy?"

[ConcreteDragon]

Sitting at his table by the bar, Eric Ironfeather is content to suck on another Ice Cube and watch the meeting develop, noting the Totum of each arrival. Bear and Coyote, Mustang and Eagle. A good balance is developing...

Suddenly, there is a small comotion---

To Bledsoe and the rest of the inhabitants of 'Downstairs' it appeared that Tesseract had simply materialized from nowhere. he just wasn't there one minute and was the next.

In an instant, his glass drops on the table (spilling what little 'whiskey' there is left) and he is holding a pair of large .45 cal pistols at the arrival.

Please, not another bar fight...

Eric gracefully stands up an moves to intervene. He positions himself at the fourth corner of a box formation, With Col Bledsoe at the far corner, and Daredevil and Tesseract on either of the two remaining corners. He then makes a series of hand signals (for those of you who took Combat Sign language-"No threat", "Stand down")

[Asbjørn]

Hood suddenly glances sideways from his - at least attempted - conversation with Pat.

As he stepped up to the table where Bledsoe and his guests were, the world started again.

Ripples in the air. Shimmering waves of moments forming... a man.

Real subtle, Tess... ::sarcasm

Hood quickly scans the rest of the table to see if there's a reaction to what's coming...

In an instant, his glass drops on the table (spilling what little 'whiskey' there is left)[...]

...and pushes to his feet the instant Engall moves, hand raised in front of him in a universal calming gesture...

[...]and he is holding a pair of large .45 cal pistols at the arrival.

..."Whoa!! Easy, Engall!! Friendly!!"

Eric gracefully stands up an moves to intervene.

A world away, someone is moving from the bar towards the table, but that's not important right now. When the hooded scout sees Daredevil isn't about to fire the next few seconds, he turns his attention on the newcomer and shakes his head at him. ::rolleyes

"Sorry I'm late, I'm Tesseract."

"And you sure know how to make a dramatic entrance... Brilliant, Tess." ::wink

"Uhhhh...Who? Col? You know this guy?"

Glancing back to the confused Daredevil, Hood smiles as he takes his seat again.

"It's cool, Engall. He's invited, like us. But I guess seeing the future doesn't necessarily make you smart, huh, Tesseract?" ::sly

He positions himself at the fourth corner of a box formation, With Col Bledsoe at the far corner, and Daredevil and Tesseract on either of the two remaining corners.

Looking up at the last arrival, Hood grins a welcoming smile and says

"Hey there, pal. Joining us?" ::smile

[Prince of Boredom]

Ripples in the air. Shimmering waves of moments forming... a man.

Real subtle, Tess...

Hood quickly scans the rest of the table to see if there's a reaction to what's coming...

<lots of commotion>

"And you sure know how to make a dramatic entrance... Brilliant, Tess."

Throughout the commotion, pointing of guns and Hood 'jumping to his rescue', Tesseract seems completely nonplussed... it's almost as if he already knew this was all going to happen...

Glancing back to the confused Daredevil, Hood smiles as he takes his seat again.

"It's cool, Engall. He's invited, like us. But I guess seeing the future doesn't necessarily make you smart, huh, Tesseract?"

Tesseract smiles, "No, my dear Mr. Hood, it just means that I..."

[Asbjørn]

Tesseract smiles, "No, my dear Mr. Hood, it just means that I..."

"... knew it was going to happen. Yeah, yeah..." ::sarcasm

Hood's statement sounds like just the latest of a long series of similar comments. He laughs, and adds

"Sit your ass down, pal. Have a drink. The chief's buying."

[Bahamut810]

Nick looks back and forth at the interviening parties, then at Tess, then at the Col. He gives each of them a hard look, tying to decipher what the hell is going on.

He frowns, but decides to give the newcomer the benefit of the dought. His guns spin around (all old west style of course) and dissapear back under the table into the proper holsters strapped to Nicks legs.

"Shit...and I dropped my whiskey too..."

He flags Allison down to get another, and thanks her with a playful wink when it arrives. After a brief drink he finally says...

"So...what the hell is going on around here?"

