"We were told that such things are the custom of your caste." She says, looking away from you.
Overhearing the conversation, Charles let out a quiet sigh that sounded like the noise that an upset deflating balloon would be expected to make.
"I can assure you that whatever they told you about our customs is highly inaccurate."
Charles quickly glances at his supposed teammates.
"In regards to most of them, at least."
Charles takes a uniform and inspects it.
Your uniform is much the same as the others, though fitted to you, obviously. You don't see anything overtly strange about it, at least beyond the fact that you're gonna be wearing what looks like some sort of weird festival costume.
Stacy continues his gentle singing as he moves about the area.
"~Sometimes I feel like bein' wispy, and once in a while I feel like bein' dry,
But we're doomed and we're drowned by this feeling we surround,
So I hope that I get old before I die!"
Search around the building while singing. What other facilities are within reach? Anything like a workbench? What about any tools? Also, ask someone around who isn't a teammate if there are any free aerosol cans around. Or better yet, some more powerful sprayer like one you'd use for pesticide spraying. There's a gardener around here someplace, isn't there?
You wander down stairs, singing like a minstrel with facial diarrhea, and walk directly into the messenger, who is standing in the common room at the bottom of the stairs.
"I trust the facilities are acceptable?" he tilts his head and looks behind you. "Where are the rest?"
"Still getting ready, I guess." You say, while dancing
"Yes, I suppose. They have several hours, though I did expect you to move as a unit."
You shrug.
"Where are you of to then?"
wait for people to stop crowding around the uniforms, then retrieve mine ((considering my tiny size, mine should be distinctive, even Grate is bigger than me I think)) and take it to my corner. inspect it for any hidden features, flaws, oddities, and design errors.
[intuition: 6+1+1]
"THE UNIFORM IS A GIANT SENTIENT SPACE PARASITE! EVERYTHING IS LIES! EVERYTHING IS LIES!"
You dive into the corner and begin scrawling borderline illegible things about aliens, goverment assassination squads, the secrets to immortality being hidden in every 666th box of Cracker jacks and the Doctor actually being a woman.
Lie back on a random bed and tap a stattaco rythmn against my head as I wait for the commencement of whatever we're doing.
Possibly begin to self-narrate self life. In one of those noir detective voices.
You lay down on one of the cushions and mine smoking a cigarette while monologuing to no one in particular.
"It was raining that day. Cold day on Rigel-4 when she stepped into my office and turned my quiet little world of self destruction upside down. I was half way down a bottle of scotch, head on the desk, when i see her shadow against the door. Flesher; you know the type. Rich girls who use daddy's money to finance synth-flesh rebellious phases. I could see the outline of the horns before she even touched the doorknob.
Angela. She looked like the holy mother; beautiful face, all fake and serene, like a porcelain statue. Too bad that face was ringed with ram horns and set on a neck that was just a bit too long and far too flexible. Couldn't see the rest, she was wearing a virosuit, but it didn't look quite right, even in that lose latexy stuff.
I wanted to tell her to get lost. That I was closed, washed up, too drunk to care. But something about that look in her eyes, those otherworldly eyes, made me sit up. Made me put the bottle down."
"Hey Steve," Faith said, typed, or otherwise attempted to communicate without anyone but Steve hearing. "Is the UWM sure they're on the right side of this thing? These guys hardly seem like the most efficient government you could ask for, and from the brief sound of it they might even be at a disadvantage against their own starving, unarmed populace."
Sedition.
>Be careful about the questions you ask. They may seem treasonous, if not spoken correctly. For now, trust me, and do as they ask. (( Sedition. Nice action. Now I want to know what PW would do if that was the only thing in your post 
Was also intending to ask the girls about such a space, but no matter, information retrieved! 'bout how many 'turns' til noon? I recall that it's early morning at the moment?))
Examine the pre-programmed options! Try and figure out if it's possible to adjust them.
By preprogrammed options I mean that there is a keypad that lets you program in a route or action and load it up to be done automatically, rather then manually.
Analyze the uniform.
[intuition: 1]
You forget how pants work and spend several minutes examining your own genitals, wondering how you're gonna fit your legs into them.
((considering my tiny size, mine should be distinctive, even Grate is bigger than me I think))
((I suspect that I should check my teammates' character sheets' and/or mission histories at some point...))
"I want to call you by your name. What is you name?"
Continue to stubbornly attempt to be polite.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was told not to say."
((Hm, failed intuition roll.))
Feyri checked the sleeves and pants length, satisfied that two things were in order: the measurements, and that she was quite sure there were no tracking devices on judging by Steve's answer.
"Steve," she speaks into the communicator, "What is your prediction on if the rioting will occur? This planet has seemingly gone through hell and back, and with the lack of basic necessities, I fear that the whole thing will utterly collapse. Any note on other reasons of the riots or the scorched earth campaign of a long time ago?"
Ask Steve. And then ask one of the servants. ((I'm still wondering if they're wearing plants..vivid imagination here. >_>))
"Excuse me, miss. Do you know where I could find out about the history of this area, or your people as a whole?"
No, they're not wearing plants. Pants.
>Thats the idea. Everything will be falling apart soon. It's your duty to protect the palace for the duration of this societal collapse so that the current government can reassert itself in the aftermath. Anything else is unimportant. As per talking to that girl...well...something tells you that it's gonna be difficult to get anything out of any of these girls. Fear and religious convictions are a hard combination to shake.
Author
Topic: Einsteinian Roulette (Missions 9a, 10, 11, and Heph post war survey team) (Read 431074 times)