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Thread: Lucidity

  1. #401
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    Gracing the young Goose with but a glance, Dre spared him a response.

    "If the big question is "Why did two of our comrades have to needlessly die in a mission they should never have been on?" The yeah, I wanna hear their justification."

    The standard god rays that drifted from his opulent hair emphasized his every word.

    "You don't have to involve your gentle soul in this, Bruce. I can voice the concerns of the party myself."

  2. #402
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    In her office, Moriah had just plopped down in her chair. Why, why had she let herself follow White's orders? It was stupid- she knew it was stupid, knew that it was suicide, and yet... here she was, bending down and opening the second-most-bottom drawer on her left-hand side, pulling out two forms that clearly read "Release of Duty: KiA". I was sickening, how avoidable this could have all been. If she had just said no.

    Why the hell hadn't she?

    She was gritting her teeth now, feeling the tension headache form. During her first few years, decades ago, her reaction to a subordinate's death would have been much more violent- crying, vomiting, long-term depression, that slurry of... goodness. If she could cope with this and only wind up getting a tension headache, as opposed the former mess she had been, well... that was a blessing in itself.

    But seriously, she asked herself again, the fuck, Moriah? Why did you say yes? As much as White likes to talk himself up, you're much stronger than...

    She pressed a thumb into the side of her head, working out the tense muscle. If she had said no, White would have turned the world against her. Against them. These poor, young souls that, maybe now, had just a little clue as to how this damn organization worked. They didn't deserve to be the chewtoys of the world just because White had something against her. Looking down at the paperwork, though, Moriah bit her lip. They didn't deserve it, but they already were, and it made her want to single-handedly re-shuffle the order of the council...

    A knock and muffled talking outside of her door pulled her pack to reality. Get over yourself, Mo, she though as she sat up straight. White can't live forever. Someone new will take his place. Hopefully soon. "Come in?"

  3. #403
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    Fallon numbly walked over to her luggage. She slung the oversized black backpack onto her back and picked up her two crates. Her mom always said you overpacked if you couldn't carry everything you brought in one trip. She had taken this to heart, but still was an overpacker by nature, so the one trip was always strained and balanced awkwardly. Fallon approached the stairs and made her way to her room. If she had noticed the procession outside of Moriah's office, she wouldn't have cared.

  4. #404
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    The big D excused himself past Goose and helped himself through the door.

    “I sure hope Councilman White or whoever was behind that disaster has been made aware of what just went down and reprimanded for their incompetence.”

    Like a South African storm, resplendent and thunderous, Dre approached Moriah’s desk and found a pose that best conveyed his anger.

    “I was under the impression Dreamers was a form of law enforcement. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a police force sending its trainees into the heart of a gang war on their first day. It’s close to lunacy.”

    “And what was that nonsense about withholding our powers back there, denying us the ability to defend ourselves and forcing us to rely on the protection of a single man? If this is how things are run around here, maybe my eagerness to join was mistaken.”
    Last edited by Mattbot; January 11th, 2016 at 01:36 PM.

  5. #405
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    Goose shook his head and followed quietly on Dre's tail.

    "I sure hope Councilm--" He started, only to discover that his teammate was already covering this subject pretty thoroughly. When Dre finished his speech, he felt a thrill of courage from the man's words, as well as a large assortment of other thrills.

    What a blessing it is to have such a charismatic leader.

    Struggling to find words, he said, "Ah, er... Yes! All of that!"
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  6. #406
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    Moriah looked back and forth between the two characters in her office with a blank face, hands folded on the table. As Dre made a big show of stating what had already been made apparent, she kept glancing back down at the paperwork on her desk, waiting for all the grievances to be stated. She took Goose's little resounding chime as the end of the current list. "Well, gentlemen, you do raise three very good points here, two of which I can directly answer for."

    "First, yes, it was lunacy to send out a team this green into the field. I'm still questioning why White wanted us out there, but my best speculation is that he had a hunch that Vivid's Army was there, and wanted me to deal with it, and ordered me to take you all along because he doesn't trust you by yourselves."

    Moriah opened up her hands to the duo in front of her. "Which, secondly, is why you were not supposed to use your powers. I believe that its still fresh in your minds how poorly Dreamer Basic actually trained you for a combat situation. That was supposed to start here. We were supposed to assess your abilities in combat and then organize you to be the most combat-effective unit possible. That was supposed to be the first training session, which, as we've pointed out, hasn't actually happened yet. If we don't know where you are with what you can do, then you're a liability, and I'm not going to have a city burn down because, oops, someone set the wrong thing on fire."