[ConcreteDragon]

Looking up at the last arrival, Hood grins a welcoming smile and says

"Hey there, pal. Joining us?" 

Releived that the situation resolved it's self, The AmerIndian straightens his long black hair and Jean jacket, smiles slightly and turns to Col Bledsoe. Eric Ironfeather reporting, Sir.

Handsignaling "Wait", Eric pulls out a silver whisky flask and uncorks it. Those next to him him are immediately inundated with the smell of excessive Mint extract blended with Castor oil. He takes a swig, gargles deeply, and swallows, making a horrid face the whole time. (OOC: spend a Willpower to clear up the speech for the scene)

Ironfeather puts the flask away and tries again, this time in a voice that sounds like a dozen animals all trying to vocalize at once. Eric Ironfeather reporting, Sir.

[Nullifier]

The very perceptive can see the bottom of the colonel's mask sag a little - his jaw has just dropped. The red lenses stare blankly at the mythological sprite, and then Bledsoe's whole body starts to shake, and a positively horrible sound that must be some sort of guffawing squawks out of his mouthpiece.

That is hi-larious, friend! All that effort for little old me? Alli-belle, get my wee little friend the closest thing to Irish whiskey you've got; break out the lighter fluid if need be!

Pat smiles and puffs on his pipe, pleased by Bledsoe's obvious mirth, but unsure of how to react, having heard neither his question nor the horrible sound of the colonel's laughter.

Pat closes his eyes for a moment, and the colonel recieves a request from a tinny, synthesized voice over his suit's radio for a secure encrypted transmission from Pat. Assuming Bledsoe accepts, he hears, "I'll speak out loud for the benefit of everyone else, and I suggest you do the same, but this is the only way I'll hear you when you speak. Didn't you read my dossier before asking for this meeting?"

Hood hands Pat the Leprechaun his drink and raises his own, glancing around the table.

"Well, for those of us with the sense to fill our glasses... Cheers!"

Toasting with Hood, Pat studies the newcomer carefully, noting his appearance and the fact that he doesn't seem curious as to the reason for the meeting like the rest of them.

Pretty soon, to break the silence, he glances over at Pat and says

"So... Are you dressed up for the occasion, or is that your normal uniform?" 

Pat chuckles and replies in his normal slurred voice, sans bad Irish accent, "No, I just don't get out to the pub that often, and Bledsoe dresses up, so..."

With the sudden arrival of Tesseract, Pat just sits back and puffs from his pipe, poised for a strike if necessary, but waiting to see the outcome of the altercation. Smiling at the peaceful outcome, Pat takes a sip of his whiskey, puffs on his pipe again, sits back and waits for the meeting to really get under way.

[phoenix]

Bledsoe does what passes for a double take, and then speaks in a somewhat suaver, less distorted tone.

Why Miss London, I'm delighted you could join us! Please, sit, sit! You know, they serve leprechauns here!

Faith grins jokingly.

"Thanks! You know, I could go for a-"

As he stepped up to the table where Bledsoe and his guests were, the world started again. To Bledsoe and the rest of the inhabitants of 'Downstairs' it appeared that Tesseract had simply materialized from nowhere. No fanfare, no 'bamf' and smell of brimstone, no flashes or nifty effects; he just wasn't there one minute and was the next.

Perceiving the air moving to make room for the newcomer even before she notices him appearing, Faith panics and presses "pause" again, retreating instantly to her mental abode. On her "desk" is a large, glossy photograph of the man. Snatching it up, she quickly takes stock of his relaxed posture, lack of weaponry, and confident air, speaking "out loud" as she does so, as she had developed the habit of doing in the safety of her own mind.

"Dear God.. Is he an attacker or just another team member? He doesn't look like he wants trouble, but that doesn't mean much - and the lack of weaponry means nothing at all for a nova, which he plainly is. I could always shut down his mind if he attacks, but if he's gunning for this particular team, he just might be well-informed enough to put me down first.."

Balling up small fists by her waist, Faith growls in frustration.

"Dammit, if he is just another screwball team member he's going to have some nightmares tonight!"

Knowing she doesn't mean it, she sighs and moves to press the Enter key that will re-engage her mind to real-time, but finds herself hesitating.

