[IC] TotMV:G^2: Clash of Fate: The Courtyard (Social/Prep Phase)

[Hal Henderics]

Grant just smiles innocently.

 

"Magic, huh? So what, you all can just DO stuff then?  Like, Throwing fire and pulling rabbits out of hats?"

[Powder Miner]

Grant's innocent smile put another degree of worry onto Perlita's face, but she pressed onwards to answer his question anyway. "'Uh... yes, but we all have different ways that we can do it, and different things we do. I use a kind of... manifestation thing called a Persona," and she had no intention of showing hers to this guy until she couldn't get away with not doing it, because her Persona's form was embarrassing enough without this kind of guy commenting on it, "which lets me cast spells that heal people, or a couple of light spells for attack. Um, I have a friend who can do other things like fire and radiation spells with the same method," and here Perlita caught Gabriel's eye and gestured him over to give her a little bit of backup with this guy, "but there are also people with, like, magic of a giant sphere of blood, or fiery sword magics, and things like that... also people without magic, but they're good at other things."

[Zetaark]

Entering the courtyard after her maintenance work, Ritsu began to look for anyone who may be able to assist her in finding a method for the now plush Lancer to communicate with the others. As she wandered around a bit, noticing a few new faces, she came to a realization. Holding Lancer to her face, Ritsu began to test whether this realization had any merit.

 

"I'm not entirely sure why I didn't think to do this earlier, but it's no matter. Lancer, I'll be asking a few yes or no questions. Nod if yes, shake if no. Are you able and willing to comply?" she decides to ask, basing her next actions on her response.

[Chevaleresse]

The plush was still for a few moments. And then, a slight up and down motion of the head. Hesitant, or just difficult? Hard to tell.

[UrbanSamurai]

Magnum

 

"Let's see if you can strut your stuff." Magnum pulls LOTUS inside the bus, carefully placing it down upon the lunch table as he bent to retrieve from something underneath the table. He emerges to slam down what looks like a boom box, if all of the paneling was instead replaced with a single large emerald button. He reaches onto the side of the box, yanking out an old school HDMI cable from the side. Magnum connects the cable to LOTUS and then...

 

Mile High Stadium - Denver, Colorado

 

Your remaining players walk through the wreckage of the football field. Roads lie in disrepair between buildings that were abandoned long ago, decorated with barbed wire and plywood barricades. A trash bag rolls down the street like a tumbleweed. A group of feral dogs plunder a trash can. Sirens ring out in the distance. Someone, somewhere, succumbs to malaria. A Denver Bronco almost collapses in front of a ruined building, it's his childhood schoolhouse.

 

Your Broncos have lost many, but the Carolina Panthers have been eliminated with their royal blue uniforms lying in unnamed mass graves. All eliminated but Him, The One Who Dabs. 

 

Your Broncos approach the megalithic building in the dead center of the field. A concoction of materials that have evolved over time so that the foundations are brick and mortar and every higher floor increasingly more advanced until those ultra-modern penthouses sit above the clouds so that you can't even see them from the ground. A relic like an organic architectural history book. You've seen those sheer cliffs where each differently colored layer shows a different age? Like that, but in a building. An affront to humanity. He's up there.

 

A perimeter has been drawn around the building in a roughly 100 meter radius. Like the building itself, the perimeter is made of composite materials: chalk, paint, charcoal, blood. It surrounds the tower like the police outline around a cadaver. One brave Bronco charges forward, making it three steps past the barrier. The severing: first it's his fingers and toes, then wrists and ankles. The invisible wires cut him up like that all the way up until he is human fillet. It is too fast, too jarring, for him to react or make a squeal of existential pain and fear. There is just meat and his comrades look away. One loses his lunch.  

 

It's the 5839492th official quarter of OverTime. There are nine people in the audience in a stadium that can hold 350,000 at maximum capacity. The game is tied 27-27, sudden death rules apply. Next score wins. And He is the one who has been holding onto the ball this whole time.

