Subject: "You're from Norway, then?"
Author:
Posted on: 2009-04-20 14:18:00 UTC
Leas started towards the bar. "I suppose Norwegian looks more difficult than some languages, but sounds faintly Germanic."
He nodded at the names, then blinked. "The Infernal Trio because your names are difficult to pronounce? I suppose, though I don't quite see it myself. One could practice, couldn't they?"
Welcome to all that wish ot remember our fallen comrades. They would want us to remember them with joy, instead of sorrow. Heres a glass of *beverage of choice* to them. Now, lets party!<br><br>*note* Leto and his wife Jane are open to anyone who want to use them (the owners of the store). Leto is an average modern day human for Canada and Jane is a Dragon from the Rifts universe. Jane can be whatever form she wants to be, she also has a tremendus amount of magical energy.<br><br>The staff of the store are minis from the various contunuii. Head of Staff is Smeagul the mini-balrog. He likes shiny things.<br><br>I will be posting under the name of Milask for the rest of this thread. So whatever you do with Leto and Jane is canon. Their children (the triplets) are off limits. Anything else goes. (Please, dont make Jane want to devorse Leto!!!)
She wasn't getting very far with playing it, though.
Leas sighed. "I think perhaps we should just recite the Ode to Remembrance and observe the silence," he said as she blew another fouled note. "We're not getting anywhere with this."
"And I promised I'd be ready, too," Deryn muttered, lowering the trumpet.
"Well, you might get some attention," Leas suggested. "Two minutes silence won't be much good unless people are."
"Least people probably won't mistake a trumpet for gunfire," Deryn said, and blew. The sound she produced was remarkably unlike gunfire, and also unlike the sound of a practised trumpet player.
Leas cleared his throat, and pulled out a piece of paper. "If I could From For the Fallen, Laurence Binyon, forth stanza.
"'They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old.
'Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
'At the going down of the sun and in the morning
'We will remember them.'"
"Lest we forget," Deryn murmured, head bowed.
Leas folded the paper up and put it away. "I would now like to ask that we observe two minutes' silence. For ours- and for kin." He bowed his head.
Osbert had been about to answer Celinus' question, but when the trumpet sounded he instead turned on his heel, facing the players. Old reflexes and habits kicking into action, he found himself standing at attention, his arm snapping rigidly into a salute as Leas called for two minutes' silence. In his peripherals, he could see Langston struggle to his feet, almost falling but managing to stand and fire off his own salute even as he swayed drunkenly. Nobody said a word, total stillness befalling the Store as a spirit of reflection and remembrance took hold over the celebrations from before. In almost eighty years, he had seen several occasions like this, but he was sure that for many of the people inside, it was their first. By God, did that make him feel old...
You watching us up there, boys?
Troy had wrapped an arm around Cassie's waist to support her when she said she needed to sit down, and had been about to try to lead her to one of the empty RCs he had seen along the hallway, but was interrupted by the call for a moment's silence. Keeping his hold on the young woman to keep her from falling over, he took on a sombre expression, lowering his eyes to the ground. So many people dead, not all of them his friends but all of them comrades-in-arms, it was just terrible. He shuddered, thinking about how many people he almost lost, and did lose, especially as at the same time he wondered how Berger was holding up. His partner had been hit a lot harder by the Invasion than he had.
Shine on, ya crazy diamonds.
To Roy Berger's mind, it was almost as if the fighting had still been going on even as he half-heartedly drank and celebrated with the others. The call for silence had its intended effect, apparently, especially as his eyes moved to the floor and paused at the two mechanical fingers on his right hand. Prosthetics, of course, he'd lost the genuine articles in that damned Escher Room. Gunshots, metal swinging through the air, the screams of the dead and the damned, in the back of his head it was all as fresh as when it happened. Fifty Agents trying to hold off what had seemed to be hundreds of Sues...why had he been the one that made it?
Damn it, don't fool yourself...it's because you ran. Just left them to die while you high-tailed it. You Eru-damned coward! Damn it, Silas, Dixon, Carpenter, Harris, Reason, Silverman...they all deserved to make it out of that room more than you did. They were walking around with far worse than a couple missing fingers! You should've faced your fate with honour, dammit!
A hand placed itself on his shoulder, and he looked over just out of curiosity, having to redirect his glance downwards at the shorter man to his right. He didn't dare break the silence, but the look on his face communicated well enough.
To use a saying that had popped up long after he had supposedly "died" on the fields of Waterloo, Alois Bouchard had been given the short end of the stick. Being dragged off the field by what he had thought were either angels or looters in the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Waterloo, delirious and nearly dead from three bullet wounds and having been stabbed with a bayonet, he'd been an Agent less than a month before the viruses hit. Still not fully recuperated from his wounds or the shock of Napoleon Bonaparte's fall and finding himself in totally alien surroundings, he'd had to fight for survival against gigantic, monstrous macroviruses that tore Agents apart by the hundreds. Even after that it hadn't been over, he'd had to face a literal army of Mary Sues.
He didn't know what it was, the hand of God, his own skill, or something else entirely, but somehow he'd made it through the ordeals and fighting far more hellish than what he'd seen in the Grande Armeé with not even a scratch. His partner hadn't been so lucky, she didn't even have a chance before the bugs ripped her apart.
In the silence of the Store, he could still hear Lee's screams and remember his own frenzied attempts to fight through the viruses to her. If it hadn't been for that strange blond-haired Norseman, he'd have likely met a similar fate to his first partner. Now, though, he stood here where there was no gunfire, no screams, no dying, just those who lived remembering those who had not. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he looked to his left at the Agent who stood by him. The man was a good bit taller than the 5'1 Alois, but even without looking at their face he could tell they were upset. In response, he found his hand reaching out, resting on the man's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
Am I the only one in this store with dry eyes?
Sandra Richardson placed down the mug once the request for silence was heard, the drinking contest she had so boisterously called for grinding to a halt as she looked to Leas, not even paying attention to the drunk man on the other side of the table whose gaze had now drifted to the front of her uniform. She'd been one of the ones lucky enough to escape HQ during the Macrovirus attack, and hadn't been very active in the Invasion's fighting, but she knew many people who had been. Most didn't make it, not even her best friends or partner. That unlucky bugger had caught a bullet with his head in the very last seconds of the fighting. It was a sobering thought, but it hadn't stopped her from coming to the party and trying to enjoy herself like she knew they'd have wanted her to. Her eyes started to water up, but she closed them and shook her head, trying to force any of those feelings down. She couldn't let her feelings or memories get in the way of the party. Eventually, everyone in the store would be dead, why get so worked up?
Oh, who the hell am I kidding?
***
Basilico Andretti had done a rather good job of blending into the crowd. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure if the majority even knew he was there. However, he was comfortable with this, as he was there just as much to keep an eye on potential troublemakers as to pay his respects to the dead. Of course, he still gave the bar a very wide berth, unlike many of the partygoers, especially since the one time he'd tried to go over one of the people there had given him a look so hateful he almost thought he'd drop dead on the spot. Still, as the moment of silence was called, he bowed his head in respect, even though he'd lost no friends in the fighting.
Lord, please watch our fallen comrades as we ourselves watched o'er them. Let them not be wanting, or troubled. For in Your kingdom, there is naught but peace, and respect for canon. Never shall they go unremembered or unloved, for the PPC still lives, and so does Your kingdom in Heaven. As the Word Worlds are in our care, so are their souls in Yours. In Nomine Patris, Et Fili, Et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.
Luke looked around for a moment, noting the wet eyes around him, then blinked hard as the memories of last year's tragedy rose up. While he'd made it through without sustaining any real injuries, he'd seen plenty of others who hadn't been so lucky. For a moment the memory of finding his partner nearly dead in the aftermath of a battlefield threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to wipe hard at his eye to stop the tears overflowing.
Damn it, Jessie, why'd you do that anyway?
At least she had pulled through. He'd known others who weren't so lucky. Taking a deep breath, the tall man swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at the floor, remembering the friends he'd lost.
Nat, who hadn't known any of the fallen, was nevertheless swept up in the emotional wave sweeping the room. She might have complained about the PPC non-stop since she'd arrived, but nothing brought home just how special it was here as much as the sight of all these other people joined together to remember those they'd lost. Suddenly, the solemn atmosphere dragged up some incredibly painful memories, and despite trying to fight them she broke down, though thankfully without making too much noise.
Next to her, Kelvin had also been touched by the remembrance ceremony of silence. He barely knew anything about the event being comemmorated, but took the opportunity to pay his own respects to the fallen. When Nat suddenly burst into quiet tears, however, he reacted instinctively and gently embraced her, letting her cry on his shoulder even as he tried to repress his own emotions.
Despite having been rather giggly and fairly tipsy, Cassie was quick to sense the changing mood of the room, and sighed sadly as she let the memories of the fighting return. While she'd managed to avoid the most brutal of the fighting, she'd still seen several Agents killed in the Tomb battle, including one man who'd caught a bullet aimed at her. Sniffling a little at that, and somewhat aware of Troy's comforting arm around her waist, she returned the favour and leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling a bit better for the company.
Jessie stopped dancing and turned to face whoever had spoken as the call for silence went out. Having just been beginning to enjoy herself, the switch back to solemnity was a rather unwelcome surprise, but she guessed it couldn't be helped. She glanced around the room, and was mildly surprised to actually spot Luke wiping tears away. Guess he must be more upset than he let on, was all she thought before turning her mind towards the friends - and lover - she'd lost in the fight.
Waking up in Medical, still shocked to find out she'd needed an emergency operation to save her spine, only to then be told that Emma had died in the battle... Jessie blotted the tears away on her sleeve. Don't cry, dammit. Just pay your respects and don't bawl your head off. Em's gone, but she wouldn't want you to cry. You know that.
A young brunette woman hovered near the door, biting her lip as she took in the scene. She'd wanted to help out her fellow Agents during the invasion, but, being a member of the DIA, she had been drafted in to help keep order in the PPC city. She'd seen the injured coming in to rest up, though, and couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved that she hadn't had to face the fight.
Across the room, she spotted a fellow DIA Agent, Basilico Andretti, and nodded silently to him to acknowledge his presence. Then Hollian Tannis joined the rest of the PPCers in paying her respects to the fallen.
After the two minutes of silence, Krisp said: "Good thing Banzai wasn't there. He would have died in this. He wouldn't have given up before that. If we ever see him again, we're not telling him about this, or he's going to whine like waaaaaaaaaaaah he wasn't there waaaaaaaaaaaaaah. This idiot just deserves a smack on the head."
"Krisp, you're being too harsh with him. He would have saved may lives, I'm sure. I hope he's happy with the other ships, even as we're not there."
"I hope so, too. Otherwise he's really being an idiot. Who would be unhappy that we don't test our bad jokes on them anymore?"
"Stop that, you dwarf. I prefer Banzai's whinin'."
"Your brother's right, Krisp. Well, I wouldn't mind if both of you stopped calling Banzai whiny. He's not."
When he returned, he brought out several high-quality fireworks. Jane was surprised, and was about to ask Leto the reason when she saw the change that had come over this part of HQ.
The Ceiling had changed itself into a vast dome, large enough for several rockets to set off at the same time without any serious damage to those below.
"What, how?"
"Don't question it, my love, you know better than that."
"Very well. Now let's set up a surprise."
They then lined up the fireworks one by one, and Smeagul the Mini-Balrog set them off.
What resulted was one of the brightest displays of pyrotechnics ever known.
Then, they kissed.
Agent Shadowflame slipped in silently. She'd felt that it wasn't her place to come here. After all, she had not been here for the event being remembered.
She was a little surprised at the party atmosphere, but shrugged and reminded herself that everybody celebrated events differently. Finding a corner where it wouldn't be knocked over or set anyone on fire, she lit a single small candle, sticking it to the floor with its own wax.
She hadn't known those involved, but it was fitting at least to pay some small tribute.
Huddled inside her cloak, Rilwen turned to leave.
The voice was low, calm, and familiar, sounding from just behind her.
"To be fair, I was not directly involved in the circumstances either. Even after the viruses had been eliminated and the quarantine ended, I didn't venture far from Research during the fight..."
There was a note of amusement in Crelmos' tone now, mingled with a certain wistfulness. "Although I will admit, when I did so, the benefits were considerable, for a while at least... But," he amended, "I suppose this isn't a topic I should pursue at the moment."
It was, at this point, probably fair to say that only a Cardassian could manage an audible smirk.
Then, surprisingly, he added, "I thank you for your tribute. Astatine survived the viruses, through some miracle best known to himself, only to die at our enemies' hands. Were it not for him..." There was a pause, as though he was considering whether or not to reveal his true thoughts.
"Were it not for him, I would not have lived- in more than one sense, you understand. This place may have its shortcomings, but it did allow my mind to awaken at last..." He chuckled softly. "But, once again, I digress."
She gave an almost delighted smile upon seeing him. "I wasn't expecting to see you here either. I promise not to tell Teek if you don't." Her smile turned faintly teasing for a moment.
Rilwen nodded a little gravely at his comments about the tribute. "I felt it fitting, even if I never knew them. Because I never will. And, given what you've said, I'm grateful to one of them in particular. I'd have a friend less in that case, and that would be a sad loss." She smiled again.
If only a Cardassian could manage an audible smirk, it was quite possibly only Rilwen who could have been that sincere in describing it as a sad loss in this specific case, though she seemed rather unaware of this singular status.
"Oh, I think she'd be astounded to hear I actually seem to have some vestige of respect for the dead."
Crelmos paused, and put his head to one side. "No, silly me," he added, "she'll only accuse me of some twisted ulterior motive or another. In, of course, less than polite terms."
He smirked again, adding, "It's a pity Astatine is gone. I would have quite liked to see what he would have made of my dear current partner... Really, half the things she accuses me of are quite tame by comparison."
The Cardassian stroked the ridge on his chin, looking thoughtful. "And then, of course," he murmured, "there was the Bajoran... How ironic that he survived, only to succumb to a virus."