She closes her mind's eyes, braces herself for the death she's been ready for since high school, and pushes her finger down..

In an instant, his glass drops on the table (spilling what little 'whiskey' there is left) and he is holding a pair of large .45 cal pistols at the arrival.

Eric gracefully stands up an moves to intervene. He positions himself at the fourth corner of a box formation, With Col Bledsoe at the far corner, and Daredevil and Tesseract on either of the two remaining corners. He then makes a series of hand signals.

Hood pushes to his feet the instant Engall moves, hand raised in front of him in a universal calming gesture...

"It's cool, Engall. He's invited, like us. But I guess seeing the future doesn't necessarily make you smart, huh, Tesseract?"

Faith stares, watching carefully (and feeling her adrenaline levels and the grip of her nails on her palms gradually return to normal) as events seem to simmer down, and giving Tesseract a bemused look.

"Tesseract, is it? I'm hoping I don't have to get used to that..."

[Alex Green]

…it appeared that Tesseract had simply materialized from nowhere. … "Sorry I'm late, I'm Tesseract."  His voice seemed to echo, like someone speaking from within a cave.

During the resulting confusion Paul resists ducking out of the fight to avoid starting one. After things calm down he continues evaluating his companions.

Eric … makes a series of hand signals (for those of you who took Combat Sign language-"No threat", "Stand down") … Eric Ironfeather reporting, Sir.

Handsignaling "Wait", Eric pulls out a silver whisky flask and uncorks it.  Those next to him him are immediately inundated with the smell of excessive Mint extract blended with Castor oil.  He takes a swig, gargles deeply, and swallows, making a horrid face the whole time.  Ironfeather puts the flask away and tries again, this time in a voice that sounds like a dozen animals all trying to vocalize at once.  Eric Ironfeather reporting, Sir. 

Pat chuckles and replies in his normal slurred voice, sans bad Irish accent, "No, I just don't get out to the pub that often, and Bledsoe dresses up, so..."

Paul thinks, *At least three novas with speech and/or other physical issues, and I’m a healer. Looking like someone pulled rank to get the novas treated. Well… that’s not a bad assignment. Not if it’s spread out and they understand that quantum backlash issues don’t work that way. Let’s start with the easiest.*

(To Ironfeather) Paul says in his best clinical practitioner voice, “I take it your vocal cords have been damaged?”

[ConcreteDragon]

(To Ironfeather) Paul says in his best clinical practitioner voice, “I take it your vocal cords have been damaged?”

"Yes, you are correct, Sir. Someone made me gargle with drain cleaner... My Eruption was the only thing to save my life, but the Medics tell me it also etched the damage in to my "Quantum Tempulate" (OCC: made it aggrovated damage) After some work they were able to make it so I could talk, but it hurts like a bitch,"

Erik takes a long pause while he sucks on another icecube.

"Hence the foul mixture. If you could help, I would appriciate it, but I dont expect miracles." With that, he gives Paul a smile ::smile and goes back to sucking on the ice.

[Alex Green]

Paul says, "Hmm.... I'm not sure."

[Bahamut810]

Daredevil smiles devilishly at the healer, slapping the guys back heartily. "Aww...comon...give it a try. Your a big bad nova with big bad powers, aient cha? Im sure he would be *ever* so greatful. As long as you dont kill the guy."

[phoenix]

Daredevil smiles devilishly at the healer, slapping the guys back heartily. "Aww...comon...give it a try. Your a big bad nova with big bad powers, aient cha? Im sure he would be *ever* so greatful. As long as you dont kill the guy."

::huh

[Alex Green]

Daredevil smiles devilishly at the healer, slapping the guys back heartily.  "Aww...comon...give it a try.  Your a big bad nova with big bad powers, aient cha?  Im sure he would be *ever* so greatful.  As long as you dont kill the guy."

Paul responds, “No, I mean I really don’t know. If he were a baseline I could do it, maybe needed several treatments, maybe not. If it were purely a quantum backlash disorder then it’d be outside standard healing. As it is… maybe.”