 

"Alright tablet boy, what are you fixing to do now?"

 

Rampart

 

Press gives Lexiel a firm business handshake. "I'm a skeptic, but I hope that in the end you're right about that. It's refreshing to know that someone on here has some experience on a force, from what I can tell the folks here are y'know, kinda'...disparate? Is that the word? Anyhoo, I expected more uniformity but it looks like more of a 'take what you can get' situation. Reminds me of my army days with the militias. You'd be shocked to see what a Filipino can do with a machete in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other. Usually not good things, but still impressive in that kind of manic way they have."

 

 Press ducks around when the gunshots go off, and identifies Grant as the kid with a revolver. "Hey asshole, read about trigger discipline for once in your life you fucking square!" He shakes his head and returns to Lexiel, "This is exactly like working in a militia, we must be a few milk cans short of a ration." He pulls out his box of cigarettes almost reflexively from his breastpocket and shakes it at Lexiel as an offer of good will between vets. 

 

[Hal Henderics]

"Is that so?  It's enough to make a man feel inadequate."  Grant says, visibly thinking of ways to shorten the gap between him and his new allies.

[Zetaark]

Seeing the plush nod at the earlier question, Ritsu smiles, realizing that this could work out, at least for a preliminary means of communication. "Good to know this is a viable means of communication, at least for now. At any rate..." Ritsu stops to think about how the servants were normally contracted to someone and wondered whether the link still existed in this state, or whether one was present at all. "I'm not entirely sure if you can tell, but are you currently contracted to someone or something? If you can't tell...shrug I suppose, or if that's not an option, shake your head twice."

[Powder Miner]

LOTUS

"Well, this seems unconventional," were LOTUS' very first words as he took in the situation presented to him by the simulation. Not the simple sports match he had been expecting, but rather a matter of life and death, the conclusion of a conflict that had taken its toll and now simply rested on one climax performed by tired troops in desperate need of a plan. ...all in all, it was a situation that was far better suited for his experience and skillset. Yes, he could work with this indeed. But first up would come his overall analysis of the situation, his analysis of the goal, and the overall direction of his strategy.

 

"As I am understand, the goal is to retrieve the ball from the One who Dabs and place it within the end zone that will give the Denver Broncos the score to win the game. As I understand, the situation is that the construction of the fortifications of the Carolina Panthers has allowed for a stalemate despite the destruction of the Panthers forces, a stalemate and war which appear to have essentially completely devastated the entire area. They appear to have put their entire fortifications as one tower, with the base a weakpoint.

 

Therefore, my plan will consist of four parts. The first part will be to ascertain information and to take apart the perimeter that prevents access to the tower's base. The second step is to prepare the demolition of the tower such that the One who Dabs does not survive, and that the ball lands as close to within the stadium and not within the end zones as possible. If the ball is within the Broncos endzone and is held by the One Who Dabs' corpse, this is a losing condition and must also be avoided. The third step is to perform the demolition of the tower. The fourth step is to secure the ball after the demolition and place it into the Panthers endzone."

 

LOTUS turned his attention back to the players now -- it was time to carry out the first step. "If the rules prevent my players from leaving the field, I will simply have them communicate with outside parties, perhaps some of the 9 people in the stadium to carry out this first task, if not I will send some of them to do it. I will need them to scavenge the area for tools -- wire cutters, shields, the like. I also need them to gather information on the One who Dabs' capabilities; does he have any way to survive a long fall? Does he have any way to fly? Once I have these, the players will begin experimentation upon the wirefield, by poking scavenged poles into the field to confirm the nature of the defenses as invisible wires. Then with a dummy, to trigger any other defenses. The remainder of part one of the plan is contingent on these answers."