Crelmos turned his head to gaze at the candle again, his dark eyes shadowed and unreadable. "I would be lying," he said at last, "if I claimed to feel any emotion over the loss. I hope that does not trouble you."
"It does, a little," she admitted. "I refuse to lie to you. But your reactions are your own, and scarcely my business to judge." Rilwen met her Cardassian friend's eyes, her expression remaining utterly honest.
This was neither the subject nor the time for their usual dancing about on meanings, deceptions and little games.
"I see. I... appreciate your clear thinking," he said at last, his voice completely flat and calm. It was closer to sincerity than he had ever been, perhaps was actual sincerity.
"Well," he added, after a long pause, "do you still intend to leave, or shall we attempt to mingle with the celebration?"
She shrugged. "I see no reason to leave you here." Rilwen looked around. "Of all interesting combinations to create, I think they have Bleepanar over there, right next to the Bleepulan ale."
"If, of course, you'd prefer to absent yourself, there's always kotra." She smiled, and took a neat step sideway to allow an inebriated fellow Agent to stagger past without colliding with her.
"How thoughtful of you. But I must admit, I had only stopped by out of curiosity, and the atmosphere is beginning to wear on my nerves somewhat."
He narrowed his eyes slightly, adding, "That moment of silence a little while previously was the most properly respectful part of the whole affair. Honestly, they're like Klingons... my people have a proper reverence for the dead."
There was a low hiss to his words now, which intensified as he said, "But of course, this place is not very hospitable to Cardassians in any case... tsk," he chided himself, "all that talk of Astatine has been forcing me to dwell on the past too long."
The smile he offered was slightly forced, but his voice remained velvety as always. "Kotra sounds delightful. Shall we go?"
She gave a demure smile before looking back up at him. "Yes, I rather think we shall, even if you are likely to win yet again." Her smile turned wry. "At least I win more games of dejarik, for now. The scores in both should even out over time."
She turned to go, tilting her head back to look up at him. "Reminisce as much or as little as you like while we play. I'll be audience for whatever of it you feel like sharing."
"That depends on how much you particularly care to know," he said at last. "I'm not very loose-tongued when it comes to my past. That, at least, you ought to know by now."
One corner of his mouth curved in a faint smile, mocking her own with its obviously contrived innocence. "And you really must learn to stop making assumptions. You lasted for quite a while the last time we played, but I must say, jumping to conclusions is not a good long-term strategy. But come," he added, "let's stop dawdling, hm?"
"I know. It's why I don't intend to pry. But you hand me fragments of it now and then. If I appreciate those, why shouldn't I provide time where you needn't glance over your shoulder and censor yourself?"
Her smile became somewhat teasing. "Maybe I'm lulling you into false security about the game. Maybe I'm playing another five games beyond the one you can see. Or maybe I just enjoy seeing you try to work out what I'm doing." Rilwen stretched a little, smiling lazily. "I agree. Let's go." She headed for the door, pace measured. Knowing Crelmos, he'd likely want to get the last word before they left. And it was the generous act of a friend to give it to him, no?
"There are others who feel the same way as you, and yet they stay here. This is an occasion for all, not just for those who fought. Will you stay?"
[[And as far as I know, Leto's not telepathic even one tiny single bit.]]
She was, wasn't she?
However, if you disapprove, then i'm sorry.
Love, Wik.
[[Because it is not obvious exactly what she's thinking. You went beyond reasonable guesses into mind-reading. ;) ]]
Also, that attitude was shared by at least half of the participants. I coudn't help it if the character who suddenly left after placing a candle on the table was likely to think this way. Nevetherless, disregard the post where you are called.
-and dived for cover. "Will someone tell whoever's doing that that this is not a good time for a re-enactment?" she yelled, to the room at large. (What, precisely, might be being re-enacted she left unsaid.)
"It's just fireworks," Leas said, watching them.
Deryn considered this, then retreated further under cover as the next lot went off. "It's not exactly an appropriate occasion for that, either! Lord. Next we'll someone'll've brought metal." She shook her head. "Least we shouldn't be able to turn this into a muddy field, an' that's not an invitation for anyone to do so!"
"I guess half the room has issues with fireworks... What is FicPsych doing?" he said to nobody in particular.
"Testing everyone's response to loud noises would be my guess," he said.
"Or how they'd react to similar situations," Deryn grumbled. "Some 'Sues do seem to fancy guns, after all. Or they could just be trying to give everyone Issues."
"I think they've got enough work without doing that"
... than testing the reactions of people who lived through WW2 or anything similar," said What'. "Unless they want to give FicPsych extra work, that is."
"Like there ain't enough work for everybody," said South.
"I do think that there really are times when it's inadvisable to use loud noises."
"I used to tell some of my friends exactly that... when they shot cannon."
"Looks like you still didn't get over Banzai's style. Oh, I didn't, either. This guy just gets on your nerves. As if partying until 3am wasn't enough."
"Probably fortunate." Leas arced an eyebrow. "Banzai? A friend of yours?"
"In fact, his name is Cuauhtemoc. No, Krisprolls didn't nickname him this time. Guayas did. Guayas is his brother, by the way. Well, Banzai's one of the fastest ships in the fleet, and one of the most outgoing guys I know. Only Krisprolls and Guayas are worse. Banzai is also very nice with people. Thing is, Krisprolls always has bad ideas to test on him. When I don't have the bad ideas..."
"This guy is too nice. He's so high on playing nice and 'I would die before you could harmed oh so slightly in any way' and stuff like that. He just deserves a smack on the head."
"Krisp!!!"
Krisp was excited again.
"There ain't enough for this guy," said South.
What' couldn't but agree. All three watched the fireworks.
... What' found Krisp and South holding each other.
"I thought I was used to it, but I guess I'm still afraid of these," said Krisp with a shivering voice. South wasn't saying a thing: he was too scared. What' didn't feel that good, either. "Guess we still have our triggers since these bombings... Looks like we're not the only ones here to have lived this war. Don't worry guys, it's only fireworks."
"I know, I know," said Krisp. "It's just... I can't help remebering the time... well I guess South does too. Well, South, these things go up, not down, there's no danger here."
"Thanks, Krisp, I... I think I'm OK now."
The two of them then managed to get themselves together and enjoy the show.
After it was over, What' said: "Wow. I think Banzai would have loved this party."
"Quite. A pity he's not there. This is much more epic than any tall ship gathering. The Columbus Race was nothing next to this. Actual fights?"
"Well, in a sense I wonder if it's not better to not have somebody who plays musi...il 3am every night for ten days."
"What', I know you're getting old, turning Vulcan, and all, but going after Banzai??? This is just beyond me."
I propose a toast to the fallen! Jane agreed, and filled her glass with Bleepka as well.
"So many people we won't ever get to know..." said Krisp.
-Agents that came by. His head cradled in his hands, he didn't bother finishing off what was left of the drink, trying to gather his thoughts. Of course, with the alcohol in him that wasn't easy, but he still made an effort. How could he have been so stupid? He was just screwing it all up. Did Sara have a point...? Did it matter? When Leto called the toast to the fallen, he raised the almost-empty bottle. "T' absent friends!" He shouted over the din of people toasting.
"To the departed, who go to a far better retirement than we will ever know!" Small Murphy piped up, hoisting his flask.
"Ta a right an' propa WAAAGH!" Zodfang bellowed, though he himself had no drink.
"To the glorious dead!"
"DEDICATION: TO THE ONE THOUSAND AGENTS KILLED IN THE MARY SUE INVASION."
Shot glasses and Bleepka bottles were raised high as dedications ran the course of the store. Marcus supposed most of those in the room deserved to be there far more than he, but he couldn't help it. If he couldn't fight, he'd at least pay his respects, he figured. "Tch, disrespect...what does she know...?"
"'S all... sad, innit. To the fallen!" he added, holding his own drink up briefly before downing it.
Over on the other side of the room, Cassie and Nat added their voices to the shouting, Cassie's bottom lip wobbling slightly due to the emotions of the scene and the alcohol she'd drunk.
In yet another part of the room, Jessie raised her glass, but paused for a moment before drinking. "To absent friends," she murmured, and drained the glass.
and almost fell right off his seat. Managing to right himself and stop from shouting several drunken obscenities at his old friend, he took a few breaths as Leto called over some people to have a drink. It took him a few moments to recognise Luke, but when he did he let out a small, drunken, laugh. "'s you...heh, shouldn' sneak up'n peoples like tha', Lukey-boy. S'whaddya wan'?"
"Hey, it's okay, man," he replied, making himself comfortable and eyeing the vodka bottle. "You sure you're all right? Never seen you drink before. 'S not like you." He nudged the bottle away, a feeling of mild concern pushing through his tipsiness. Marcus never drank, in fact he'd always expressed distaste for the idea.
"C'mon, let's just... talk a bit, eh? Talk about, y'know, the good old days an' stuff."
"F'r a sec, thought ya were gonna preach a'me like th' other 'un," he said, reaching for the bottle again only to realise that it was now totally empty. Sighing, he set the bottle down again. "'Ey, Leto, c'n I have annuver?" He asked, nodding appreciatively when a new bottle of vodka was, hesitantly, set in front of him. Taking a large gulp, he turned in his seat again to face Luke, gripping the bottle tightly and looking at Luke like he'd lay the big man out if he tried to take it away from him. "Heh...arright. Yeah, 'm arright. A thou' Agents, they ain't arright, but 'm arright, yeah. Arright 'cause they wouldn' lemme at 'em," another sip, then he continued. "Arright, how's ya askin' tha'? Let'm get killed. Jesus, wha' the 'ell'm I doin' 'ere? Couldn' do JACK." Shaking his head, he looked up at his friend when Luke mentioned "the good old days".
"G'd ol' days? Which?"
Luke asked, then decided he didn't want to know. Probably something to do with the girl Marcus had been yelling at earlier. "And... Leto, don't give him any more," he added in an undertone to the bartender. "He's gonna end up killing himself if he goes on like this."
Turning back to Marcus, he tried to act nonchalant. "Y'know, like, back in '05, when we did the, the, exorcism of Middle-earth f' those Pyros, an' stuff."
Marcus replied, having not heard Luke whispering to Leto and his assistant bartender, before taking another drink of the vodka bottle. It was awfully strong stuff, but that was why he'd asked for it. Perhaps it was hitting him a bit harder than he thought it would, but he figured he could take care of himself, even drunk. He was about to try to slur together something to continue the conversation when someone to his left cleared their throat.
"An Agent of your calibre turning out like this, getting so plastered he can barely stand?" the person asked rhetorically, annoyance registering in their cultured British accent. "Langston, you disgust me."
"The 'ell're ya-" Marcus started to say, turning to face the speaker. However, he choked down whatever he was going to say as he was faced with Osbert. Marcus had only met the man a couple times, and was lucky enough that he hadn't been trained by the old man, but he still knew enough about Osbert to immediately shut his mouth. "Er...'ey, Osbert."
"'Hey, Osbert' yourself, Langston," Osbert said, frowning somewhat visibly, though Marcus couldn't tell if it was out of annoyance or the sense of disappointment he seemed to regard every Agent with. "Just what in God's name are you doing with that vodka? You're accomplishing nothing but disgracing that uniform and the memory of our dead comrades, you know."
When he saw the man who'd approached them, he debated whether or not to reply. He'd heard of the formidable Operations Agent, but hadn't met him before. Still, the guy had no right to be having a go.
"'Scuse me," he butted in, standing up and making a point of showing just how much bigger he was than Osbert, "but he's got enough on his plate at the moment 'thout you making him feel worse. If it makes you feel any better, he's not getting any more booze."
"You might want to sit back down, before you do something stupid. Oh, Leto? As I was saying, I'll have a brandy, if you have any."
"Believe I do," Leto said, starting to look through his supply as Osbert returned his attention to the two Agents. He knew Langston somewhat, having met the man on a few occasions and not always on the best of circumstances. Honestly, he half wished he had been the one to train him, but it didn't particularly matter in retrospect. As the glass of brandy was placed on the bar, he sized up the large Agent who had stood up to him, idly taking a sip. He was both taller and a lot more built than Osbert was, but these days that applied to a lot of people, and he wasn't particularly impressed. Big people were just as easy to break as small ones. Still, he had no idea who the person was, though he appeared to be a friend of Langston's.
"Hm, on that note, I don't believe I have any idea who you are," he said to the larger Agent, adjusting his glasses again. "Do not believe we have met before, though you appear to be a friend of that mess sprawled on Leto's bar," he gestured to Marcus, who slurred something unintelligable and gulped at his drink again. "I am not mistaken, am I?"
Luke shrugged. "I'm not going to do anything stupid," he replied, remaining standing but relaxing his stance somewhat. "Believe me, the last thing I want is a fight." After a moment, the older man asked who he was.
"Yeah, I'm a friend of Marcus," he said, glancing at the drunken man leaning on the bar. "Known him practically since I joined up, and he's saved my life more times tan I can remember off the top of my head. I'm Luke Celinus, by the way. And you're Osbert, aren't you?" He glanced at the man's helmet, which in his view was just a little ostentatious, and shook his head slightly. "Your headgear's practically famous, you know." He picked up his drink - a half-empty bottle of beer - and took a gulp.
However, he was cut off by the sudden display of fireworks, the loud bangs and crackles making the Agent jump. He knew a firefight hadn't suddenly erupted in the store, especially with the bright flashes, but he still wheeled around in surprise. "BLOODY FLAMING DENETHOR FROM HELL!" the mix of World One and PPC expletives left his mouth before he really thought of what he was saying, turning sharply to find the source of the random firecrackers. Giving Leto a sharp look, he took a few seconds to let his heart stop racing before setting down the brandy and turning to face Celinus and Langston again. At least he knew where Leto had disappeared to, he supposed. "Sorry about that, usually don't cuss but he took me off...hm? Where's the other one?"