“My powers, both healing and otherwise, have a lot of breadth but not much depth. Rather than a handful, I can heal dozens, sometimes even hundreds. But there are limits to how much can be done with one treatment… and “hundreds” is only if there are other novas around willing to donate their energy.”

“But hey, I’m willing to give it a whirl. We should probably wait till your stuff wears off and see if your condition gets any better.”

[ConcreteDragon]

Fair enough ::wink But for now, lets see what Col. Bledsoe has to say... and with that, he turns to Bledsoe.

( ::blush )

[Heritage]

Col. Bledsoe sighs (is there any limit to the creepy sounds this man can produce?::ohmy) as he pulls out an antique silver pocketwatch and studies it.

There was supposed to be another one coming - probably still waiting on the proper transfer paperwork. Goddamn Mickey Mouse bureaucracy…

The mysterious officer finally shrugs his shoulders in resignation.

Oh well, if she comes, she comes - we'll just see if we can fit her in somehow.

He then picks up his drink, pulls up just the corner of his mask, and pours a little booze inside - a sickly green light shimmers from underneath. ::scared

Mmm, that hits the spot - okay, lets get started, shall we? You've all been selected for an exciting new program, a program that very few people know about, including most of the Inner Circle. Obviously I can't give you many details at this time, but this little get-together is my way of saying congratulations on making the final cut; your names were culled from a long list of potential recruits, resulting in the impressive team I see before me now.

Bledsoe nods and rubs his gloved hands together.

Now, what I can tell you - the work is dangerous, will take you far from home, and may quite possibly change your life, if it doesn't kill you. You will most likely be out of contact with any friends and loved ones for quite some time, since this little outfit will be strictly flying under the radar. You will have to learn to trust each other, beyond even the normal bonds of brotherhood forged in the heat of battle. Much of what you'll see will startle and amaze you; you may even come to doubt your sanity. But I can assure that everything you see will be quite real, wondrous and potentially deadly.

He levels a ruby-lensed gaze at each of them in turn.

So - here's where you have to decide. I don't want anyone in my outfit who doesn't think they can cut it. I know it's a lot to ask you, seeing as so much is hidden from you now - I can only ask you to look into your heart, and ask yourself if you are ready to jump into the fire blind. There can be no turning back once you've committed yourself, but I think I can safely promise you that you will see things you've only dreamed of…and even if you end up dying alone in some lonely place, far from the comforts of home, you will have led a richer life, painted in bolder colors, for having made that choice.

Bledsoe folds his hands under his chin and leans forward.

Any takers?

[phoenix]

Faith maintains a flawless poker face on the outside, but rolls her eyes internally.

So basically, you're going to put us through Hell on Earth and want us to sign up beforehand so we can't complain once we find out what we actually agreed to.

Still.. It's not like I've got that much left to lose. Besides, it's not really a surprise.

She meets what passes for Bledsoe's eyes and nods.

[Bahamut810]

"Danger? Great memories for when im old, that I can possibly tell the grand-kids? Hell...Sounds good to me. They dont call me Daredevil for nothing."

[Nullifier]

Pat smiles, puffs on his pipe, takes a swig of whiskey, and nods, slurring "Count me in. "

[ConcreteDragon]

Erik takes the latest in a series of icecube out of his mouth and adds, My folks are long dead, the the Corp is all the family I have left. So as long as some of you are there, I still have family... I'll tag along.

[Alex Green]

Paul thinks, *Away from here. I’m really asking for it by thinking this, but how could it get any worse?*

“I’m in.”

[Damanor]

"And what are we supposed to tell our friends and loved ones while we're gone? Forgive my hesitation, but jumping into the fire blind has never been one of my favorite things to do, and sometimes I think I've spent too much time away from family already."

Chameleon carefully studies Bledsoe's posture and body language. *Exactly how much of my file did you see when you decided I made the final cut, Colonel?*

[OOC: Rapport to get Col. Bledsoe's reaction to the what Brad just said. (Even though it won't be easy.) What does he think of Brad's hesitation and family situation? And does Brad have much choice in whether or not he goes along, based on his reliance on Green generosity?]

