Subject: "That explains it."
Author:
Posted on: 2014-12-01 15:43:00 UTC
Gerry shrugged. "Sometimes you just can't tell, with some people." There was strange, and then there was strange, especially with the PPC. Andalite definitely went a long way with explaining things. She didn't even know they had any of those around here, but it stood to reason.
"And yeah, that does help," she said, as she gave another toothy grin. "Any other advice? Might as well make it fun."
To set the mood.
Taking unabashed 'inspiration' from a fairly popular RP meme on Dreamwidth, let's give Texts From Last Night in RP form a shot with the PPC.
How do you join in?
It's simple!
Pick a Text From Last Night (warning, the site has a lot of fairly raunchy to straight up NSFW texts that were submitted), or make one up, and set it (or a few different options if you want there to be several!) and put it into the main body of message. Author field? One of your PPC characters.
Did they go on a bender? Hit the bleepka or the straight alcohol alternative or something else a bit too hard?* Just being their normal crazy selves? Roll with it.
The fun part comes with step two: Reply to someone else's! Were they the intended recipient? Unintended? Included in a mass text or ICE-post possibly at random? Roll with it. Maybe even go with an in-person encounter happening because of the fact!**
*Never do anything so hard you can't do a mission while under the influence
**Canonicity decided by writers involved
What the loopty-loop happened last night? I woke up this mornin' and there was a pizza pinned to my wall, so there's that, and I think I went around in all black because I'm still wearing my funeral suit, and I wrote a farewell and last will and testament for my liver.
... Where the hell am I anyway? This isn't Japan.
I still can't figure out how you managed to get my number, but that is beside the point. You appear to be new to HQ, yes? If you want, I can come over and show you around-- and take you to Personnel if you want to work here.
Where are you right now?
Beats me, I dunno what this thing I'm holding is, but it seems to be sending messages and I'm getting them back so hey, that's cool.
Still wish I could find my phone.
Anyway I'm in room 20XX.
Wonderful! Come to think of it, Tomoko was complaining about a banging noise last night; your pizza-nailed-to-the-wall seems to be the explanation.
Don't move, I'll be right over with a housewarming gift.
- - - -
Marianne Delacroix closed her smartphone and placed it on the coffee table, gently pushing aside a copy of Pratchett's Men at Arms as she dis so. The octogenarian agent rose from her armchair while looking around for her grandson. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the young bowtie-wearing agent in the kitchen, busy preparing vegetables for tonight's soup.
"Gaspard! We have a new neighbour. We should go and greet them properly," said Marianne as she moved towards the door.
"Yes, grandma!" answered her grandson, putting down his knife and quickly storing the vegetables back in the refrigerator. "Shall I bring something?"
"Yes. Please bring about a dozen of your molasses cookies. They were a big hit with the DoI senior staff the last time I brought them to share," said Marianne as she took her pink shawl from the coat hanger by the door and draped it over her shoulders. "Ready?"
"Yes, grandma!" said Gaspard as he dashed up to his grandmother, biscuit tin in hand. "How far is it? I don't think 'neighbour' is halfway across HQ, right?"
"Just next door. Oh, where is Tomoko? I swear she was here a second ago..."
"Left for the gym while you were busy," said Gaspard. "She should be back in an hour."
"Excellent. Off we go."
The pair walked out of the door and walked a few metres down the corridor to their right. Before long, the door to RC 20XX loomed before them. Marianne raised a wrinkled hand and knocked tree times at the door. "Hello, Agent Glocker? It's Marianne from the texts. Are you in there?"
Ashley trotted back and forth across the room, crossing his arms behind his back and shaking his head lightly as he tried to clear out the cobwebs in his head... and in his room. It looked like it hadn't been used for a while.
"Jeeze, way to go Ash. Can't even keep a hold of your own gear." He grumbles to himself, looking under the bed in the corner of the room, letting out a sigh of relief as he discovers a green sea-bag laying under it, and yanks it out by the strap, digging into the bag to find something more to wear then the pair of black silk boxer shorts he had woken up in.
Quickly pulling on a generic black teeshirt and a pair of blue jeans, he glances at himself in the reflection of the console sitting in the center of the room, dark and not yet activated, but awaiting there all the same. "Wish I could figure out how to turn it o-*Knock knock knock*"
His external monolog is cut off by the knocking at his door, and he turns and walks over, stretching his arms this way and that as Marianne calls out to him. "Yeah. What's with the 'agent' name anyway? I mean, Petty Officer would be my actual title if I could..." His voice trails off as the pain of the hangover hits him again, and he opens up the door to 20XX.
The human stands at an easy 5'9", a firm athletic build making him look a little bigger then he actually is, messy, long black hair that was quite clearly out of military regulations spilling across his shoulders and over his eyes, very much bed-mussed. Keen blue eyes, dulled from the activities of the night prior, peer out into the passageway and at Marianne. "Hi, sorry about this, I'm Ashley Glocker."
((Real life and all of that jazz.))