    "Of course," Moriah justified, reaching for a pen, "as we oh so astutely put together earlier, that liability status could have been easily avoided if you had just been given the time to be trained. Which puts us back to the point of 'White needs to know what he did was stupid'. And I am working on that," she assured, tapping the end of her pen to one of the forms. "But in order to do that, I need to fill this paperwork out. Now, any more questions?"

  7. #407
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    "I, uh," Goose said, cowed, then backed slowly out of the room.

    Wish we could give that White guy a piece of wisdom ourselves...





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  8. #408
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    Moriahs responses were fairly satisfactory although her first answer had ignited a new concern in the young man. His mind kept flickering back to the weird speech Mr White gave him and his fellow fatigued.

    "I don't think that your scared teacher should hold you back from realizing your full potential."

    When combined with Moriah's speculation about Whites knowledge of the situation, the whole thing seemed super nefarious.
    He allowed Goose to leave the room before speaking up again.

    "I have just one more question, Mistress. You had no idea that Vivid's goons were present before we entered the rift, correct?"

  9. #409
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    Moriah folded her hands across the table, on top of the paperwork. "No, Dre. I had no idea. After I entered the rift, I could tell that its creator was a bit... guided in the process of projecting out her anger. I assumed the worst, so I rushed ahead, but I had no actual idea. Something like what you saw, after all, can just be the work of a very creative person with Lucidity. Or, the unintentional work of a careless psychologist."

    She looked back down at the blank form in front of her. "Damn, that's actually perfect for the report. You'd think we'd have some form of speech dictation for our paperwork, given the kind of tech you can get nowadays, but, eh." She was busy scratching at the paper now. "You'd be wrong." She remained silent, leaving Dre to wander out at his leisure.

    About an hour after the conversation Dre and Goose had with Sanguine, Mei-Lan went around the Manor, informing everyone that the funeral procession was about to begin, and that those that wanted to tag along could. The dreamers that didn't want to go, for whatever reason, were left to their things and a solitaire-playing Poker Face, who's main reason for staying behind was apparently "someone has to make sure the house is in one piece by the time you get back."

    Spoiler for those of you that decided to go:
    The trek, for those that decided to go, turned out to be a rather pleasant (albeit depressing) walk up the side of the mountain, along a path through a thick grove of trees. The top of the mountain, about twenty minutes from the back of the back yard, was a long, treeless field, shockingly littered by hundreds of "resting places"- stone beds, unburnt pyres, and the occasional wrought-iron garden chair. For as many plots as there were, there seemed to be a similar number of people. They were all obviously dead, but the ways that their bodies were laid out, with twists of the torso and arms... they all looked very much so like they were just asleep. Flowers abounded around the graves, and as Jules and Lace were laid to rest- not too far from eachother- Moriah put a single flower next to each of them on their graves.

    After a brief memorial for the two- as no one alive had really known either woman for more than a few days- the party made its way down to the Manor.


    After the funeral party got back to the manor, Moriah told everyone that they had the rest of the day to unpack their things, move in, and mourn.

    The next day started, once again, at five forty-five in the morning after Moriah woke everyone up. Though meetings for the day were supposed to start at six, Moriah waited just a few moments longer to quickly glance over how everyone was holding up.

  10. #410
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    Much to Max's amazement, they had managed to fit what looked to be his entire collection into a single room. His heart sank as he realized that one day he'd need to move the forty odd cases worth of clothing into a single closet. He was barely able to find the outfit he needed within the hour provided, let alone get into it. Maximus caught the group at the top of the mountain trail, sneaking his way up the ranks and adjusting his veil.

    The service was about as worryingly bleak as expected. Very little was said of the fallen's merits, no loved ones were present and instead of the magical three volley salute Dre hoped, the only noises to accompany them into their finale resting place were the sounds of the heartless breeze and his own sobbing.

    Max took a moment to gaze around the vast garden of exposed frozen corpses and gripped firmly onto his fur collar. He was not winding up here, As much as maintaining his dashing good looks long after death appealed to him, this was all too creepy. And besides, his funeral would be far too extravagant for a lonely mountain top.



    The following day came and Maximus made sure to trip over as many bags as possible as he donned his workout get up. Unable to find adequate space in his room, The Big M decided it best to get his exercises done in the freshness of morning air. Outside there was nothing to hold him back from honing his martial talents.