 

Perlita Diaz

"Um... there are quite a few nonmagical members of the team, and they do seem to be doing pretty well for themselves, uh, on the whole." This guy made Perlita very nervous... she didn't know if he would do something sudden, or try to trick her, or anything unfortunate like that... he just seemed dangerous to her. Something about his demeanor. Maybe someone else could deal with him on his level, conspire with him or warn him, but Perlita didn't know how to do any of that. She wasn't intimidating or charming or cunning like that... to be frank, it kind of scared the hell out of her. So Perlita looked again at Gabriel, a glint of fear and nervousness visible in her eyes, and tried her best to gesture for him to come over without being noticed... she really needed someone to back her up here.

[ElfCollaborator]

Gabriel immeidately spots Perlita in trouble, gesturing him to get over here, help her out, all that sort of thing. Well, he couldn't just stand here, could he? His buddy was looking for help. But the guy was crazy enough to fire off six shots from a revolver to show off. Not that that bothered Gabriel particularly; just meant he had to approach the situation as carefully as possible.

 

Gabriel puts on the most relaxed, confident face he can (not hard, considering it usually consisted of his easy smile), and strolls over, tilting his head in to draw Grant's attention away from Perlita and towards him, get her some time out of the situation.

"Sooooooomething I can help you with? Everything all okay over here?"

[Hal Henderics]

"Sure is, thanks for asking, friend!  The nice gal here's just been helping me come to terms with the situation, asked if I was any good at fighting.  I'm a Gambler by trade, you see."  Grant says with a polite demeanor, his face showing none of what it was showing before.

[Yours Truly]

(Theme)

 

It was at this point that in a shadowy corner of the courtyard, far away from everyone else and the conversations that he didn't want to interrupt, that Atton was residing while he sat down in front of his copy of the good book and absentmindedly fingered his cross as he prayed to the lord for his guidance, his protection, and much more importantly his love. For Atton realized that one man, no matter how talented or strong, could have survived for naught but a moment in battle against the many demons of this age without the good lord's grace, and something sturdy to hide behind.

Atton was of course quite conveniently ignoring the fact of Isobel's continued existence, but of course his mind, as intelligent as it was had already come up with a suitable explanation that was perfectly in line with his worldview, as she was obviously blessed by the lord with the presence of the snarky angel present inside of her humble tablet who serves as a shepherd to help guide her flock to safety and victory through the many trials they would face ahead of them. Of course her meekness, lack of physical prowess, and general lack of fighting capability also made perfect sense to him, for the lord surely works in mysterious ways if his present situation is of any indication.... and did he not promise that the meek would inherit the earth?.

 

Of course all was not well in the holy man's heart as he prayed, for despite all of his faith, all of his displays of bravado, and all of his encouraging speeches; he found himself realizing that the person who needed encouragement the most were not the young and faithful woman he had the pleasure to work with earlier today, and the one who needed guidance the most were not the members of his slowly growing flock; for surely the faithful woman would have tried her best without his speeches, for surely his flock didn't need him to tell them how to best perform their assigned tasks. For it was him who needed it the most all along.
 

He needed encouragement for in truth he himself was afraid, afraid of following the path he had set for him, afraid of being unable to fulfill the tasks he has been appointed to do, afraid for all of the people he had so carelessly abandoned when the Lord took him to that hellish plane of wrath.

 

He needed guidance because he himself didn't know what he was doing here; among supposed deities and supersoldiers and magicians; among sometimes flying men and women who regularly broke the laws of reality as easily as he fired his service weapon. Yes he was a general, and they were fighting a war, but he was a general without an army to lead, and the war he's fighting is on a scale vaster than any man could fully comprehend; he could plan for an invasion of a city, a region, a continent, the whole world even! If the lord deemed it necessary, but what man could hope to plan a defense for millions upon millions upon trillions of worlds?. And most importantly of all he needed protection, protection from the many enemies he had made, protection from the many he will make, protection naught only from the bullet with his name engraved (Or in one particular case an entire squad of skeletons), but also from the ball of fiery death marked with 'to whom it may concern'.