- - -
Marianne and Gaspard sized up their interlocutor. After a quick study of the confused-looking bleary-eyed man in front of them, the senior agent took Ashley's hand and shook it. "Very pleased to meet you, Agent Glocker-- oh, silly me. You're new here, right? Perhaps calling you 'Agent' is a little premature. But first things first: I am Marianne Delacriox and this is my grandson, Gaspard. We both work in the Department of Intelligence. Gaspard, if you please..."
The junior agent offered the biscuit tin to Ashley. "Here you go, sir. Fresh-backed molasses cookies-- a dozen of them."
Marianne continued: "I might as well cut to the chase. You probably managed to slip through a crack in the fabric of reality and ended up here, in our Headquarters. This building transcends dimensions and intersects with a near-infinite number of universes. These universes are in fact the 'fictional' worlds that exist on Earth as novels or video games. For example, it is possible for us to travel to... er... Gaspard. Example, please."
"Equestria," said Gaspard with barely a moment's delay.
"Very well. Using a controlled transdimensional portal, we can travel from here to Equestria and interact directly with any character we meet there. However, there is a cosmic force that threatens nearly all of the so-called Word Worlds. Poorly written fanfictions on Earth spawn entities known to us as 'Mary Sues'. These creatures plague the Word Worlds, twisting the plot so that they can fulfill their fantasies. Simply put, our organization hunts these creatures to preserve the integrity of these worlds. Do you want to join?"
"If you don't want to join us, we'll just need to take you down to Medical so that they can... ah, make sure you don't carry anything back from HQ that might endanger earth. Like an alien disease or forbidden knowledge, for example," added Gaspard.
Ashley blinks and takes the biscuit tin. "Uh... thanks." He says as Marianne continues, idly opening the tin and taking out one of the cookies as he listens, and slowly eats one as the elder woman and the younger agent explain the situation to him.
"... Soooo let me get this straight. While drinking, I somehow pushed myself between space and time, ended up at a party in this... HQ, you called it? Was assigned a room, lost my cellphone, was given this..." Ashley holds up the device he had been texting on, "As a replacement, and am currently standing somewhere inside what could be described as the greatest adventuring job ever, and simply by being here I can get a job?"
Ashley rubs his chin, humming for a moment before shrugging. "Sure. Count me in. I'm retried from the military anyway and haven't gotten a 'civvy' job yet anyhow. Sounds like fun."
"Follow me," said Marainne as she turned on her heels and walked down the Generic Grey hallway at an unusually brisk pace for an 85-year-old.
Gaspard followed suit, calling to Ashley. "Come along and don't think of anything in particular. Judging by your lack of flash patch and your Remote Activator model you accidentally dropped by the armoury and traded in your phone for a RA. Personnel would be able to sort all of this out. Er, eventually. Any more questions about this place?"
Ashley taps his chin, quickly setting the tin of cookies aside as he quickly falls in with Gaspard and Marainne, easily keeping the brisk pace.
"I think I remember this 'armory' you're talking about. There was some pretty weird stuff in there, for sure, but when I mentioned my missing phone they just handed me this and said something about filling out paperwork later." He says, walking alongside, idly stretching his arms.
"I'm sure I'll find it later." He says, glancing around at his surroundings. "Jeeze, might as well be back on the Carrier... gray gray gray and surprise! More gray." The retired sailor chuckles.
"So, tell me a little more about this place. Or rather, the... departments, you called them?"
Gaspard cleared his throat. "There are three types of departments in this place: action, infrastructure, or security. Action departments are the ones that venture into the multiverse to fix problems. For example agents of the DMS-- Department of Mary Sues-- document how a Suvian creature disrupts the world, charge it, and assassinate it. DIC-- Implausible Crossovers-- untangle universes that have been mashed together. DBS-- Bad Slash-- go after badly-written slash stories and exorcise participants, who are possessed by Sue Wraiths. DF-- Floaters-- is an in-between department for agents who have yet to specialize in one particular area.
"Infrastructure departments make sure that Headquarters works. There are loads of them: DoSAT-- Sufficiently Advanced technology-- designs, manufactures, and maintains all of the tech that we use. Operations keeps HQ and all of its inhabitants fed, clothed, and housed. Medical, Finance, Postal-- well, they're all pretty self-explanatory. We also have a psychological support department-- FicPsych. DoI-- Intelligence-- researches fanfics for potential targets.
"Finally, the two security departments handle threats that come from both within and without. Internal Affairs is HQ's police-cum-SWAT force. External Security is a Flowers-only force that keeps HQ's exits secure."
Marianne looked over her shoulder at Ashley. "Ah, yes. At this point I feel obliged to point out that our bosses are actually giant sentient flowers. They came from some doomed planet from some corner of the multiverse and built HQ using their technology. We're taking you to the Marquis de Sod, the daisy in charge of the Department of Personnel."