    As much as he hated the eery quiet of the mountain, there was no denying that it made concentration effortless. In an instant he dug into his memories and pulled forth the image of Ambrosia, he made double sure to get an accurate height and smug facial expression. He took a moment to size her up and whipped his left leg at her with as much speed as he could muster. The hit connected with the image and sent her head hurtling off the side of the plateau.
    Last edited by Mattbot; February 21st, 2016 at 07:27 PM.

  11. #411
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    Goose threw a dress shirt over his t-shirt and followed along the funeral group. He had the uncomfortable feeling of standing in an island in the midst of a vast sea, and wondered who would see that island once he joined these corpses.

    After the service, it didn't take long for him to high-tail it back to his room. He had two points of business to attend to.

    Woof.

    You think you're hungry?

    After that, he realized how late it was and hit the hay. He lay awake for a while. Something scratched briefly at his window. Scratching turned into clawing. Concerned, he stood up, turned on the light, and took a look at what he'd caught in the empty frame.

    Nothing, of course.

    Goose sucked in a gasp of air and shot upright in bed. His hair lay uselessly in a pile on his pillow, catching faint rays of early sunlight. A few stray threads hung from his scalp, but he was able to tug them loose with relatively little pain. His situation sank in.

    "I have to go out like this?"

    After a few minutes of soul-searching, he headed out into the halls to greet Moriah for the morning.

    "Just don't say anything about the..." He gestured toward his head, and felt his hand sink into his own fairly soft hair. "...Uh, fantastic weather."
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  12. #412
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    It was dark. The wind howled outside. The memories of violent death were still fresh in everyone’s mind. The smells of rehydrated vegetables, cheap soy sauce, chicken fat, and TBHQ were somewhat less than fresh in Larissa’s nostrils.

    “Mmf, no better time for mad science,” Larissa mumbled, poking noodles into her mouth from a bowl next to the kitchen sink as she simultaneously washed the remainder of the flavor packet dust and dry noodle starch from the plastic ramyeon tray. There hadn’t been any chopsticks in the manor—not that Larissa could find after about thirty seconds of searching, in any case—so she was improvising by pinching the noodles from her bowl between the handle of a table knife and the end of her cigarette holder.

    When the plastic tray was clean and toweled dry, she returned to her room with the tray and the bowl of noodles to once again face the consequences of Avi Ator’s tardiness. In the middle of her floor, there lay what appeared to be the remains of a plastic container that had been wrapped in layers of duct tape until it was roughly spherical, then burst open by enormous pressure from within, like an overfilled balloon. It sat in a small pool of dirty water, as the floor was less absorbent than the contents of Larissa’s suitcase, where the object had been housed until a few hours ago. The burst opening of the object was overflowing with more dirty water, and also with the slick compressed corpses of some dozen or so rats, their limbs and heads squashed in untenable positions, their normally pink tails now cyanotic from drowning in water and each other’s packed wet fur.

    “I know this looks bad,” Larissa said to Colocolo, who sniffed and clawed at the ball and its cavernous, cadaverous interior. “But it could’ve been a lot worse. Lizzie Landing-Gear didn’t mention it leaking, and everything’s in the same place as when I packed it, so she probably doesn’t know—which means the Council probably doesn’t know, either. So yeah, small victories.”

    Colocolo’s ears perked up and his eyes widened in the middle of Larissa’s monologuing. He tugged at one of the corpses and pulled it aside, unearthing a single rat that was still faintly breathing. Colocolo squeaked loudly for Larissa’s attention.

    “Oh, hey, waddayaknow. This day just keeps gettin’ better,” said Larissa. She reached into the grocery bag, pulled out the box cutter, and flicked open the blade. “Silver linings, CC. Silver linings.”

    ***

    The night was a productive one for Larissa, but the coming of morning did not herald any opportunity for rest. Ordinarily, Larissa would have slept through Moriah's wake-up call, perhaps out of stubbornness or perhaps out of spite; but today, Larissa had incorporated it into her schedule as a means of preventing herself from sleeping in intervals of more than three hours. Now that she was awake, she needed a way to keep herself occupied for another three, so she decided to head outside; maybe she'd run across more native Table Mountain species and add to the collection. She held her hand out to Colocolo as she departed, and he scurried up her bathrobe sleeve.

    No sooner was she outside than the heavy breathing and bright outfit of Maximus Dre in training assaulted her senses. She approached from behind as he practiced a kick.