 

As he prayed for all of this, as he meditated on his past failings, and achievements; a long shadow slowly started to cover the area above him. Atton thought he heard a choir of angels sing above him as he quickly rolled away and yelled for people to get back to safety as part of an event that he would personally refer to as the twice fold miracle, the inhabitants of the 'Dies Irae' would call, 'A hard landing', and a nearby soldier would refer to as, "WHAT THE FUCK-SHIT?."

 

For surely it was a sign of the good lord's grace that it was at that exact moment that all of his prayers were answered, for the lord had surely guided him away from the M9 half track before it could fall on him, for the lord had surely extended his protection when he allowed Atton to roll away from the vehicle in just the nick of time, and with the good book in hand, for surely it was naught but a sign of encouragement from the lord himself when the first words he heard coming from the occupants of the blessed vehicle came from a Scotsman, who only had this to say about the whole situation he found himself in. "JESUS CHRIST!"

[GodofGamingRWBY]

Mira

 

Soon enough, the blood on Mira’s face had been entirely removed, the irritating sting finally disappearing with it. Sure, there was plenty of blood still on her armor, but at the moment, she did not care about removing it. Instead, she merely placed her two gauntlets back on her hands, flexing hands to make sure they were secure, before placing her helm on her head and straightening from her crouch. 

 

Then, without another word, Mira turned from the fountain, deciding to take a walk around the fortress.
 

Mira leaves for the Armory

[Hal Henderics]

"So, Who'd like to play a game of poker?  I believe we've got enough cards from that table I flipped."

 

Grant announces with a grin.

[DragonRage]

"Thanks, but they don't do anything for me," Lexiel politely refuses the cigarette, "Biological differences and fucking magic.  Ruined cigs, ruined alcohol, even ruined coffee.  Might as well breathe air and drink water for all it does.  And I certainly didn't smoke for the taste.  Who does?

 

"Hey, did somebody say poker?  Heck, I got nothing better to do.  You can't be worse than that mind reader I ran into back on Ravnica.  Damn hustler."

[Hal Henderics]

Setting up a table, a deck, and a PDA.

 

"No Mind reading here, just a lot of practice.  We need some chips, or something else to wager."

[IntSys]

Halley

 

Halley began to get used to the mercenary-esque lifestyle as she spent her time here more and more, contemplating on how she could be way more productive back in her homeworld. She wouldn't even have to sign up as a Maverick Hunter, she'd just have to open her own service. That sounded good, she thought, though who knew how long it would be until she finally got to return?

She sat on the bench, drilling the book Solomon had given her, until all the sudden, a halftrack fell out of nowhere, causing commotion. She peered out of the book, confirming that it was indeed an old-fashioned military vehicle that had just graced upon this medieval castle. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. With a bit of curiosity driving her, she stood up and got closer to the scene to investigate.
 

She stared at the mess before her, before finally asking, "Newcomers?"

[Chevaleresse]

On 4/9/2018 at 12:22 AM, Zetaark said:

Seeing the plush nod at the earlier question, Ritsu smiles, realizing that this could work out, at least for a preliminary means of communication. "Good to know this is a viable means of communication, at least for now. At any rate..." Ritsu stops to think about how the servants were normally contracted to someone and wondered whether the link still existed in this state, or whether one was present at all. "I'm not entirely sure if you can tell, but are you currently contracted to someone or something? If you can't tell...shrug I suppose, or if that's not an option, shake your head twice."

The plush repeats the previous gesture, replying with a single nod. 

[Zetaark]

"So the contract stays as it is even in this form? That's quite interesting, but I suppose you weren't technically destroyed, so it makes some sense," Ritsu muses a bit before considering her options. She wasn't sure how strong the current contract was, and trying to get Lancer in this form to answer that, while potentially possible, would be a lot of work. She may have to ask the servant contracted to the group about that at some other time. For now though, she should figure out Lancer's feelings on a change in contracts. "Next question, if it were possible, would you wish to terminate your existing contract? Two shakes for if you don't care either way," Ritsu asks, hoping to figure out Lancer's current feelings on their contract.