Speaking of disappearing...
Celinus was still there when he turned back, but Langston seemed to have vanished. Finding this odd, he took a few steps to the side and looked around, only to find the drunk Agent huddled under the bar, looking around and generally trying to calm himself down. "It's only a bit of firecrackers, Langston," he said with a bit of a sigh. "Stop with the 'duck and cover' stuff."
Marcus grumbled something that sounded a bit like "shu' ya mouth, 'sbert...", before getting back out from his spot under the bar and looking around, a hand on his head. "Bloody fi'works..."
Luke quickly regained his cool and shook his head slightly, surprised that the entire place hadn't started freaking out at the racket. Turning back to Osbert and Marcus, he suddenly noted the distinct lack of Marcus. "What the... where'd he go?"
After a moment, he noticed Osbert looking under the bar, and burst out laughing on seeing his friend curled up under there. "You're a case, you know that?" he chuckled, taking the opportunity to hide the vodka bottle before helping Marcus out and trying to get him sitting down again.
He was mildly alarmed to find the vodka bottle gone, looking around the bar to see if it had fallen. "Wha? Wheredit git to?" he asked, more to himself than anything, sounding rather frustrated. Eventually letting out a sigh, he seemed to give up, resting his head on his arms. "Summun' made off 'ith me drink," he muttered sadly. "N' respect, I tells ya."
"No comment," was all Osbert said in response to this.
Luke made himself comfortable and shook his head at his friend. "Maybe it's for the best," he said consolingly, patting Marcus' shoulder. "You're going to have one hell of a hangover as it is."
He glanced at Osbert, wondering what the old guy thought of his move, and took another gulp of his beer. No point in denying himself just because Marcus had got himself rat-arsed. On that note... almost automatically, he cast one eye around the general area, checking to see if there were any pretty girls nearby.
If Osbert was amused by Luke's little trick, he didn't show it, instead nodding sternly. "Celinus is right, Langston. Not to mention whatever horrors you just inflicted upon your liver," he said, immediately before finishing off what brandy was left in his glass. "Probably best if you stay here a bit, Langston, can tell you'll practically have to be carried out if you wanna go anywhere."
"Fine, fine, whatever," Marcus said, already starting to feel the headache that would only come in full force the next morning. "So's what ya wann' be doin'?"
Luke shrugged, before turning his eye on Osbert. "Hey, I have a first name, you know," he objected mildly. "Just 'cause you prefer your surname doesn't mean everyone does. It's Luke, 'kay?"
After a moment, he cast around for a suitable topic of conversation, not that he thought Marcus would be able to contribute much to any talk. "How many of these kind of things have you seen, Osbert?" he enquired, gesturing at the party in general. "I mean, you've been here a while, so you must have seen a few."
The heavily intoxicated Agent resisted at first, meaning Osbert's efforts almost knocked him over, but eventually he seemed to give in, taking his seat and gripping the bar to keep his balance. Langston mumbled something, staring at his hands, but Osbert didn't make it out entirely. The lad was probably still finding excuses to kick himself, he figured.
"Anyway, Celinus," Osbert said, bringing his attention to the larger Agent. "On the subject of your questions, after forty years as an Agent they all kind of blend together. I still remember when there were only four of us, as far as non-Flowers went. Makes-Things, Elizabeth, Anya, and myself," he paused for a moment, shaking his head. "Damn, I'm the only one of those four still alive, far as I can tell. After a while stopped hearing from those two girls, so I dunno. There've been a good number though, just been so long that I don't remember them all."
"Jeez, and I thought I'd been here a long time," he replied, rubbing at his eyepatch in an effort to regain his cool. He hadn't expected a simple two minutes' silence to affect him like that.
"I've been here since '98, but I guess I just never thought about how long the PPC's been around. Forty years... that's some going, man. How'd you manage it? Though I guess it's not a case of facing the Sues any more, just teaching the new kid to do it." He let out a little chuckle and drained the last of his beer, setting the empty bottle down on the bar.
Osbert scoffed, treating what had been a decision made by the Flowers years ago with visible contempt. He still remembered treating the decision with total incredulity, even if he'd taken his reassignment as a trainer of new Agents with dignity and gratitude.
"I was about forty years old when I was recruited," he told Luke, after searching through his memories. "I'd grown a pretty thick skin by then, and a badfic is really nothing compared to some of the things you can face in World One. Back then there wasn't much of a workload, either. After a while, though, it all becomes just another job, you get desensitised." Pausing for a moment, the old man couldn't help a small chuckle. "Trust me," he said. "Sometimes it's more frustrating teaching a recruit how to properly fire a gun than it is to charge a Sue. I sometimes wish I was back out there."
"I suppose when you're working in here it tends to get a bit frustrating. Not like being out roaming the Canon worlds. But look on the bright side, eh? You don't have to get soaked, frozen, roasted and whatnot." He leaned against the bar nonchalantly.
By now, Langston was singing something to himself, but Osbert really couldn't understand many of the words due to the alcohol muddling the Agent's brain. The tone was recognisable as Eric Bogle's "The Green Fields of France", but not much could be clearly made out. Returning his attention to Celinus, he gave the large Agent a nod.
"I prefer field work myself, it's much more exciting, and my family has always preferred to take care of things personally." Osbert sighed, adjusting his glasses and helmet. "Still, at least this way I'm putting some backbone in these Agents. I'm not letting them out into the missions until they can shoot straight, hit hard, operate a Console without blowing it up, and don't need to run to Bleeproducts every time something goes wrong."
"Sounds like you really do know your stuff," he replied. "Don't use Bleeproducts much myself, I got used to coping without them except for the really horrible stuff. Fortunately, I don't get much of that... and yes, I'm aware that I'm inviting it." He glanced up at the ceiling as if warning the Ironic Overpower to back off.
"My partner never seemed to need any tutorials in hitting hard, I have to say." A wry smile crossed his face. "I should have got her to come to you for the other stuff, though."
"Not to brag, but I think it'd be safe to say I'm one of the better Agent trainers; a lot of them just stick something pointy in the recruit's hand and throw them into an RC. Just who would your partner be?" Arching an eyebrow, Osbert tried to think of the particularly memorable cases he'd seen come through his training room. He had enough trainees on a regular basis that it was hard to remember any one in particular on most days. Celinus' mention of his partner had got him curious, though, so he tried to think of if he had met her before. Unlikely, if this was his first meeting with Celinus himself.
"She's called Jessie Lancaster. Red hair, damn near indiscriminately homicidal, and tries to kill me on a regular basis. And if a guy so much as looks the wrong way at her... well, it gets messy."
Osbert went quiet after that, thinking better of making his true opinion known. Giving Celinus a look, though, he thought of something. That black scarf around the eye, the large build, the red hair...had he seen him around, before? there was something unquestionably familiar about him.
"I don't think we've met, Celinus, but were you in Operations, during the beginning of the fighting? If it's not too sensitive a subject, I mean. That little war was hell on us all."
Luke rubbed his eyepatch reflectively, thinking back to the whole thing. "When I got the Sub Rosa's message I came out fighting. Didn't pay too much attention to where I was most of the time; it was more a case of killing Sues and helping out other Agents."
He let out a bitter little laugh. "I guess it was hell. Bitches killed some damn good friends of mine. Nearly got me, too, and my partner."
Osbert seemed sobered by this, but not overtly upset. It was hard to be, after forty years on the job. Asking for another glass of brandy, he sipped lightly, being careful not to let it go to his head while he thought. "I lost a lot of friends, too. Makes-Things was the last non-Flower Agent who was here as long as I was. Got to know him real well, and then he was the first to go."
He sighed, shaking his head at the memory. "I couldn't do anything, I was still training that day's batch of recruits when it happened. I got as many people into the training rooms as I could, set up a watch, and sealed the doors once I figured there was enough food and the like for us to last however long it'd be before a cure was made. When the Sues came in, I'd already been getting the survivors out of the RCs and training rooms. Damn things tried to take Operations, cut the head off of our resistance before we could put up a fight." A laugh escaped him, grinning a bit as he took another sip. "Woulda worked, too, but we were ready for 'em. I pretty much gave everyone a weapon, gathered up everyone who'd been in the area and anyone who we ran into that looked like they could hold a weapon. Gave those bitches hell!"
Osbert couldn't help but break into a bit of a cackle, there. "Most of the trainers are either people with military experience from the outside, or former Action Agents who were taken off the beat, whether due to age or injury. On our own we probably could've cleared the whole place out, let alone with the bunch of recruits and Agents we brought with us. Sent 'em running with their tails between their legs."
Luke debated whether or not to get another drink, but on regarding Marcus' current state, he decided against it. He might be able to hold his drink all right, but if he was going to carry his friend back to his RC, he needed to be sober himself.
Turning back to Osbert, he just shrugged. "At least you had some company. I ended up barricading myself into somebody's RC for the month. Ended up coming close to going flamethrower from sheer boredom by the time I got the call." He stretched a little.
"Wish I could have done something about Makes-Things, though. I liked the guy."
Casting a glance at Langston, he realised the Agent wasn't getting out on his own power. It was pathetic, but he supposed he could understand somewhat. Still, he hated seeing an Agent who was made of such stern stuff reduced to the quivering mass of alcoholism hunched over the bar not too far from himself.
"Heh, we could've used a few flamethrower-crazies during the fighting," he admitted, looking back to Luke. "Even if we would've had to cart 'em away to FicPsych afterward. Still, we won, so I guess Makes-Things and the others can rest in peace, now." Looking around at the party, which still hadn't slowed down any, he appeared to be thinking about something.
"Hm. Not the most solemn way to respect the dead, but isn't this what they would've wanted? I hope it is."
"Ending up in FicPsych is not the way I want to go," he said when Osbert mentioned that department. "One of my partners wound up in there a while ago. The last time I heard of her, she thought she was the reincarnation of Lily Potter from Potterverse."
He looked around at the party. "I can think of at least one person who'd have appreciated the atmosphere, yeah," he sighed, his shoulders drooping slightly.
Osbert could only offer a shrug, giving what opinion he had. He couldn't claim to have all the answers, but that was how he looked at it. "Either way, they're in a better place."
"Thinking about it, though, I feel like there were people who deserved to make it more than I did. The younger ones, for example. I mean, I'm old enough to be a dad to some of the young ones. I know that doesn't mean so much to you, probably, but it gets to me. Like, there was a kid I knew who worked in DAVD. Reece, his name was. Pretty tough for a teenager, but still..."
Luke shook his head. "He didn't deserve to go."
"I never got that. A lot of the recruits these days are barely older than the Suethors, sometimes even younger. I still remember when all Agents were adults. Not to hold anything against the younger generation, but I think it should still be like that, sometimes. They're just kids, they shouldn't have to deal with it."
Osbert smirked a little after saying this, bemused. "Maybe that's just the talk of an old man who, were he sane, would be some Agent's grandfather, and not an Agent himself. Reece? Agent Nalan, right? I remember him, he did surprisingly well in my training. Already a pretty good shot when I got to him, could take care of himself well. Actually gave me a tough time for...oh, five seconds, when I tested his hand-to-hand skill. He was too young to die in something like this, though I thought the same when I found out they put him in DAVD of all things."
Luke smiled a little, thinking back to when he'd first met the serious boy. "I always knew he could take care of himself. One of my friends was partnered with him in DAVD, and from what he said, Reece was damn near unsquickable. DAVD was probably the best place for someone like that. I tried to get him to talk about how the heck he got so tough once, but all I got was 'I lived in a rough neighbourhood'."
The tall man shrugged. "Either he was just naturally gutsy, or he was glossing over a lot of details." An amused expression crossed his face. "He gave you a tough time? I'm impressed."
Osbert shrugged again, finishing off the glass of brandy he had ordered. "I hate to admit it, but I'm old, I'm not as quick or as strong as I used to be, so it took a bit before I could really catch up to him. Eventually I managed to get him to take a risk that opened him up and let me take him down."
Thinking for a moment, Osbert realised he hadn't seen the serious young boy after declaring his training complete. The length of training tended to be the individual trainer's jurisdiction; they allowed the recruit to leave whenever they thought the recruit was ready. Reece, however, hadn't taken long at all for Osbert to figure that he was ready to tackle missions. That had been before he knew the Flowers would put him in DAVD, though. "I never did find out much about him, once he left my training room I never saw him again. Do you know if he was any good as an Agent, before the Invasion?"
"I've slowed down a bit since I was recruited, though I think part of it's the fact my eyesight's only half as good as it used to be." He grinned. Making jokes about his missing eye had become a coping mechanism for him back when it had happened, and the habit had just stuck.
"As for Reece, I'd say he was a damn good Agent. Took his work seriously, at any rate, and he was pretty fanatical about making sure it was done right. He drove his partner nuts with that. Seth's a lot more squeamish."
Luke gave Osbert a nod and a smile. "You don't need to worry about him, Osbert, he was a good 'un. Went down trying to save Seth's neck, so it's not like he just slipped up, either."
I still have some of the Beverages from the future, though.
"Lest we forget," Deryn murmured in another part of the crowd, hand going to the sprig of rosemary she was wearing.
Leto, noticing that several Agents can't grieve on drink alone, brought some Sandwiches, Salads and Chocolate cake. At the same time, a portal suddenly opened and a box came out of it. On the Label, it said: This is a present from the heads of various OFU's to the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, in order to commemorate the valiant Agents that died in the defense of it's Headquarters last year. When Leto opened the box, he found out that it contained various foodstuffs, oviously untouched by Gandalf or any of the other OFU cooks.
The Infernal Trio took roughly half the food before going to the bar to eat their stuff and have PG2B2s.
"Chocolate. Yummy," said Krisp.
This time he distributed it to invididual Agents, taking note of their dietary needs (no Bleep-Sandwhiches for Avians). Jane also brewed some calming tea, thinking it a beverage fit for the occasion.
South and Whatev fed Krisprolls half the tea. He needed it.