    "Heh... nice one," said Larissa, shadowed and bagged eyes staring sleepily. "I dig your style, Dre. If I had your powers I probably wouldn't bother with how fit my real body looked. 'Course, I probably wouldn't bother with my fake body either, 'cuz I don't really give a shit."
    Last edited by Varthonai; March 11th, 2016 at 09:15 AM.

    part two in progress
    current update: save the cat that you maimed

  13. #413
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    The crescent kick was solid enough Max thought to himself. Its force was mighty, its speed, blinding but the precision was poor. Instead of landing on the side of her head, his foot wound up slicing through the base of the neck. Not a bad result he deemed but not intended.

    "I dig your style, Dre. If I had your powers I probably wouldn't bother with how fit my real body looked. 'Course, I probably wouldn't bother with my fake body either, 'cuz I don't really give a shit."

    Caught off guard, Dre peered over his shoulder and spied the unkempt form of Larissa, a lesser man would have assumed she had just woken up but he was no lesser man. His ego absorbed the compliment like a half starved sunflower absrobs Smartwater.

    "What would I have to gain by wasting my natural born looks for an imaginary replacement. If I was to do so, what would people see when they look to me, nothing more than a simple dreamer or worse, a liar. I would sooner die than be defined by my power alone."

    Streaks of morning sunlight glitzened off his bountiful frame as he stared across the African planes.

    "In time all shall bare witness to the many qualities of I, Maximus Dre. Illusions merely being one of the plethora."

    Returning to his task with several light kicks, the living titan concluded beneath a furrowed brow that the issue was not his aim but in fact his reach. Dre began a heavy waltz towards the nearest sorry excuse for a tree and lunged his left leg as high as it would go before leaning into the skeletal wooden structure. he felt his hamstrings burn as he forced himself into the perfect standing split.

    "Say you did give a fuck, Larissa. With the smallest amount of effort you could easily compete with the likes of Moriah and Tacit Ronin as a face of this organisation, does fame hold no appeal to you?"

  14. #414
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    Larissa had been staring contemplatively at Dre during his split, and took a beat to respond. "Wuh... Moriah and... who now? Oh, ha, y'mean Mei-Lan. Yeah, I ain't the best with their names either."

    Larissa paced back and sat on a flat stone. "But nah. Fame's a sucker's game. Not to say I can't respect a fella for chasin' it in spite a that, mind you, but why make life harder than it already is? Bein' the face of an organization sounds fine and dandy, but then one day you realize you don't have any actual control because you're just a figurehead for a buncha old 'White' Councilmen. And also, all your organization really stands for is sending teenagers to die horribly for no goddamn reason. I'd rather work alone."

    Colocolo squeaked and poked his head out from Larissa's collar to nuzzle her neck. "Well, y'know. Mostly alone. Some folks, I can tolerate in doses."

    part two in progress
    current update: save the cat that you maimed

  15. #415
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    Removing himself from the tree with as much grace as illusions would allow, the wise and magnificent Dre took several moments to examine the rodent from a distance before finally addressing it.

    "Interesting fashion accessory, most style-abiding citizens limit themselves to simple gimmicks like a dog in their handbag or snake wrapped around their leg. You could take Pure London 2195 by storm with this companion of yours."

    He dare not ask if the rat had once been human, lest he incur her magic as well.

    Not that I couldn't make it look good, it would just make tweeting a chore.

    "I had hoped those in charge would take note after yesterdays events but that graveyard doesn't inspire much confidence. Its almost funny, the moment you gain immortality, your life expectancy drops like a crate of Fishing for Fashion or worse, cut entirely."

    Max unclenched his hands and tried to shift the conversation away from death and despair.

    "So how'd you wind up discovering your gifts? I was doing a shoot for Angels Unchained when I spun my first spell, a pose so pure and godly, no living being could hold their ground before it. The experience nearly broke me, were I a weaker model, the following two hours could have seen my destruction."

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    "Nice," said Larissa. "I found out about my powers when I used them to kill my mom."

    Larissa's contemplative gaze moved from Dre's legs to his eyes. Her own eyes narrowed and her muscles tensed as she scanned his features preemptively.

    part two in progress
    current update: save the cat that you maimed

  17. #417
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    The hour before the funeral was spent changing into almost identical black clothing and then sitting on her bed staring at her watch with her knees pulled to her chest. 5 minutes before she was due downstairs, she got up and walked down. Doing her best to not look anyone in the eyes, Fallon attended the ceremony and only wept as silently as she could. She stayed at the hill alone after everyone had left and say by her victim's final resting place.