[Yours Truly]

In the time between Halley finally walking up to meet the soldiers, Atton had already adjusted his uniform a little bit to look more presentable, had two M1 Garands and a Browning machinegun pointed at his direction, and managed to talk his way into convincing the newly arrived soldiers that he was neither a Kraut nor a Wop, and was in fact the highest ranking person on the castle's grounds that were affiliated with the good old US of A. This process was of course, greatly sped along by the simple fact that he was wearing the right uniform, had the right attitude, and was also offering everyone a smoke, a nice warm meal, and a slightly less deadly place to rest in.

 

He was in fact in the middle of having a smoke with the crew of the Dies Irae when Halley arrived, and he pointed his cigar in his general direction and said, "Yes they are, the fine soldiers you see in front of you are all proud members of the 248th Engineer Combat Battalion...or whatever's left of it anyway," the three men in front of Atton acknowledges Halley's existence by nodding in her general direction, and the scotsman takes the opportunity to introduce himself by offering her a handshake and saying, "Specialist James Doherty at your service."

[IntSys]

"Uh-huh," Halley shook hands with Doherty. "You're a specialist in what?" As she asked, she checked out the Scotsman before her, as if examining an ancient statue.

[UrbanSamurai]

Rampart

 

Press raised an eyebrow, "No one smokes for taste? What about the Cubans? I mean, the cigars, not the people."

 

"Poker? As long as you deal straighter than you shoot, count me in." The vet made his way over to the table before spotting the U.S. soldiers that had just materialized around Atton. Press walks away, calling back to Grant over his shoulder, "Save me a seat."

 

Press intrudes upon Halley and Atton, not so much as looking at the former and not giving any special attention the latter, he's clearly more focused on the uniformed men and the armor behind him. "Who sent in the boots? This is a police investigation, not an occupation. If someone wants to tell me why we have American troops down here, this is a swell a time as any to speak up." He opens his notepad, scribbling everything down furiously, everything from the inscriptions on the tank and uniforms to each individual person's physique in anatomic detail.

 

Rusty pushes himself up very slowly. He slouches down on his knees, a dark spot forming around his left eye. He breathes deeply, twisting his head to and fro. 

 

Magnum / Simulation

 

Involving the spectators would be a federal offense as per Statue 411 AHJ-93 81/M8. You can certainly call on your bench and assistance team to bring in whatever supplies they have remaining in addition to what they can scrounge on the periphery of the battlefield. 

 

Your players are already familiar with the One Who Dabs. The stories are passed down through generations, often times contradictory. The One Who Dabs is ten meters tall and the size of a neuron, he is the most chilling cold and the most blazing hot. He is always watching from the shadows that linger at the corners of your vision and he sits at the end of the table that keeps coming up in your dreams. He was the first friend your great-great-grandfather ever had and he is yet to be born. No one has seen him in an eon, although you may be looking directly at him right now. It is not that he will drive whomever sees him mad or any of that nonsense, it is simply impossible to gaze at him, he exists in a plane that creatures living and unliving can not perceive. 

 

At least, that's what the players say.

 

The poles, warped metal left by street lamps and gates that the occupants once naively thought would protect them, prod the invisible barrier around the tower. No response, no retaliation. They jab these ruined spears into that thin apathetic air. 

 

The dummy is constructed by stuffing some cloth potato sacks with cotton. These stuffed sacks are then sewed together into a vaguely humanoid shape, which is dressed in some rags to further anthropomorphize this creation. The players name him Potato Man. 

 

Potato Man is heaved onto the sparse clearing in front of The Tower. He collapses with his left arm outstretched for heaven, grasping for intervention, while his left leg folds underneath the opposite appendage. The shadow of The Tower looms over him, a sacrifice for an Old Thing.

 

Now you all can hear the wires coming, the sound of mice skittering under the floorboards. No, rain pattering on a window sill on a grey morning. You can't decide exactly. But you know the sound.

 

The invisible wires wrap around Potato Man. His time comes. 