"Not that I'm unwilling to go, but I didn't 'Join the army to see the world', ya know?" He sets his drink down on the table and leans toward the Colonel, clearly interested in spite of his hesitation.

[Heritage]

"And what are we supposed to tell our friends and loved ones while we're gone? Forgive my hesitation, but jumping into the fire blind has never been one of my favorite things to do, and sometimes I think I've spent too much time away from family already."

Chameleon carefully studies Bledsoe's posture and body language. *Exactly how much of my file did you see when you decided I made the final cut, Colonel?*

[OOC: Rapport to get Col. Bledsoe's reaction to the what Brad just said. (Even though it won't be easy.) What does he think of Brad's hesitation and family situation? And does Brad have much choice in whether or not he goes along, based on his reliance on Green generosity?]

Bledsoe tilts his head to one side, and seems to be studying Chameleon - at length, he steeples his fingers.

I'm sorry, Chameleon, but I didn't think you had much in the way of family; I don't know about any inter-personal relationships you might have with your fellow Greens, but there's nothing in your file about family. File's pretty damn thin, truth be told, at least the version they let me look at.

(OOC: Damn good roll for you, man! Bledsoe seems to think you're testing him in some way; he's irritated, but whether he's more annoyed with you or at the possibility someone else might be holding out on him is hard to judge.)

The colonel rubs a gloved finger around the edge of his glass, apparently lost in thought.

Okay - trust issues. Certainly understandable, since we're asking all of you to take a lot on faith here; faith that we will take care of our own, faith that we won't sacrifice your lives needlessly. So let me share just a little bit more with you.

He leans across the table, his breath amplified harshly by the mask speaker.

I report directly to General Chimera on this operation - there is no one in-between. She has personally designated this operation as 'highest priority', meaning there is no limit to the amount of resources or manpower we have access to, taking into consideration, of course, the scarcity of materiel an organization such as this can muster in time of war. This is the real deal, boys and girls, and it doesn't get any bigger than this; it just might mean the difference between spending the rest of our short lives huddled underground with our heads up our asses, waiting for the next bomb to drop, and standing outside in a brave new world as free men and women. So the question becomes, just how much are you willing to sacrifice, soldier?

[Bahamut810]

Daredevil grins in a very pleased way with this new information. He leans over and lightly smacks Chamelion on the arm with the back of his hand (more to get his attention then anything else).

"Comeon man...take a *chanse*. What use is livin' if your not willing to take one in the balls every once in a while? This sounds like *world changin'* stuff here. Dont make us take all this credit ourselves."

[phoenix]

"Comeon man...take a *chanse*. What use is livin' if your not willing to take one in the balls every once in a while? This sounds like *world changin'* stuff here. Dont make us take all this credit ourselves."

Faith frowns.

"Hey, how about we stop busting on Chameleon about this, okay? He's not jumping with joy at the prospect of putting his ass on the line without being told why, well, I don't see where that makes him the crazy one."

[Bahamut810]

"Hey, how about we stop busting on Chameleon about this, okay? He's not jumping with joy at the prospect of putting his ass on the line without being told why, well, I don't see where that makes him the crazy one."

He looks over at the woman with a roguish smile, his former tension totally gone.

"Never said I wasen't crazy. I put my life on the line just about every day, and thats my spare time. Ya just need ta learn to have fun with it! Sides, this is some nix level sh!t going on. You *know* this is gonna be fun. "

[Damanor]

[OOC: I actually intended the " *Exactly how much of my file did you see when you decided I made the final cut, Colonel?* " part to be Brad's thoughts, rather than spoken out loud. ::blush Sorry for not making it clear. Well, let's go with it as it stands - more interesting that way.]

(OOC: Damn good roll for you, man! Bledsoe seems to think you're testing him in some way; he's irritated, but whether he's more annoyed with you or at the possibility someone else might be holding out on him is hard to judge.)

(Fair enough - I am testing him in some way. ::innocent I've probably really irritated him, between the way I acted toward Alison and my grilling him here.)