  18. #418
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    Of course she did, why would it be something normal.

    Dre stood dramatically in silence for just over a moment as his mind pondered all the different scenarios and reasons. He would admit the relationship between himself and his father was complicated to antagonistic but as a proud semi Italian, family meant everything to Max and he would never in his darkest hour harm those who raised him.

    Snapping back to the somewhat disconcerting stare of Larissa, he narrowed his gaze questionably and addressed her.

    "You don't seem too upset about it."

  19. #419
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    "Well I don't actually remember any of it, is the thing," said Larissa, still studying Dre's face closely. "She was a Vivid cultist, see, like I'm guessin' them two we ran into in Seattle was. I was gonna be some kinda avatar for channeling his memories or whatever, and I spent my childhood and adolescence in a strung-out drug-fueled haze while they had me eatin' baby flesh and havin' orgies with high priests who were dressed up in 19th century period costume like the Marquis de Sade, 'til they got raided, and I got 'rescued' and hauled to Dreamer Basic. Apparently I got carried away durin' one of the holy feasts, turned my mom into a frog, cooked her, and served the high priests her legs. Then they both died from burst stomachs and intestines later 'cuz the half-digested frog legs suddenly regained the mass of human legs after my powers wore off. I guess you could say that when they recruited my family they bit off more than they could chew, eh? Eh?"
    Last edited by Varthonai; April 7th, 2016 at 12:22 AM.

    part two in progress
    current update: save the cat that you maimed

  20. #420
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    Dre hid a smirk of amusement behind his serious facade. The woman could spin a good yarn but not good enough to fool one as perceptive as he.

    I was a fool to believe you would open up to me so soon, it had only been two days after all.

    "Uh huh, I'm sure it was tough for you to recover from such horrid events. Truly bio worthy."

    "I'm gonna hit the track, arrivederci."

    Although more resistant than the others, in time she shall join the flock and swear loyalty to The Dre.

  21. #421
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    "A presto, handsome," Larissa said, smiling slightly as Dre left, then turning to face the wilderness of the Table's plateau. She rubbed Colocolo where he'd perched on her left shoulder and began to walk forward.

    part two in progress
    current update: save the cat that you maimed

  22. #422
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    Moriah, Branson, Mei-Lan, Poker Face... they were all waiting at the table in the dining room. It was quiet. Food was getting cold. There was a certain rawness to Moriah's breath as she inhaled, slowly but deeply. The only people that were sitting with them were...

    It was Goose. Just Goose.

    Moriah's index fingers pressed into her temples as something along the lines of I swear to god rumbled around in her mind. They had lost two people yesterday, not eight. Where were they all off to? They. Could. Absolutely. NOT. Afford another off-day. Not yet. Not after what they had seen.

    "Goose, go ahead and start eating. Same for you guys," She grumbled to the table as she got up and went back upstairs. She wanted, deep in her heart, to just do what she had done the first time around that morning, a generally loud call to food. She really did. But, that had obviously not worked, and she was beginning to lose patience. At first, her mind flew to the idea of the patriotic vuvuzela, but her reason stopped her. The sounds could be permanently deafening if listened to up-close, and she didn't want to cause any more harm to the poor, poor rag-tag bunch. She tried to think back to any situations that might be of use, and it dawned on her....

    Thinking back to the kitchen, she borrowed the metal from her pistols to form a frying pan and a serving spoon, proceeding to hit the two together to make very loud, discordant CLANG, CLANG, CLANG. "RISE AND SHINE, EVERYBODY! THE SUN IS GREETING US WITH A NEW DAY, AND WE SHOULD ALL GET UP AND AT LEAST ACKNOWLEDGE IT! UP! AND! AT 'EM!"

    The noise was, of course, heard downstairs, and a good few meters away from the manor exterior.

  23. #423
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    Larissa sighed. "Duty calls," she mumbled at Colocolo, and headed across the earthy plateau and back into the mansion.

    "'Sup, Sanguine," she said as she strode in. "What, you couldn't afford a vuvuzela?"

    part two in progress
    current update: save the cat that you maimed

  24. #424
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    Fallon stood up from sitting on her bed and walked down stairs. Without saying a word, she took a seat at the breakfast table and started eating a bowl cereal.

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