"When are they going to make Bleeptea?" he said.
A small parcel came out, with the words: A gift from the future, containing several new Bleep-Products, including Bleeptea, Bleepgreentea, and Bleepcofee. Enjoy.
"Well, that's certainly fortunate", said Leto.
As usual, half of it mysteriously disappeared.
"Krisp, will you stop stealing half of whatever is available? And please stop drinking coffee."
Krisp was already too coffee high to listen.
It contained a second parcel of future beverages, as well as another note which said: This box contains a small Tesla Coil that will activate whenever an Agent takes more than his fair share of our gifts. It is very painful. You have been warned. Bye! -Love, the people from the future. Leto rolled his eyes. Apparently, future Agents are just as crazy as present ones.
"I guess I'll end up inventing this thing just to make sure we get something after Krisp," said Whatever.
"I knew it. You're really turning Vulcan."
What' took some of the drinks for himself and the rest of the Trio. "Here."
Krisp went all excited when he saw there was Bleepomulan beer and Bleepanar too.
"The Star Trek geek is back again," said What'. "Watch out, people."
"And who's watchin' the watchers, I wonder."
"Me."
"Rodney McKay, leave What''s body RIGHT NOW."
"Thanks, South. I guess we have an exorcist now."
"Hey, I was supposed to be the exorcist..."
"You're already the killer. You also want to charge the Sues?"
"Oh no, keep the fun for yourself, old dirtbag."
"Shut up, dwarf."
"At least I'm not a midget."
"What? Dwarf." South couldn't believe Krisp was bringing this again.
"Midget."
"Dwarf."
"Midget."
"Stop that, you two."
"OBSERVATION: YOUR BICKERING APPEARS TO BE IRRITATING EACH OTHER. SUGGESTION: CEASE ABOVEMENTIONED BICKERING, AND ENJOY THE PARTY. ADMONISHMENT: THE DEAD WOULD RATHER YOU NOT SPEND THIS COMMEMORATION INSULTING EACH OTHER, I BELIEVE."
Sufficiently Advanced Vending Machine, better known as "SAVM" or sometimes "Savey" (by his partner), had kept silent for most of the party so far, appearing to be merely a vending machine placed against one of the walls. In fact, nobody had actually seen him enter, not even his partner, he just seemed to be there, making an exception of his rule of not dispensing drinks to "meatbags" in light of the events that had happened before his programming had been complete. The DoSAT technician that had made him included a program of the entire history of the PPC, so he knew what had happened and one of his databases had a complete list of the casualties, but the sentient vending machine had only been completed a few months after the events. Performing a quick scan of the three in front of him, he concluded that they were not Agents he knew of. Not only that, but they were apparently androids.
"INTRODUCTION: I AM SUFFICIENTLY ADVANCED VENDING MACHINE, SAVM, DEPARTMENT OF BAD SLASH. PLEASED STATEMENT: IT IS INTERESTING TO SEE FELLOW NONORGANIC AGENTS HERE, AS YOU ARE CLEARLY NOT MEATBAGS. QUERY: ARE YOU THREE NEW AGENTS? I HAVE NOT SEEN YOU BEFORE."
"Who. The. Hell. Is. This. SAVM. Guy," said Krisp. "How does he know we were tall ships before? Because now we're humans, as far as I know."
"Dunno," What' answered. "Well, I'm Whatever, and these are Krisprolls and South. Well, these are nicknames because our names are mostly unpalatable, especially mine. We're known as the Infernal Trio since some pissed off guy had this idea to call us that."
"'Twas Guayas, I think. A guy after my own heart."
"I guess so, Krisp. Crazy guy, this one. Guayas, I mean. Well, both."
"Thanks a lot, What'."
"I ain't holdin' the candle."
"Stop repeating yourself, old bag."
"Stop that, you two."
"Same remark for you, Vulcan."
"Oh dear. Sorry for the mess, SAVM."
However, it wasn't long before his voice system booted up again, having waited for the Trio to finish. "EXPLANATION: I RAN A DIAGNOSTIC SCAN ON THE THREE OF YOU IN ORDER TO DETERMINE IF WE HAVE ENCOUNTERED EACH OTHER BEFORE. IN MY SCAN I FOUND THAT NEITHER OF YOU ARE MEATBAGS, OR INDEED BIOLOGICAL AT ALL, THOUGH YOUR EXTERNAL APPEARANCES ARE THAT OF MEATBAGS. IT IS A SIMPLE PROCESS, THAT ONLY TOOK A FEW SECONDS WITH THE COMPUTING ABILITIES PROGRAMMED INTO ME. APOLOGETIC STATEMENT: I DID NOT MEAN TO ALARM YOU."
He went silent again, the whirr of machinery audible as he scanned the immediate area. "CORRECTION: I SEE NO 'MESS' IN THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY," he eventually said, still performing visual and diagnostic scans to determine the source.
"If you see no mess in this area, your scanners need serious revising. There have been some fights, heavy drinking, not only on our parts, bantering, the same, and what have you. And I think saying 'meatbags' for 'organic beings' won't please everyone. We don't mind, we're too crazy for that, but if you ever come across someone who does, you'll remember it for the rest of your life, and that won't be long. By the way, we're organic beings, even if we may not look completely organic. And you didn't alarm us. We've been through much, much worse, we're a bit jaded now."
"STATEMENT: IT IS UNWISE TO THREATEN ME, I AM NOT PROGRAMMED WITH INTIMIDATION SUBROUTINES, THUS IT IS FRUITLESS. CONFIDENT STATEMENT: MY SCANNERS DO NOT LIE, YOU ARE ANDROIDS, NOT MEATBAGS. ELABORATION: AS FOR A MESS, I WAS SPEAKING IN REFERENCE TO ANY MESS CAUSED BY YOURSELVES FOR WHICH YOU MAY HAVE BEEN APOLOGISING. EXPLANATION: I AM PROGRAMMED TO REFER TO MEATBAGS AS 'MEATBAGS', THIS IS AN ISSUE TO RAISE WITH MY CREATOR, NOT I."
The din of the music and partying agents came rather close to drowning out the vending machine turned sentient robot, but he was still audible. After a moderately long pause, there was a beep, and the plug connecting SAVM to the wall outlet withdrew back into him. "STATEMENT: MY BATTERY HAS FINISHED RECHARGING. I BELIEVE I WILL STAY HERE THOUGH, TO DISPENSE DRINKS TO ANY MEATBAGS DESIRING NON-ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES THAT WILL NOT ERASE THEIR MEMORIES, EITHER. SUGGESTION: YOU THREE SHOULD PROBABLY GO BACK TO THE PARTY, I WOULD NOT PRESUME TO INTERRUPT."
said What'. "Say whatever you want, I just wanted to point out whatever effects it could have on some people. We ourselves do not mind. And we're having enough fun here as it is, you're not interrupting anything. No, Krisp, you're not asking where his creator is and you're not sporking his ass."
"Feck, how did you know I would ask?"
"I know you, little grasshopper."
"Oh... you didn't say this one for a long time... I was almost missing it..."
"Krisp, stop that. Now."
"Well, I thought we were humans but this explains why we look half our age... and the mess was us bantering, we do that all the time."
"Like it matters, 'cause we do the same as regular 'meatbags' out there since we turned human."
"Krisp said it all."
"Is that scorch marks on that note," Milask said to no one inparticular. There were a couple of ideas that ran through his head about the origins of the party gifts, some of them Leto would not like.
"Wasn't me!" she said, waving her hands and trying not to drop the mug she was still holding (now empty, thankfully). "I'd probably've burnt it all up, anyway, I don't think my control's that fine," she added, glancing at the note.
"Just means practice," Leas told her, coming up from behind.
"I don't need much fine-tuning when we're dealing with 'Sues"
Adder fidgeted nervously. "Seriously, Deuce, I'm getting that mall feeling."
Her partner gave her a strange look. "'Mall feeling'? You consider that a bad thing? From what I've heard, most Real World girls have positive feelings concerning the mall."
Adder returned his look tenfold. Deuce grimaced. "Right. You're not most Real World girls. But what's your problem?"
"You know that feeling you get sometimes," said Adder, "when you're in some place and you have that unexplainable feeling that you do not belong there?"
Deuce grimaced again. "I know that feeling far more than you could possibly comprehend."
"Well, I get that feeling whenever I'm walking around in the mall. So I call it my mall feeling."
Deuce nimbly dodged a mini-Balrog that had made a grab for his daggers. "Why exactly are you getting that feeling now?"
"Because we had nothing to do with the Mary Sue Invasion, so therefore we reeeally don't belong here."
"Says who? A bunch of the newer recruits are here. See, there's that Abominable Trio I keep hearing about. Hey, they have Pan Galactic Gargle Bleeprin Blasters!"
Adder raised an eyebrow. "I didn't take you for a Hitchhikers Guide fan."
"Oh, please," Deuce rolled his eyes. "I had it shoved in my face during training. I'm completely familiar with it." Grabbing the drink, he took a sip. "Well, well. It really does feel like getting your brains smashed out with a slice of lemon wrapped around a gold brick. What was I saying?"
"That's the Bleeprin working," Adder muttered. "I don't drink. And Deuce, if you get so wasted that I have to carry you back to the RC, heads will roll. Mine will not be one of them."
"Point taken," said Deuce. "Don't worry, though. I can hold my liquor."
"That's what they all say."
The Infernal Trio was currently having PG2B2s too at the bar. Krisprolls's idea.
"That's Infernal Trio for you, people," Krisp said. "Well, doesn't matter. I see we're already famous. Good."
"Oh. My. Sporkin'. Glod. Krisp is doin' it again. Jokin' with random people."
"Don't be so worked up, South, it's just a party. We have plenty of time before we get serious again."
"If we ever do, you Vulcan."
"You too think I'm turning Vulcan too fast? Oh. My. Kriffing. Glod."
"Infernal, Abominable, same blighting thing," he responded. "They're just spelled differently." He shot his partner an insolent grin. "Like 'Adder' and 'annoying'."
Adder raised a fist as though to punch him, and then apparently thought better of it. Instead, she rolled her eyes upward as though seeking patience, exhaled loudly, murmured "buttmunch", and pretended not to listen.
Suddenly she whipped her head around at a small plate on the counter. "Oh, thank Agnost, Bleepolate."
Deuce smiled slightly at the Infernal Trio. "That'll keep her quiet."
Through a mouthful of Bleepolate, Adder could only manage an incoherent snarl at her partner.
The Trio was giggling. "Oh, I think we're nothing new here, looks like you'll get used to us very fast," said Krisp. "I'm also stuck with this fraking Vulcan and this kriffing fake Southerner."
"The fracking Vulcan is right there and ready to blow your face, you frelling twit."
"Frelling twit? Your imagination is running short. You're really turning Vulcan."
"I ain't holdin' no candle for you two," said South." There ain't no way."
"You know where you can put this bleeping candle? Yes, there."
"I ain't puttin' no candle anywhere, you twat."
"Twit, twat... Is my brother also turning Vulcan? I feel so lonely."
"I think you'll be lonely very fast if you keep calling us Vulcans."
"Vulcans. Still there?"
It went on for a while before they ran out of witty comebacks and substitutes for the f-bomb.
Swallowing her mouthful of Bleepolate, she nudged her partner. "Say Deuce, what would you say about this Infernal Trio?"
Deuce snerked. "Vulcans my arse. They're a bunch of zarking idiots."
Adder gaped at him. "I never thought I'd hear you talk in Douglas Adams slang. Somehow my brain fails to fathom it. I think I need to scrub that from my memory." With that said, she took another large bite of Bleepolate.
"Zarking. I must write this down," said Krisp. "Don't worry about the Vulcans, it's a joke between us. What' is the oldest, so he often get to be called a Vulcan."
"I think I'm old enough to qualify, but for the rest.."
"There ain't no rest."
"What South said. Anyway, you guessed well for the 'zarking idiots'. It's the first time in quite a while we've been called so mildly. And whe I say a while... it means the 1950s or 60s. The usual stuff we got from our fellow tall ships was '...ing arseholes' and even that was rather mild. I spare you the rest."
"Truthfully, I was being kind," he admitted. "I'm not usually so polite, but I think it would be disrespectful to say something like..." Here, he let loose a stream of profanity that made Adder stuff the rest of the Bleepolate bar into her mouth and reach for another. "...in the middle of a memorial gathering such as this.
Adder rolled her eyes heavenward again. "Well, so much for that..."
At that moment, Cthulhu (who had been asleep in Adder's hood until this point) abruptly awoke. Nose twitching, he spotted the Bleepolate and scurried onto Adder's shoulder to lunge for it.
"ARGH! NO! BAD FERRET! GET YOUR OWN!"
Cthulhu chirruped something in annoyance and nipped Adder sharply on the ear.
"Well, I think you got quite the gist of what we've been called," said Krisp. "It's even been worse from some of our friends. Cute animal, by the way."
"Krisp... Are you encouraging them, or what?"
"Yes, I am."
"Krisp..." What' glared at him.
Milask was not in the best of moods. This party was not getting off it feet. He was hoping for more dancing, and stories of the fallen comrads. What it looked like was a bunch of beings drinking in small groups.
The sterio was an unusual object. It is slightly psychic and would not play certain songs, eventhough you asked for it a dozen times.
Milask pressed the play button. The Beatles seemed to be what the sterio wanted to play...
If Milask were to turn around, he'd pretty much instantly see who had spoken. While Montgomery Osbert III didn't leave Operations and his training area terribly often, the 79 year old man was still fairly easy to pick out of a crowd. Even if it weren't for his obvious age, and the fact that with Makes-Things' passing he was now the longest serving human Agent still active, his bearing, fairly simple attire, and the large red helmet he wore would have made him stand out. Like most of the others in the store, he was currently unarmed, and his hands occasionally fidgeted around as if he wasn't used to not carrying so much kit with him. Allowing himself to lean on the stereo a bit, he looked around the immediate area and the Agents that had started milling around.