I report directly to General Chimera on this operation - there is no one in-between. She has personally designated this operation as 'highest priority', meaning there is no limit to the amount of resources or manpower we have access to, taking into consideration, of course, the scarcity of materiel an organization such as this can muster in time of war. This is the real deal, boys and girls, and it doesn't get any bigger than this; it just might mean the difference between spending the rest of our short lives huddled underground with our heads up our asses, waiting for the next bomb to drop, and standing outside in a brave new world as free men and women. So the question becomes, just how much are you willing to sacrifice, soldier?

←

Daredevil grins in a very pleased way with this new information. He leans over and lightly smacks Chamelion on the arm with the back of his hand (more to get his attention then anything else).

"Comeon man...take a *chanse*. What use is livin' if your not willing to take one in the balls every once in a while? This sounds like *world changin'* stuff here. Dont make us take all this credit ourselves."

"You can keep the credit; I prefer negotiable currency."

Faith frowns.

"Hey, how about we stop busting on Chameleon about this, okay? He's not jumping with joy at the prospect of putting his ass on the line without being told why, well, I don't see where that makes him the crazy one.

"Never said I wasen't crazy. I put my life on the line just about every day, and thats my spare time. Ya just need ta learn to have fun with it! Sides, this is some nix level sh!t going on. You *know* this is gonna be fun."

Chameleon nods at Faith's statement, thinking to himself, *Here's someone I can work with. Not likely to get me killed for the entertainment value of it. The Colonel seems trustworty enough, though he would be my superior officer. Not as sure about Daredevil, either; is he all talk, or is he really that loose a cannon?*

Now that he thinks he understands the situation, Chameleon says, "Thank you for your openness, Colonel. If the General wants me with you, you've got me."

Chameleon sits back in his chair and takes a sip of prune juice, fading into the group once again. As he listens to the conversation, he goes back to scanning the crowd.

[Heritage]

[OOC: I actually intended the " *Exactly how much of my file did you see when you decided I made the final cut, Colonel?* " part to be Brad's thoughts, rather than spoken out loud.  Sorry for not making it clear. Well, let's go with it as it stands - more interesting that way.]

(OOC: I knew that was mental, and despite my best efforts a little non-PC knowledge slipped into the post, though if you read it, it still makes sense...in a way ::tongue)

Bledsoe slaps Chameleon on the back, and a hideous sound that's probably supposed to the laughter of camaraderie squawks out of the mask.

That's what I like to hear! But you and Faith are right to be cautious - I would be, too, if the situation were reversed. Now, if everybody's signed on, please finish up your drinks and follow me.

When everyone is ready, he motions for them to follow him...into the ladies' room. Like some sort of S&M carnival barker, he almost dances towards the doorway.

Come along, come along! Wonders await you, thrills and spills and good, clean kills! There's always room for one more!

Once everyone is in the bathroom, he peeps into every stall, shooing a couple of amorous TS packrats out of one.

Away with you! Don't you people have homes?

Satisfied at last, he leans against the door to keep out any more intruders.

Now, where were we? Ah yes, off to see the Wizard!

He pulls off his left glove, revealing a pulsating mass of glowing green goo, shaped roughly like a human hand - the light sends weird shadows dancing all around the room.

You kids are in for a treat - Uncle Bledsoe doesn't take just anyone on his magic carpet ride.

The hand swells up like a birthday party balloon, the eerie green light getting brighter and brighter; it's a softball, a basketball, a pumpkin. Soon it's as tall as a man, a emerald oval six-foot tall stuck to Bledsoe's wrist. The colonel is laughing maniacally.

You don't see this everyday, huh?

And then the oval is transparent, like a tall window looking into a huge, strange room with fluted walls like an ice cream cathedral on a hot day. Men and women in fatigues are tending to an animal, or a machine, that squats in the center of the chamber, shaped something like a huge onion with thick roots that spread to all sides of the room, only to rise up walls that converge somewhere up in the shadows. The room is lit by peculiar reddish globes roughly five feet across, floating serenely overhead, tethered to the walls by something like spaghetti.

Bledsoe gently prods the surface of the oval with his right index finger - it gives a little, and then his whole hand squeezes through some sort of clear membrane to the other side. He wiggles his fingers, then pulls his hand back out with a slurp.

Easy as pie! Now, who's our first volunteer?

::jaw