 

There's a problem.

 

Potato Man is screaming.

 

The cloth is screaming.

 

Mice. Rain. 

 

A buzz bellows from the tower. It is low, like a radio stuck in an attic, decaying from neglect. Through the static, there is one voice that the entire stadium can hear:

 

"Bạn nghĩ rằng lấy quả bóng này sẽ giúp bạn tiết kiệm. Rằng điểm số sẽ kết thúc tất cả những điều này và làm cho bạn quên. Bạn không thể quên. Không có thẩm phán, tử thần hoặc thần thánh, sẽ bao giờ hiểu những gì bạn đã làm cho tôi. Đối với những người mà bạn đã lấy từ tôi. Để Carolina của tôi."

 

"Tôi đã chết một ngàn cái chết để xem những gì bạn đã làm. Tôi sẽ chết một triệu nữa trước khi bạn có thể có được quả bóng này. Miễn là các trò chơi tiếp tục họ sẽ không bị lãng quên. Tôi sẽ sống lâu hơn trò chơi này damned trong tháp này damned. Nếu bạn muốn bóng, tôi sẽ cho bạn sau khi tôi đã lấy tất cả mọi thứ mà bạn đứng cho đi. Cho đến khi bạn quá nhỏ, không đáng kể đến mức thiên đường của sự quên lãng sẽ vượt qua bạn."

 

"Bạn không thể tha thứ. Đau khổ sẽ là giải phóng."

 

One of the players requests that he leave.

 

[Yours Truly]

46 minutes ago, UrbanSamurai said:

Rampart

 

Press raised an eyebrow, "No one smokes for taste? What about the Cubans? I mean, the cigars, not the people."

 

"Poker? As long as you deal straighter than you shoot, count me in." The vet made his way over to the table before spotting the U.S. soldiers that had just materialized around Atton. Press walks away, calling back to Grant over his shoulder, "Save me a seat."

 

Press intrudes upon Halley and Atton, not so much as looking at the former and not giving any special attention the latter, he's clearly more focused on the uniformed men and the armor behind him. "Who sent in the boots? This is a police investigation, not an occupation. If someone wants to tell me why we have American troops down here, this is a swell a time as any to speak up." He opens his notepad, scribbling everything down furiously, everything from the inscriptions on the tank and uniforms to each individual person's physique in anatomic detail.

 

Rusty pushes himself up very slowly. He slouches down on his knees, a dark spot forming around his left eye. He breathes deeply, twisting his head to and fro. 

The specialist was just about to raise his objections, to explain how he wasn't ordered to go here and how he still has no real idea about what the hell is going on here to the oddly dressed police officer; when Atton rather abruptly cut him off as he was in the middle of saying his first word with a commanding, "That will be all soldier!".

 

Atton then turned to regard the two police officers fully before he stated, "This has always been a military operation! The entire house of Asterlux is not threatened with extinction by some gang or group of criminals, they are threatened by the combined offensive of a rival house and an invasion of extra dimensional entities called 'Servants', and the few soldiers the US military has chosen to send our way has been tasked with destroying the invading army and protecting the civilians present in the castle grounds of this backwards, backwards country by myself, Major General Richard Atton."

[Chevaleresse]

The plushie waits several long moments. It seems like it might be a refusal to answer, until it finally shakes its head. 

[Zetaark]

"I see. I half hoped it may be possible to find a means of forming a contract between the two of us, but it seems that forcing the issue now may not work out for anyone. Oh well," Ritsu remarks, somewhat disappointed. Even still, she held some hope that circumstances may change, or at the very least Lancer assisted with information. While still occupied with that thought, Ritsu decided to ask two more questions before seeking out someone. "Last few questions for now. In the event that circumstances demand it, are you willing to assist us with information at the very least, given your current state. And regardless of the answer to that question...would you prefer a device to help you better communicate in general outside of nods?" she asks, finishing her inquiry for the moment.

[Chevaleresse]

A shaken head, a pause, and then a nod.