"I'm surprised this store has enough foom for so many Agents," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Still, seems like there aren't terribly many of them in a festive mood. Can't say I blame them, can you? Hm...it's probably odd to ask, but I'm not sure if I saw you in the fighting, chaotic as it was. Were you there? Particularly during the fighting in Operations?" Perhaps it wasn't the best thing to ask on the anniversary of a fairly horrific event, but bluntness had always been Osbert's way. With his fairly advanced age, his memory could get a bit hazy at times, especially in events as chaotic as the Invasion, so he was trying to place if he had seen the other man before. Besides, it was better than awkward silence.
"nfortunatly I was not there for the fighting. Leto had roped me into helping him install a new portal stabilizer here in the store. When we heard about it, it was too late to help or even bring the wounded here." Milask said to the man behind him.
"I don`t belive I have had the pleasure of meeting you before." Milask said. "I am Milask, origionally from the Rifts universe, though I have lost my flying ability." Milask held out his paw to the man.
"Montgomery Osbert III, at your service. Most call me Osbert. I'm one of the Agent trainers in Operations, probably why we haven't met. It's a pleasure," shaking Milask's paw, he gave a small nod before releasing. "Most of us here were in the fighting, so I thought I'd ask. Consider yourself lucky, though. Was a terrible business, even if we forced them back in the end."
"I did have friends in the ranks," Leto said. "Here, let me get you a drink." Milask walked over to the bar. "What are you drinking?"
Nodding, Osbert started to follow Milask over to the bar, thinking over what he should get. It had been a while since he'd touched spirits, but it would help him loosen up. When Leto asked them what they would have, Osbert thought for a few seconds before making his choice. "I think I'll just have some brand-" he was cut off by the sound of a familiar voice on the other side of the bar and looked over, seeing a very clearly intoxicated Marcus Langston bantering with another Agent. "Hold that thought," he said to Leto, moving around to the side of the bar where the two others were.
((OOC: If ye don't mind, Leto/Milask, thought we could bring this up to where Luke and Marcus are bantering, thought it'd reduce clutter.))
A small, mousy-haired teen stuck her head through the doorway, and her eyes lit up as she saw the stereo.
"It is 'Sgt. Pepper's'!" she cried gleefully to someone behind her. "C'mon, guys, it's 'The Beatles'! We gotta dance!"
The slender girl bounded into the room, dragging behind her three identical men, all in PPC black save for matching coonskin caps.
"But Bree, we were just going to the Cafeteria to--oh, don't give me that look," the protesting Danny groaned as the girl turned on him, brown eyes wide and pleading.
"C'mon, Krocket, pleeeeease?" she begged, and the misspelling manifested sighed.
"Oh, all right. But I get to be Ringo."
"Yay!" grinned Bree, and she dragged the three Dannys out onto the floor, where they proceeded to dance and sing rather questionable four-part harmony.
The Infernal Trio was busy dancing when Krisp noticed a fight near the bar. "Well, I think we should stop that," he said.
"The guy is drunk. It won't last long,' said What'.
They resumed dancing.
'Hey guys,' said the Bad Slasher, smiling round the room. She perched on the edge of a set of shelves, sniffer-dog settling down beside her. 'Happy Anniversary, I guess.' She pulled a bottle of champagne and a dog-eared cardboard box of champagne flutes from her Bag. 'Who fancies a celebratory one of these?'
In the middle of it all, a short and fairly rotund Irishman made his way inside. Smoothing down hia hair with his hand, Gerald Murphy, best known by most as "Small Murphy" due to the fact that he was only about 5'4, looked around his competitor's store almost nervously. It was true that he had made a lot of money off of the Invasion, but he had still thought he should at least show some respect by attending the memorial, especially when his giant of a brother threatened to smack him upside the head if he didn't. As the 6'10 James Murphy (or "Big Murphy") squeezed through the doorway, the brothers nodded at each other, before Gerald pulled out a flask of whiskey. While they had each decided to make sure they were about as well-dressed as they could be without being out of uniform, Gerald had never been dissuaded from bringing his own drink.
"C'mon, James," he said in his thick Irish accent, looking up at his brother while taking down a swig. James really didn't look much like him, sometimes, it was almost as if they weren't really brothers. "Like you said, least we can do is pay our respects."
As the two Irish businessmen started to mingle with the crowd, Marcus made his entrance, followed by Zodfang. Instead of the usual banter, both were silent. In fact, the past week Marcus hadn't so much as said two words to anyone, even during missions, only really talking when he had to read out a charge list. The hulking Ork next to him had been trying to get Marcus fired up and talking again, but he was now silent, mostly because Marcus had quite bluntly told him that he'd blow Zodfang's head off if the Ork went about any of his usual antics. Nodding to his partner, Marcus went off into the crowd, looking for anyone he knew. He felt eyes upon him, and even if they didn't say it, he couldn't help but feel like they agreed with him; he hadn't been there, he hadn't been able to fight, so what right did he have to be here? If he hadn't been suspended, were there people who had fallen that'd be alive now? Reece, Dylan, Seth, Steven, Alex, Travis...could he have saved at least any of those men? Any others? He should have been able to fight. Agents moved wordlessly out of his way, as he made his way to a bar some Agent had set up in the corner of the General Store. Dropping himself onto one of the makeshift seats, he let out a sigh, looking up at the youngish man behind the bar, a nasty scar from the Invasion's fighting obvious on his face.
"Oh, hello," the man said, slightly surprised. "Didn't see ya come up. What can I do ya for?" He asked, looking at the stash of drinks he had stored under the bar. "Bleepka, I bet? Bleepsynthe?"
"Nah," Marcus said, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd say this, but just give me the real thing. Leave the bottle, don't wanna bother you by continually askin' you to fill up a glass." It didn't take long before the Agent set down a glass and a bottle of vodka in front of Marcus, who nodded in gratitude as he poured some of the bottle's contents into the glass. He had told himself he'd never touch alcohol again, when being drunk was what got him into the PPC, but there were extenuating circumstances, he supposed.
Meanwhile, in another part of the crowd, agent Vincent Cyrus looked around sombrely. The rest of his group were standing around him, but they didn't seem particularly talkative either. Though he, Einarr, Greg, and Yuri had all made it out alive, it had been a close call, and they each knew several people who hadn't, especially on that barricade they'd set up. Vince supposed it had been worth it though; that barricade in the middle of the corridor had stopped a lot of Sue reenforcements from making their way to Medical when the fighting there was at its hottest. "This ain't much a party," he said, almost mumbling to himself. "Feels more like a funeral."
"Over a thousand warriors paved their way to Valhalla with the bones of the Sue invaders," Einarr said, nodding to himself. The wiry Agent and his long blond hair didn't look quite as imposing without his spear and bullet-deflecting shield, but Vince knew that even unarmed the former Viking was always holding himself ready for a brawl, even while at a party commemorating the deaths of one thousand Agents. "The atmosphere is appropriate, I believe. Anything else would be disrespectful."
"Da, the Norseman is right," Yuri said, his left hand unconsciously moving up to touch part of his ear that had been blown off in the fighting. The Russian usually seemed fairly jovial, seeing everything as better compared to fighting Hitler's forces on the Eastern Front, but even he was sobered. "Many people died here, da? We should show our respects."
"Suppose y'all're right," Vince replied with a shrug, looking to Greg. The former Gear, whose skills with the Longshot sniper rifle had saved them many times over, remained silent as he sipped from his drink. He was even less talkative than usual, it seemed, so instead Vince looked around to see if there was anyone else he knew in the immediate area.
Dragging her partner by his shirt, Sara entered the store and looked around.
"Is this really necessary?" the taller Agent grumbled, readjusting his skewed glasses.
"Yes. You need to socialize more," his partner nagged, pushing him towards Cassie and Nat and scanning the room for any other familiar faces. She noted Marcus at the bar, and raised an eyebrow as she read the label on his bottle of drink. Making her way through the crowd, she tapped Zod on the shoulder.
"Oi, Zod. What's up with your lump of a partner?"
"Eh? Wotcha want?" He asked, upon noticing the female Agent behind him. When she asked what was up with Marcus, he took a few seconds, and then shrugged. "No bleedin' idea. 'Oomie's been like dis all week, fink it'z 'cuz o' dat big fight last year."
"Yeah, I was there. Awful..." she was lost in reverie for a moment, then suddenly jerked and looked up at Zodfang, surprised.
"If I remember correctly, he wasn't here at the time. Why's he all worked up about it?"
"Awful? Sounded like a right an' propa fight, t'me! Only bad ting wuz dat da Orkz wuzn't dere!" Zodfang, having a completely incompatible view of warfare from most humans, genuinely didn't see what everyone was worked up about. In fact, he thought it had been a party to celebrate a good, hard-won, fight until Marcus threatened to kill him. When the woman suddenly jerked up, asking him why Marcus was so worked up. "Zoggif I know. Ask 'im yerself," was all he managed to say, shrugging his massive shoulders as if he'd given up even trying to figure out what was up with his partner.
...but kept her thoughts to herself.
"Thanks, Zod."
The woman made her way to the bar, where she sat next to Marcus. Picking up his bottle, she sniffed the contents and took a tentative sip.
"Ugh. Never was a big fan of this stuff. Too strong for me. Didn't expect to see you drinkin', though. What's up?"
However, the veteran wasn't on the attack. Instead, he merely snatched the bottle out of the woman's hand, filling up the glass again before downing it all in a couple swigs. The bottle and glass were placed back, the Agent letting out a sigh and giving his new companion a pointed, if lazy, look. Had he not already been at a rather decent level of intoxication, part of him would have realised how pathetic he looked, but right now he didn't care.
"The 'ell is it to you?" He asked, unable to hide the slight slur to his voice. "Everyone's drinkin'...Heh, the Bleeproducts...they just dun' do the trick, y'know?"
Taking another long drink, Marcus could hear the music starting to turn up, partygoers tentatively dancing to the stereo's choice of music as bit by bit some people attempted to liven the place up. Really though, he honestly couldn't care less. People had died, and he'd never been able to do anything but stand by helplessly and try to get some of the wounded out, but here people were almost celebrating it. He just didn't get it. "Well?" He asked, impatiently. "Wh-wha'd ya want?"
"I want you to tell me why you're trying to drown your sorrows in the worst-tasting alcohol known to sentient life." She snatched the bottle back and took a swig, glaring over the rim at him and daring him to do something about it.
"Looked like the strongest stuff 'e had," Marcus replied, placing the bottle on the opposite side of the glass from Sara. "'Sides, not that bad. Otherwise ya wouldn' be drinkin' it!" Snickering to himself, Marcus stared at the empty glass, half listening to the song and half losing himself in his alcohol-veiled thoughts. What the hell was it so important to her for, anyway? Couldn't a man just get plastered in peace?
Not too far from where Sara and Marcus were, Troy stared at the bar with a look of concern on his face. He had never known Marcus to act like how it looked he was acting. Part of him wanted to go over to the man he considered a friend, but at the same time, he was enjoying the music and Marcus had always preferred to take care of his problems personally. Adjusting his sunglasses, he moved onto the dance floor again, looking around for the bespectacled (and rather generously endowed, which was odd but not unheard of in the PPC) young Agent that had caught his eye a few seconds before. After all, wouldn't their dead comrades have wanted them to have fun?
Watching the slowly filling dance floor, Gerald Murphy shrugged a bit. "I can look into it later, should probably find Leto," he said to his brother. "You know how business is, bro. You go have some fun for us, aye?"
Chuckling a bit, James grinned at Gerald before heading onto the floor. "Aye, sure. Just don't try to pickpocket anyone, y'hear?"
She didn't feel too great about the idea, having been thinking about the friends she'd lost last year (not to mention the scar running across her back that she'd picked up in the fighting), but maybe she should make an effort.
Shifting into the crowd, she began swaying along in time with the music. As she moved through the dancing people, a few familiar faces appeared, and she smiled. Maybe more people were okay than she'd thought. Backing away from one girl who looked like she'd had a bit too much to drink, Jessie bumped into someone behind her and turned round.
"Sorry - oh. Hi, Big Murphy. Been a while."
[[OOC: I'll detach Cassie from the thread with Zach and send her over to Troy if y'like.]]
At first, James didn't recognise the person speaking, but after the fireworks settled down enough for him to actually focus on her voice and what she looked like, he grinned. "Good to see you're alright, Jessie," he said, scratching his head a bit. Jessie was a rather frequent customer of the Murphy brothers, finding them a lot more conveniently placed than the General Store and Armoury. She also had a nice eye for what was worth selling, often bringing in pretty nice finds from her missions, which tended to fatten either Murphy's wallet significantly when another customer came around. While they weren't all that close, he did get along with her, and had actually found himself rather worried when she had been wounded. It was nice to see that she was on her feet again.
"That pistol you ordered finally came in, finding the exact model wasn't easy," he said, trying to talk over the din of the music and people dancing, finally starting to liven up from the mournful atmosphere earlier. There was respect for the dead, then there was just being a mood killer, he figured. Wouldn't they want those left behind to remember them with happiness, not despair? "Once you feel up to it, just come on down with the right payment. I got the Beretta and plenty of ammunition, was actually pretty cheap. Or did you just want to chat?"
Despite his size, she'd never felt intimidated by the oversized Irishman. "Thanks. Same here," she replied to his first statement, grinning and adding, "Not that anything could do much damage to you, huh?"
On hearing about her latest order, she shook her head a little. "Sorry, didn't realise it'd be that much of a nuisance to get hold of. I'll come by later, sure. But chatting sounds like a good idea. It's not as though I'm in a massive rush anywhere; for one thing, I'd have to round up Luke and detach him from whoever he's hitting on first." She rolled her eyes, sure Big Murphy'd know what she meant. The flirt machine she'd been partnered with since joining the PPC still grated on her nerves at times.
Shrugging as the much smaller woman apologised for the inconvenience, he snickered a bit at Jessie's description of her partner. He'd met the man a few times, especially since Luke had a particular interest in collecting guns, and Jessie's description seemed pretty accurate. The guy really would hit on anything vaguely female, it seemed. James half wondered how the guy went through missions without trying to get in the Sue's pants. Looking around, taking advantage of his height to see clear over the heads of almost everyone in attendance, he eventually spotted what looked like Luke near the bar, talking with two other male Agents. While he couldn't make them out 100%, they looked like Osbert, one of the more well-known Agent trainers, and Langston, who was another occasional customer of his.
"Well, the good news is he's not hitting on anyone right now, unless he's suddenly decided to switch orientations on us," he told Jessie, looking back down to her. "Hm, wonder where the bloody hell my brother went. Hard to keep track of someone that short sometimes. Anyway, what've you been up to? Enjoying yourself?"
couldn't see Luke, so accepted what her companion said with a shrug. "Can't see him doing that. He's always been after girls as long as I've known him."
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other to ease the slight cramp, Jessie nodded at Murphy's friendly enquiry. "Can't say I've been enjoying myself as such, the occasion being what it is, but things haven't been going too badly." Resisting the impulse to touch the scar - it seemed to be tingling, for some reason - she gestured around at the dancers. "Everyone else seems to be trying to have fun, so I thought I'd make an effort."
"I understand that we should respect the dead, but that also means we shouldn't be letting ourselves get down in the dumps about it. I don't think they'd have wanted us to waste their sacrifice like that, that would be more disrespectful than total irreverance, I believe."
Placing his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't accidentally hit anyone or anything like that, he looked at Jessie's leg as she shifted her weight. "Your leg alright?" he asked, nodding to the leg that, unknown to him, had started cramping up. "Can't blame you for not exactly enjoying the atmosphere, I know it still feels odd to me, but think of it as honouring our comrades the way they'd have wanted to. If it was them here right now, they'd probably pay us tribute the same way."
She shrugged it off. "I suppose you're right. I just think too much about that kind of thing, especially when I keep remembering I could have been one of them."
With that, she shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the time she'd had to spend in Medical recovering, and forced a smile. "I'm sure they would. You're right, let's at least try to be cheerful for their sakes." She tugged him further onto the dance floor and began dancing, losing herself in concentrating on the music.
Though he hesitated for a second, before long he had also started to dance, trying to make out what music the stereo had changed to as he started moving to the beat. He had never been much of a dancer, but he figured he may as well try. Somehow he managed to move well enough that he didn't accidentally knock anyone out with his bulk, helped by Agents who saw the giant Irishman start to move decided to give his spot on the floor more of a berth, and eventually started to settle into a kind of rhythm, though he still didn't move as well as Jessie seemed to be. He still didn't know where his brother had gone, but he was sure the guy was doing fine on his own, even if it was odd for so many Agents to just be hanging out, no missions going on at the moment and no danger of Sues.
Funny to think this was a battlefield a year ago.
"Do our dead friends and comrades a favor and let the past be the past. You're disrespectin' them by dwelling on it and not livin' the life that they gave theirs up for. And give me back the damn vodka," she growled, snatching the bottle up and taking another generous swig.
"Coulda had a freakin' mojito," she grumbled, noting interestedly that the bottle was almost empty.
"The hell do you know?!" He asked, forcing himself to his feet and rounding on Sara. Justified or not, her comments only served to push his buttons, which he had already been making a good showing out of pushing himself. Excluding Sues, he had never hit a woman, but the look in his eyes showed he was definitely considering knocking Sara's block off. "Y-you think you're so frackin' smart, dontcha?! Where d'ya git off, talkin' like that, y'little brat?! Disrespect, heh. At least ya prolly got t'be there!" Stepping closer to Sara, one hand grabbed the collar of her uniform, as the other snatched the now almost empty bottle and almost slammed it back on the counter. His face so close to hers, he could actually smell her breath, not that he much cared. Whoever the hell this lady thought she was, now he was just hoping she decided to make a move.
"I was there, idiot. I lost some of my best friends. People I grew up with. And as your friend I'm telling you, keep going the way you are and it'll kill you. And their deaths will go to waste. But you wouldn't care, would you, you selfish frakface."
The angry and slightly tipsy woman wrenched herself out of Marcus's grip and slipped into the crowd, managing to unobtrusively make it out of the room. She walked a ways down the hall and then sat down, back against the wall.
"Way too much angst, way too much drama. Just calm down, sweetie. No more vodka for you..." she mumbled to herself.
Seth also left the room, not really in the mood for a crowd of people, and wandered down the corridor. He came across a young woman sitting against the wall, looking rather less than happy, and stopped. "Hey, are you okay?" He knelt down next to her. "You don't look too good." He smelled the alcohol on her breath, but decided not to mention it.
Meanwhile, back in the General Store, Luke had spotted the little argument at the bar and wandered over, a little tipsy himself. "Hey, man," he greeted the older Agent, dropping onto a stool. "What's up with you? Never seen you drinking like this before, an', an' you don't go arguing with people."
Sara grumbled, rubbing her eyes.
"Just frustrated. Y'know when someone's being reeeeally stupid, and you just wanna bash some sense into them because you know they know better? ...Yeah..."
"Yeah, I know the feeling, believe it or not. Last time it happened... well." He lost his smile immediately. "Well, maybe I shouldn't go into it now. Let's just see about getting you sorted, shall we? I'm Seth Emerian. You wanna tell me who you are, hon, and what's got you so upset?"
"I'm Sara. Sara Knight. I have this friend...Langston? Dunno if you know 'im. Anyway, he seems to think that he's a terrible, worthless person 'cause he wasn't here for the fighting and lost some friends. Eru, we all lost friends," she sniffed, biting her lip. She didn't want to admit it, but the confrontation with Marcus had upset her greatly.
Seth was mildly surprised. He'd known Marcus for years, had been his partner at one point, but he'd had no idea the guy had even been at the party. Still, maybe it wasn't all that surprising.
"Yeah, I know him all right, and he's just that kind of person," the DAVDer managed after listening to what Sara had to say. "He's very, uhm... protective of his friends, so not being able to help them out would have upset him. Friend of mine told me he went ballistic at the DIA when they wouldn't let him in to help."
Damn, Sara looked really upset. He hated this kind of situation, mostly because he had no idea how to deal with girls on the verge of tears. Maybe offering a hug...? No, probably not a great idea, too many Agents tended to react violently to physical contact from virtual strangers.
"And, uh, I do know how you feel. I lost my partner in the invasion. He wasn't much younger than you, I think, and I feel terrible about it." Seth leaned back against the wall and sighed. "Nearly ended up getting killed myself, too. But anyway," he added, trying to change the subject, "what did Marcus say to you to get you so upset? He's not the kind of guy who goes around upsetting people... not on purpose anyway."
"It's not really anything he said, it's just that he's being so stupid and he's not a stupid person, y'know?" she scratched her head. "I mean, yeah, he got a little violent, but violence is part of the job. Oh, I dunno," she grumbled. She looked up at the other agent and grinned weakly.
"Sorry. I barely know you."
"Pretty girls bending my ear makes a nice change," Seth smiled, trying to make her feel better. "It's not like him, though, especially getting violent. If I'd known he was going to feel this bad about it, I'd have tried to find him beforehand and let him get it out of his system."
He shook his head, puzzling over the mystery of Marcus. "I'm sure there are other people in there who know him, they'll shake some sense into him eventually. In the meantime, maybe we should get out of here and get you cheered up, eh?" He stood up and offered a hand to help her up, deciding that he could ignore his own less-than-perky feelings. "Come on, you shouldn't be getting miserable, Sara. Let's get a smile back on that pretty face, hm?"
"Thanks."
She took a deep breath, deciding that this was someone that she'd like to get to know better. She gave him a small smile.
"Where to?"
as he pulled her to her feet. "Is there somewhere you like to hang out when you're not on a mission? I'd offer my RC, but it's not in the most cheerful area of HQ - well, DAVD generally isn't."
He shrugged. "Or there's the Cafeteria, but I'm guessing the offer of potentially fatal food poisoning isn't all that attractive... wait, I know. There's the Lounge. A friend of mine from Despatch - well, she's DIA now, but she was in Despatch - told me about it. Apparently the coffee's pretty good there. Sound like your kind of thing?"
Sara nodded.
"Don't think I've ever been there. Heh, I probably need the coffee. Lead the way, then, yeah?"
He offered his arm, playing a bit of an old-fashioned gentleman in an attempt to make her laugh. Once she'd taken it, they strolled off down the corridor together.
"Weird, the way we do this sort of thing, innit?" Deryn took a sip of her drink and grimaced. "No, thanks, think this is enough alcohol for me for now."
"I might have one, if that's all right," Leas said. "Cheers."
... and started fiddling with the cork on the bottle.
'Actually,' she said after a few seconds. 'If anyone actually wants to drink some of this, can someone else please open it? Otherwise I'll just end up taking someone's eye out with a ballistic cork ...'
Leas took the bottle and considered for a moment. "Let's see if I remember correctly, it helps to hold it like this-" this being a forty-five degree angle- "and hold the cork instead" Not that it seemed any easier to get the cork out that way, but at least he didn't lose it when it did come out. He poured a glass for Trojie first. "All right. Anyone else for champagne?"
"US!" shouted the Trio.
Leas poured out a reasonable measure for each of the Trio, and handed them out. "Here you go." He poured another one for himself, and smiled. "I don't think I've seen you three before. I'm Leas. Pleased to meet you." He looked over at Deryn, only to find she wasn't there any more. "Oh, dear"
"I'm Whatever, and these are South and Krisprolls. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the drinks. Krisp, your glass is already empty?"
"If you don't mind my asking, may I ask why those names?" he asked, adding by way of explanation, "I'm curious. They seem a bit unusual.
"There seems to be a bar over there. Maybe we could relocate there?" He didn't quite want to impose on Trojie more than was necessary, after all.
"Well, I have this nickname because not many people outside Norway can pronounce my real name. In fact, that's what they say when they give up, and Krisprolls had this stupid idea of nicknaming me this. I retaliated by giving him the name of a Swedish roasted bread brand which kinda looks like his name, and South has this name because he was originally named after the most Southern part of our country."
"Like 'Statsraad Lehmkuhl' is so difficult to say."
"What South said. By the way, I'm Christian Radich and this guy is Sorlandet. And I guess you know why people called us the Infernal Trio. We totally deserve it. OK, let's go to the bar."
Leas started towards the bar. "I suppose Norwegian looks more difficult than some languages, but sounds faintly Germanic."
He nodded at the names, then blinked. "The Infernal Trio because your names are difficult to pronounce? I suppose, though I don't quite see it myself. One could practice, couldn't they?"
"Yes, we're from Norway. 'The Infernal Trio' is just because we're..."
"A bunch of zarking idiots."
"Thanks, Krisp. Well, I guess people could practice saying our names, but they usually don't make that effort. They can't even write them properly. Well, most of the time, I mean."
"Might be easier if it was part of learning the rest of the language, too," he mused.
At this point, Deryn wandered back over, looking somewhat discontent. "Hey," she said, less than spiritedly.
"Didn't find anyone?"
"Didn't even manage to get a conversation going," Deryn muttered. "You'd think someone would respond to a request, even if it's 'nooo, why would you think that', but no." She looked up at the Trio. "Say, do any of you know the trumpet?"
"Or more people would be able to write 'Statsraad Lehmkuhl' the first time. I'm afraid none of us can play the trumpet," he added when Deryn asked.
"Dangabit," she muttered, then looked up hopefully. "Don't suppose you'd happen to know anyone who does?"
"We don't know everyone, much less someone who plays the trumpet. Sorry."
She did her best not to droop again- wouldn't want What' to feel bad. "That's all right. I think we can make do."
Just curious."
"Curiouser and curiouser," said Krisp.
"With Anzac Day in a week back home, it seems well. Sort of appropriate. Something. Just can't play it myself, not yet. And it's not the same on clarinet, of course."
"YAY!" said Krisp. "We're here!"
The Infernal Trio approached and took a glass each. It wasn't time yet to borrow an entire bottle for them three. Just kidding.
First were Cassie and Nat, accompanied by Kelvin as usual. Although the two girls couldn't really say they knew anybody from the Invasion last year, they'd taken the opportunity to meet people and have a couple of drinks - and pay their respects to the Agents whom they knew had to have died. They snagged a Bleepka cocktail each and mingled with the crowd, with Kelvin trailing behind them sipping at a glass of wine. For some reason, the Elf got nervous in crowded places and preferred to stick to the company of people he knew.
Not far behind them came two people who seemed to give off the impression that they didn't want to be associated. The taller of the two, a solidly-built man in his mid-thirties with auburn hair and an eyepatch who went by the name of Luke Celinus, looked a little serious as he entered. However, once he was able to mingle with the crowd he began to relax and flirt somewhat with the majority of the female Agents he met.
The smaller Agent, a woman coming up for thirty with red hair and the name of Jessie Lancaster, rolled her eyes and headed in a completely different direction, intending to actually commemmorate the sad events of last year.
Finally, a Japanese man wearing the DAVD flashpatch and glasses came in. Quietly sneaking over to the drinks table, he lifted a glass in memory of his teenage partner, who had died in the catastrophe, and downed it. "Here's to you, Reece," he murmured.
"Bloody nag," he grumbled over his shoulder at his brightly grinning partner. He adjusted his glasses and smiled sheepishly at Cass and Nat.
"Hey there. It's, uh, it's been a while."
"It 'as, yeah. 'Ow 'ave ya been?" She couldn't help but grin widely on remembering the last time they'd met up with him at a party. "Plannin' ta stay sober this time, I 'ope?"
Cassie, on the other hand, turned a vivid shade of pink and gave him an equally sheepish smile back. "Hi," she mumbled, stirring her cocktail with the little umbrella that somebody had plopped into it.
Kelvin just shared a sympathetic look with the young man and nodded his greetings.
"Yeah. More sober'n that one, anyway," he said, nodding towards his partner. He bit his lip when he noticed her and Marcus fighting, but relaxed as soon as she left the room. Eying Cassie's face, he put a hand to her brow.
"Hey, are you okay? You're really hot. Have you been drinking too much?" he asked, sniffing her breath and peering into her eyes.
"No, I only... I've only h-had one drink, and I'm still on it..." she stammered, holding the glass up as evidence. She reached up to her brow self-consciously, but yanked her hand away when it accidentally touched Zach's. "Sorry."
Nearby, Nat and Kelvin shared a look of amusement. It seemed that Zach was getting a little bit of revenge for the Christmas party.
"Well, then, you're either sick or a lightweight," Zach grinned, barely containing laughter. He slung an arm over Cassie's shoulder. "It's okay, join the club."
He looked back at Nat and Kelvin.
"So what've you guys been up to?"
The shorter Agent was looking both embarrassed and bewildered at Zach's behaviour, and evidently unsure of how to respond. After a moment, though, the Welsh girl paid attention to Zach's question.
"Up ta? Not much, really. Since they let Cass out o' FicPsych at the end o' March, we've been just doin' regular Suefics an' tryin' ta stay out o' trouble."
Kelvin nodded. "It's been rather uneventful, really. What about you and Sara?"
Meanwhile, Cassie, still feeling ridiculous, downed what was left of her drink in one gulp.
Having finished her drink, Cassie ducked away from Zach and backed off a bit. "I'm going to get another drink," she stated firmly, ignoring Nat rolling her eyes. "Won't be long." With that she headed off into the crowd, though her departure had been mostly motivated by Zach. She couldn't work out if he was trying to make her blush or if it was accidental, but either way it was probably a good idea to get out of his vicinity for a while.
Nat and Kelvin watched her go, but after a moment the younger of the two turned back to Zach to carry on the conversation. Kelvin, on the other hand, kept an eye on Cassie, just in case.
The Agent in question edged through the dancers, trying to avoid getting caught up by those who were getting overly enthusiastic. She didn't pay much attention to anybody else apart from that, though.
So far, the party was just starting to get fun, far as he was concerned. He still hadn't found that girl, but he was working up a good sweat dancing, had managed to put away a few nice drinks, and was overall having a good time. He did wonder where Roy went, but before he could contemplate the location of his partner much longer he emerged from the crowd at one point of the dance floor and almost knocked over a young woman that was edging around the majority of the other dancers, mostly since he'd been distracted by the random fireworks.
"Gah!" Jumping back a bit, he gave the girl a once-over to make sure he hadn't smashed into her, shaking his head. It looked like he'd managed to get out of the way in time, at least. "Heh, sorry," he said, allowing his eyes to wander behind his sunglasses. He had to admit, the girl wasn't bad-looking, though at the moment he couldn't tell if she was the one he'd seen earlier. "Didn't see you there until I almost plowed into ya. You alright?"
Cassie looked up at him, still feeling sheepish about Zach. Examining the guy, who for some reason was wearing sunglasses indoors, she wondered why the heck all the guys she seemed to run into were so bloody tall.
"I'm fine, thanks. Sorry about that, I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going." She glanced down at her glass, wondering whether or not she really fancied a drink. "Oh, um. Sorry. I'm Cassie." She nudged her glasses back up her nose and smiled.
Straightening himself up after introducing himself, he had another look at Cassie. She had blonde hair, and a pair of rectangular glasses that framed her face nicely, in his opinion. Not exactly short, but she was a good few inches smaller than he was, with a sort of perpetually untidy look about her, especially when she'd clearly had a few too many drinks. She looked to be a bit on the chunky side, but wasn't fat or anything, looked like she had a nice shape to her.
"Nice to meetcha," Troy said, as if he hadn't been taking the time to check Cassie out. "Enjoying the party so far? I thought it'd be a real gloomy affair, but it's been fun. Fancy another drink? Was gonna go over and get some for myself anyway, worked up a bit of a thirst on the dance floor." Laughing a little, he looked around, finding a drinks table not too far from where they stood. "There's a table right over there, if you're interested."
and then back up at Troy, smiling. "Nice to meet you too. And yeah, I've been enjoying the party. Up till my friends starting taking the rip out of me for something that happened ages ago," she grumbled.
At the mention of drinks, she decided that she did want one. "Sounds like a great idea. I was on my way to get another, actually." With that, she moved towards the table. "What's your favourite? I prefer Sonic Screwdrivers, myself."
"I've tried a bunch of different kinds, can't say there's one I prefer over every other," he said, following Cassie towards the table. "Never tried a Sonic Screwdriver before, suppose I'll try one. Wonder if it'll be any better than Bleeprum." Reaching the table, he took a glass filled with the mentioned beverage, looking to Cass before raising the glass in a mock-toast. "To canon, and the brave lads who die for it."
Cassie quirked her eyebrow at Troy, then smiled and raised her own glass in a reply. "To canon," she echoed, before downing the glass's entire contents in a single gulp.
A few moments later, she regretted doing that. "Whoops," she said with a slightly embarrassed giggle as she put the glass down and swayed a little. "I need to learn not to drink too quickly, it went to my head..."
"That what your friends were ripping on you about?" he asked her, drinking his own cocktail more carefully before setting down the empty glass and exhaling. "That's pretty good stuff," he said. "Not the strongest I've ever had, but definitely pretty good. Hm...you know, you're not bad either," behind his sunglasses, he winked a little at the girl, though it was unlikely she saw him do so. "I know a few places, if you think you need to get off your feet for a bit."
"Yeah. Getting drunk too easily, among other things... but I won't go into that now." She eyed the table for a moment, debating whether or not to get another drink, but turned her attention back to Troy as he continued talking. "Hm? Get off my feet? Probably an idea, I'm sure there are plenty of people who'll tell you I get wobbly when I've had too much."
She picked up another drink anyway, resolving to make it last longer this time, and smiled up at him.
Taking another drink, Troy downed it a bit less carefully than the last, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back to Cassie. "Just think you should be careful," he said, smiling again. "Wouldn't want someone as pretty as you getting hurt or just ending up passed out on the floor." Looking out at the partying Agents for a moment, Troy finished his glass. He hadn't expected the anniversary of something so horrific to be so festive, but that was the PPC in a nutshell, he supposed, and it wouldn't seem right any other way.
Not wanting the woman to think he was ignoring her, though, he looked back to her after a few seconds. "Heh, sorry about that, just admiring the view. The PPC really is something special."
Cassie ducked her head slightly for a moment, a rather shy smile spreading across her face. "Um, thanks," she muttered, taking a sizeable swallow of her drink despite her earlier decision to take it slowly.
"I have to agree," she said on looking out at the party and listening to Troy's comment on it. "It's certainly lively, at any rate." Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pushing her glasses up again - they seemed to have an annoying tendency to slide down whenever she was trying to relax, she'd noticed - she realised that she was getting a bit less sure of her balance.
"Um... Troy? I think sitting down might be a good idea. Honestly, I stay sober for ages, and then all the drink hits me at once." She felt a bit silly, but he seemed sympathetic enough.
Even as the silence ended, and the party was hesitantly picked up, it took him a short time before he continued to speak, looking at the young lady. He hadn't seen her during the Invasion, but it seemed like the event had no small amount of an effect on her, judging by her body language and the sniffle he had heard. He'd been thinking of making a move, but at the moment it didn't seem right.
"Hey, Cass," he said, looking to her. "You alright? I mean, aside from the drink getting to your head."
"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, giving him a small smile. "Just got a bit caught up in it all, you know? It gets... a bit emotional." Then a wry smile crossed her face. "And of course you're right, the drink doesn't help."
A small part of her brain was trying to get her attention, but she ignored it in favour of finishing up her drink. She didn't bother to let go of Troy, though, and smiled up at him again. "Speaking of which, maybe you should show me to that seat you were talking about earlier."
"Yeah, we should probably get you off your feet," he replied, grinning again. "Good to see you're alright though, if you're getting too worked up we should find that RC I was talking about." Making sure to keep his hold to ensure she wouldn't fall over, he started heading towards the entrance, moving quickly enough to make a good pace but slowly enough to support Cassie. "It's not too far from the Store, so it shouldn't take long to get there."
"That's good... honestly, I keep overestimating my alcohol tolerance," she added, stumbling slightly, but with Troy's supporting arm she righted herself quickly.
Maybe it was just the booze, but it felt kind of nice having him so close. She leaned on him happily and let him gude her to wherever he'd thought to take her.
However, he couldn't argue that it was a very pleasant surprise. Holding the woman closer, he nodded, leading her out of the Store. It took a few moments to locate the proper room, but once he found the door he opened it, allowing Cassie to go in first before following her.
"Missions, keeping the minis under control, keeping ourselves relatively under control," the tall Agent shrugged. He glanced back over at Cassie as she chugged her drink and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure whether to get you another one or forbid you to go anywhere near the bar."
"I wouldn't bother tryin'," Nat advised Zach, looking rather amused. "If she wants ta get plastered, let 'er. I'll just make sure she doesn't get 'er 'ands on you again."
"Seconded," Kelvin added with a smile.
...Zach found himself unconsciously rubbing his arm where it had been broken in the fight. He knew he had been lucky, pulling through with only a broken arm when many of his friends had lost their lives. He glanced over at Bree and couldn't help but quirk a smile as he watched her pull them into a big, cheesy group hug.
As the two minutes ended and conversations began slowly picking up again, he whipped off his foggy glasses and cleaned them carefully on his shirt, taking the time to wipe eyes eyes. When he had replaced the spectacles he noticed, to his surprise, Nat crying. He walked over to the Welsh woman and put an arm around her, awkwardly patting her back.
"Hey, hey there," he he murmured, trying his best to comfort someone he'd never thought he'd see cry.
He'd had no idea Nat even knew how to cry - nothing ever seemed to touch her feelings in that way. Fortunately, their companion seemed to be at as much of a loss as he himself was. For a short while the two young males hugged their friend, before she pulled away from them both and sniffed, making a rather horrible noise.
"S-sorry," she mumbled, wiping her face with her jacket sleeve and looking ruefully at the large damp patch on Kelvin's shoulder. "Got a bit... ya know. Didn't mean ta." Sniffing again, she managed a watery smile at them both. "Thanks. Bein' stupid."
The Elf just smiled back. "You're allowed to be upset too, you know." He glanced at Zach again in hopes of his being able to come up with something to do.
"D'you want me to get you a drink or something?" Zach offered, knowing from experience with his own partner that a sudden change from weepy to smiley didn't necessarily mean everything was okay. "I can go and make an idiot of myself, if you'll give me a real smile," he said earnestly.
"I don't want ta get off my face, thanks. An' ya probably wouldn't want me ta, I get stupid when I'm like that."
Zach offered to go and make an idiot of himself, and she couldn't have stopped the smile that spread across her face in response, even if she'd wanted to. "Ya really must want me ta smile if you're offerin' ta go an' show yourself up for it." Then, on impluse, she gave him a real, warm hug, of the kind she rarely gave anybody nowadays.
Kelvin's smile was just as wide, though mostly out of relief at seeing Nat pull herself together. "Thank you," he said gratefully to Zach, though he was doubted whether the young man heard, as Nat suddenly engulfed him in a hug.
Zach grinned and hugged Nat back tightly. When she released him, he held her by the shoulders and smiled at her, noting amusedly that they were about the same height and that she had a nice face.
"Now, no more crying, okay? We're here to celebrate our friends, not mourn them. So will you allow this clumsy dork to take you to the dance floor, my lady?" he asked, bowing flamboyantly and offering her his arm.
"If ya so desire, m'lord," she replied, trying to dredge up the old-fashioned language she remembered from watching old costume dramas at home. She took his arm, grinning hugely, and examined him as they moved towards the dance floor. "Ya know, I don't think you're a clumsy dork, Zach. I like ya, anyway," she observed, before leaning over and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.
A few seconds later, she blinked and registered what she'd just done, at which point her face went bright red.
Meanwhile, Kelvin had watched his friends walk off without a backwards glance, and smiled slightly. At least they were looking happier. He leaned against the wall, just watching them quietly and feeling like a bit of a wallflower.
"You should smile more often. It suits you," he laughed as the stereo began playing Jack Johnson's "Banana Pancakes".
Meanwhile, a small girl bounded out of the dancing crowd and grinned up at Kelvin.
"Hiya!" she exclaimed, sticking out her hand for him to shake. "I'm Bree! What'syer name?"
Perhaps he should have been embarrassed by the kiss, but, high on adrenaline and dancing with an attractive woman, it only served to elate Zach.
"Hello," he replied with a smile, taking the proffered hand. "I'm Kelvin. It's a pleasure to meet you, Bree."
Still feling rather embarrassed, Nat nevertheless smiled at Zach again and began swaying in time with the music. Why the hell she'd hugged him like that, and then kissed him - even if it was just on the cheek - she had no idea, but the look on his face told her he didn't mind at all, and being in his company certainly made her feel better.
Her smile growing wider, the young woman threw herself into the dancing, tugging Zach with her.
The inquisitive Bree gazed up at Kelvin with awe. "That's pretty cool. I've always wondered what it'd be like to be an Elf. Then I could sneak up behind people and set things on fire and it'd be cool!"
Mental note: thank partner for dragging me to party. Zach was rather surprised. He was at a party. He was dancing. And hell, he was enjoying it. Immensely. And he had yet to--no, best not tempt the Ironic Overpower. As Nat pulled him further into the dance he threw inhibitions to the wind and, for the first time in a long time, just let himself have fun with other people.
"Set things on fire? I... can't say I've ever done that. But I do get accused of sneaking up behind people on occasion, yes." He smiled at the perky girl. "Can I ask what you do here, then?"
On the dance floor, Nat was singing along happily to the current song - Queen music was always guaranteed to liven her up. She made eye contact with Zach and laughed, though she had no idea why she felt so happy all of a sudden.
"Technically me an' the Dannys are in DOGA, but sometimes we take other missions, too. Krotket says that we're like the Justice League, but more fun," Bree chirped. "Whattabout you? D'you kill Sues an' stuff?"
Zach bit his lip, snickering. He was so, so tempted to sing along with Nat, but as this often precipitated his partner throwing shoes at him, he refrained. Then suddenly she made eye contact, and he blushed. She had such beautiful, intense eyes.
"You...you're beautiful," he blurted out, then blushed harder and shut his mouth. Oh, wonderful. There I go again, cocking things up.
and nodded. "That must be interesting. Oh, er... I'm in the Department of Mary Sues, so yes, I kill Sues. Well, when my partners aren't arguing over which of them gets to do it..." He sighed and looked upwards for a moment. "But, er, who's Krotket? Your partner?"
Nat wondered for a while why Zach wasn't singing - this song was made to be sung along with - but as she looked directly at him, he said something that she wasn't sure she'd heard properly over the music. It made her stop jumping around so madly, though, as she tried to puzzle it out.
His red face, however, informed her that she had heard him properly. Stopping dancing altogether, she looked at him again, for some reason wanting to make absolutely sure she'd heard correctly. "Wh-what did ya say?" She moved a little closer, trying to make sure she'd catch it this time.
"They're misspelled Davey Crocketts! There's Danny Krocket, Danny Krotket, and Danny Krochet! We all kinda work as a group. I burn stuff, and they're supposed to keep me out of trouble," she explained, wrinkling her nose.
Zach's nerves were on edge. It felt like his face was on fire...hell, it felt like his entire body was on fire. She moved closer to him, and it felt like the temperature of the room had gone up ten degrees. He could see every detail of her face in sharp relief.
"I...I said you're beautiful," he said, and just because he could, because he figured that he'd already screwed up epically and he had nothing left to lose, he brushed her cheek with his burning hand and kissed her.
Kelvin was less than fond of the idea of what sounded like indiscriminate pyromania, but he figured that if the PPC allowed it, it couldn't be all that dangerous.
"Well, Bree..." He cast a glance over towards Nat and Zach, and whatever he had been going to say faded from his mind as he stared at the scene.
What the-? Nat's eyes opened wide as Zach told her she was beautiful, and then kissed her. Her brain tried to scream something at her, but she'd already decided it wasn't working properly, and with the sheer giddiness from her recent emotional extremes running through her, she reacted in the only way she could come up with.
She slid her arms around him and kissed back.
Bree turned to see what Kelvin was staring at, only to find her foster brother snogging a woman she didn't know.
"...I thought he didn't have a social life..."
Zach was in heaven. That was the only explanation. As soon as he had kissed her Nat must've killed him, and that was the only reasonable explanation for what was going on. Because the alternative, that she was actually voluntarily returning the kiss...that was ludicrous and scientifically impossible.
Then he decided that the scientific part of his brain could go to hell and wrapped an arm around Nat's waist, cradling her head with the other and finding that her hair was pleasantly soft.
This was Nat. She just didn't do this kind of thing. And as for Zach... well, he wasn't going to speculate, but the bespectacled young man hadn't seemed particularly impressed last time he'd been kissed. In the end the Elf just looked away, trying to give the couple a bit of privacy.
Nat wasn't really thinking all that clearly, but she was dimly aware of the fact that Zach was holding her close and seemingly in no hurry to end the kiss. She felt her body beginning to respond to being pressed against him, but eventually realised she needed to breathe, and so reluctantly pulled away.
"S-sorry..." she offered weakly once she'd managed to replenish her oxygen levels, biting her lip a little in embarassment in case she'd upset him, but looking directly at him. Wow, his eyes were blue...
"Either I'm dead or I'm rolling on the floor in severe pain and having a really realistic hallucination, in which case would someone please take me to Medical?" Zach rambled, flushed. Then he blinked. And kissed her again, holding her to him as if he'd never let her go.
"If I'm hallucinating, I want to hallucinate for the rest of my life."
and then laughed. "Right now, ta be honest-"
Zach's kiss cut her off, and she decided not to argue. She was obviously insane, but apparently Zach thought he was too, so she was in good company. Closing her eyes, she just leaned against him and let him hold her, letting herself feel happy for the first time in years.
Zach rested his chin on her shoulder, taking in her scent, enjoying the moment. He expected at any minute for her to come to her senses, wrench herself out of his arms, inflict severe pain upon him, and then make sure the rest of his life was living hell. He knew that moment would come to pass, and even as he basked in her presence something in the back of his head mourned the impending loss.
"You are an amazing woman," he whispered into her neck, just so she would know before she rejected him.
She hadn't felt like this for a long, long time, and she didn't ever want to move. "Zach..." she murmured, blinking back tears of sheer happiness.
When was the last time she'd felt this way? Despite herself, the memory rose up... and in her mind's eye her deceased boyfriend smiled at her with that cheeky smile of his. Suddenly her breath caught in a sob, and she leaned away from Zach so that she could look him in the face, unable to fight back the tears suddenly making an appearance.
"I'm... sorry..." she managed, biting her lip and fighting desperately to keep calm. "I swear, this is nothin' ta do with you, I just... I c-can't 'elp it..." Unable to look at him any longer, she buried her face in his shoulder and clung to him, still trying to fight back the urge to break down.
Zach winced, but gently led Nat to a secluded corner of the room and just held her.
"I know, I'm so, so sorry. It's okay, it'll be okay, don't worry."
He had never been good at comforting people, but he did his best.
"It's okay, it's okay to cry. I won't let anything happen if you don't want it to."
She broke down and just cried, holding onto him as though she'd never let go. Incoherent attempts at sentences were choked out every so often as she tried to explain herself, but in the end she just allowed herself to cry it all out.
When she'd managed to calm down to the point where every word wasn't broken up by sobs, she tried the explanation again. "S-sorry, this... none o' this is your fault, I swear. It's me... I just... I 'ave... oh, bloody 'ell, I'm just talkin' rubbish, I c-can't even talk properly." She stared down at the floor, knowing he must think of her as a complete idiot and not wanting to see that expression on his face.
Any minute now he'd decide she was a weak litle girl who couldn't control herself, make some excuse and walk off.
Zach smiled down at her, wiping the tears away from her cheeks with his thumb.
"I thought I was the only one who was completely incoherent. C'mon, can I see that smile again? Makes the room brighter."
Was he just trying to be polite, or did he really mean it? Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes with her hand and looked at him again, though she couldn't make herself smile, even for him.
"Zach... I'm s-sorry. I just..." She looked around the room, wondering if it would be a good idea to explain why she'd started bawling her head off, but this just didn't feel like the time or place. Instead, she tentatively reached out and took his hand, giving it a little squeeze. Every so often a little sob escaped her and she had to look away, feeling ashamed. She wasn't supposed to cry.
Zach slipped into the crowd and returned a few seconds later with a steaming mug, which he gently wrapped Nat's hands around.
"Hot cocoa," he explained earnestly. "Always makes Sara feel better, so...um...yeah..." He ran his hand through his hair anxiously, making it stand every which way.
"Look, don't be sorry, okay? Don't be sorry for being a human being. I'd worry if you never cried," he told her and hugged her, being careful not to upset the mug.
and nodded gratefully. It did help... at least, it was difficult to keep crying when drinking. "Thanks," she murmured, leaning against him and letting him hug her.
"I'd worry if you never cried," he said, and she looked up at him with a slightly surprised expression. Her father had expressed the same sentiment on occasion, but her mother had always told her that big girls didn't cry.
For a moment she considered this, examining him to see if he meant it, before finally giving him a small smile and reaching up to try to smooth his hair down a bit. "Ya really are somethin' else, Zach."
Running her hand down from his hair to his cheek, she paused speculatively for a moment before giving him a tentative kiss.
Inwardly, Zach breathed a sigh of relief. He figured that everything probably wasn't okay again, but she was smiling again and she wasn't crying and she was...kissing him?
He did a double-take, then realized exactly what that meant and deepened the kiss. Something in the back of his mind hoped that maybe with the skin-to-skin contact he could pour whatever happiness he had into her, and for the second time he beat down the scientific portion of his brain as it told him that this was impossible.
I'm an assassin that walks in stories. I don't think much of anything's impossible at this point.
'e kissed me back. 'e doesn't care if I'm an idiot. If this's insane, I want ta move inta the nut'ouse an' stay there.
From the way he was holding her, he didn't particularly want to let go any time soon, but she was very much aware of the hot drink she was holding and thus responded to him carefully. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally hurt him.
Eventually, Nat slowly broke the kiss, but only so that she could put the drink down and wrap her arms around Zach properly, one arm around his waist and the other hand resting on his shoulder. Leaning her head on the other shoulder and pulling him as close as she could, she closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, almost unable to contain her happiness.
"Ya know somethin'?" she murmured, but then paused, unsure how to say what she was feeling. Maybe he'd think she was insane if she said that. Uncertain, she just bit her lip again and tightened her embrace a little. No point in spoiling this moment.
"I don't know a lot of things," he murmured back, idly running his fingers through her hair and resting his chin on her head. "Enlighten me?"
she hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, "Zach... I think I've fallen in love with ya."
...Oh, nice one. Really smart.
Despite that, voicing it made it all the more real, and she snuggled into him, enjoying the comfortable warmth of his closeness.
"I think so, too. I mean, that I love you, not--oh, bugger," he groaned, blushing furiously.
Mouth, meet brain. Brain, meet mouth. Now connect and communicate.
Zach leaned against the wall to his back and savored the woman in his arms, enjoying the fact that she seemed to fit there nicely.
"It's fine," she smiled up at him, "Ya could talk in Klingon an' I wouldn't give a damn right now." Then the irony of the situation struck her, and she couldn't hold back a wry laugh. They were at a celebration to remember the dead, and she was feeling so alive...
"Wonder what Sara an' Cass'd say if they could see us," she commented, running her hand through his hair and trying to smooth it back into some semblance of order.
Meanwhile, Kelvin finally caught sight of them again, having lost them in the crowd of dancers before. He watched them quietly, a fond smile on his face. At least they looked happy enough.
Sorry for rather sporading posting, Cass. I'm at school at the moment and am trying to get as many posts in while you're on as possible. :-P
I'll continue this thread when I get home.
And if there was a group, there might be a higher chance of finding the sort of person she was after. Besides, people! "Hey," she said, her accent a little less precise than usual. "Any of you play the trumpet?"
Meanwhile, the Infernal Trio tried to forget the incident by drowning in Bleepka, Bleepsinthe, Bleepnapps and Bleepquila. Krisp was busy socializing with everybody he could find, especially if they were female or if they were sitting alone in a corner.
South and Whatev mingled in the conversations. The Trio was enjoying itself. It was almost like the old days with the other tall ships.
Leto Haven, owner of the PPC General Store;was having an unanticipated good day. The flow of Agents was more tranquil (if it can be called that) than it had been in recent years. He had also managed to scrape out more time for his beloved wife and children.
Sorry! Anyway...
Being Genre Savvy, he didn't inquire about the cause of this fortunate turn of events. Best not to catch the Ironic Overpower's attention, he tought. He told himself to enjoy himself while he can, because like all things, it woudn't last for long. He began to wash the counter, humming to himself as he did so.
It should be 'He told himself to enjoy it while he can', rather than 'He told himself to enjoy himself while he can'. Especially as he is within the sight of curious Agents...
Agents began coming in large numbers, ready to commemorate their desceased friends and companions. Since he was the one who suggested that his store should be the site for said commemeoration, it was not unexpected. He made himself ready to welcome them.
As long as they were many people at one place, Krisprolls was happy. Now, Krisprolls was very happy. He approached the very large crowd near the store. "Hey, people! What are you here for?"
Some guy in the store explained to him they were here to commemorate the first birthday of the Mary Sue Invasion.
"Oh, I heard about that. Wish I was there. So many Sues to kill." Krisp was getting excited at the idea.
"Krisp, why do you always have to be so direct with people, this is just beyond me."
"You're aging too fast, What'. You're turning Vulcan."
"Vulcan? Stop that, or I'll call you Bono in front of everybody here."
"Do that, and you're a very dead man."
"Bono!"
"South, is it just me, or you already lost your brains?"
"What brains? None of us has brains, you know that, Whatev. Especially me."
"Krisp..." What' was glaring at him. Yes, he was turning Vulcan.
They spent the next three minutes bantering when the guy in the store interrupted.
"Oh, I see you're this Infernal Trio I keep hearing about. Welcome to the PPC. I'm Leto. This is Jane. And these are the minis. Don't mind the madness here. Well, I guess it matches your own."
"Thanks. Hello, there!"
"We're already famous? Krisp? Care to explain?"
"There ain't nothing to explain, What. Just usual Krisp stuff."
What' was Not Amused. Leto wasn't either.
They're free,
"Poppies is more traditional," she remarked. "Or rosemary."
"Why not," said Whatever. "Krisp, South, you can take some too."
They did.
"And Krisp, if you could avoid saying something stupid this time."
"Like what? 'If only I'd been there,' for example? Like being there mattered! It didn't last time! You kept saying that, but it didn't! I was there and..."
"Krisp, I wasn't thinking about that!"
"Krisp, are you OK?"
"Uh, well, yes, I guess so, well, doesn't matter, I'm OK now."
OOC: Krisp remembers winessing his mother's death. What' wasn't there and kept blaming himself for a while.
Anyway, Jane said: Would you like some cloth-and-plastic roses to commemorate the fallen? They're free, even the black and Anti-Lustin ones. We also have other cloth-and-plastic flowers, if you'd like...
"Well, I'll take the white ones. Sorry, Krisp is being unstable today, I don't know what happened. Krisp, are you OK?" What' took three white roses and gave one each to South and Krisprolls.
"Well, I feel a bit better now. Thanks, What' and South."