"Any more questions, sir?" asked Gaspard. "Another protip: like we said, HQ is spread over multiple dimensions and one of them has to do with consciousness. Essentially, the chance of arriving at where you want to go is inversely proportional to how much you think about it. It pays to be distracted here."
Ash shakes his head, chuckling. "Well, at the very least, I find it pretty amusing that I end up here. Figures it would be after years of -wanting- for something like this to happen, and then when I stop caring... boom, here I am."
He glances at Gaspard. "I would have a request tho- stop callin' me 'sir' shorty. I'm a Petty Officer, not a Officer. That means I work for a living." He chuckles.
They continue to walk for a little in silence before Ash speaks up again, "Wait, wait. Flowers? Like, legit flowers?"
((Exam season is upon us over here, so sorry if my posts are far and few in between.))
"Yes, actual flowers," confirmed Marianne. "Or more specifically, Flowers, note the capital F. They're mostly Earth species too; we're not quite sure how that happened. They're quite tall, wear clothes like people and speak to us telepathically. I suggest you prepare yourself for a shock when you meet the Marquis; it's rather disquieting the first time you meet a Flower in person. As a whole, they tend to be rather irritable as well. I suggest you try and not provoke the ire of one."
"Si-- Mr. Glocker," said Gaspard, "what department do you think you'll join? The Marquis will probably ask you what you're doing here. If you say you don't know, there's a chance you might get assigned to Operations or some other infrastructure department. According to the latest gossip, there's a shortage of janitors and D-Ops is looking to recruit. And as always, Intel is understaffed..."
Ash rubs his chin, humming lightly. "I was security forces when I was in the Navy. I started in Aviation, and spent a good stint as a life-support equipment maintainer, before becoming a MA and working security. Honestly, my skillset is set a lot more towards... well, violence."
The sailor nods firmly. "I think overall, the 'Floaters' sound best to me, if only because I'm interested in a very wide array of story and fanfiction, and tend to be a pretty quick study if I don't know anything about a... you called them word-worlds, yes? So if I don't know something about a series that interests me, I can get up to speed pretty quickly."
"I have one final piece of advice for you," she said. "When you approach the Marquis for a job, be sure to mention if you intend to return to World One-- Earth, that is. If you say 'yes', they will probably suspend your aging like they did with me, my daughter, her husband, and my grandson and timestamp your arrival so that you can retire to your proper place and time on Earth. Otherwise..." she made a vague hand gesture. "I guess you'll be staying here for a while."
"And on the subject of World One-- please keep in touch with your relatives if you intend to stay here, Mr. Glocker," added Gaspard. "It's so much nicer for them to know where you are and who you work for."
The trio stopped in front of a large door marked with a brass plate reading "DEPARTMENT OF PERSONNEL" and a torn sticky note underneath that added "the marquis is a huge --". Marianne turned to face Ashley.
"Well, here we are young man. You go on ahead without us-- this is your business after all. We'll head on back to our Response Centre and enjoy the rest of your downtime. If ever you need help or need to speak to someone, just head next door to RC 22. I'll be there." The grandmother offered her hand to the sailor. "Welcome to the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, Mr. Glocker. Good hunting."
Ash deadpans, looking at the note before giving Marianne a grin. "Thank you for giving me the nickle-tour ma'am. I'll certainly step in to visit at some point." He smiles, giving her a gentle, though firm, handshake and softly waving her and her grandson off.
"You're right though. I've got some business through this door, so for now, here is where we part ways." Ash says, squaring his shoulders as he turns to the door and knocks firmly, without hesitation, three sharp raps.
((Whoops, my bad...))
EDIT: The funeral suit had been beyond salvaging and smelled -horrible, and had quickly been discarded to the other side of the room as Ash walked around in his silk boxer shorts to hopefully find something else to wear.
awoke with 47 plastic lawn flamingos in my bed and on surrounding floor. explanation?
How did you get this number?
And, uh, is it your birthday? Isn't that what people normally celebrate with lots of plastic flamingos?
Thought I was texting my partner. Wasn't in the RC this morning. Just the flamingos. Hopefully partner didn't transmute into forty-seven plastic flamingos in sleep. Do we have any alchemist agents?
Birthday? Don't think so. Can't remember it so doubt partner knew it either.
Wonder where they came from. Can people actually turn into flamingos here?
I could come over and check it out if you want- I don't have a mission scheduled for another couple of hours... I think.
Sure, come if you want. It's RC #251.
Shouldn't say, "don't have a mission," though. Even in text.
Rina sent the text before shoving her phone in one of her bottomless pockets and slid off her bunk.
"I'm going out for a bit," she said to Randa.
"Mmkay," Randa said, barely glancing up from her sketchbook.
"I dunno when I'll be back. I got a text from one 'Vania Tolluk' about plastic flamingos."
That got Randa's attention. "Plastic flamingos?"
"Forty-seven of them, to be exact. No idea how that happened, but I volunteered to investigate."
Randa half-rose from her own bed. "Want me to come?"
Rina shook her head, blowing her bangs out if her eyes. "Nah, it's fine. You deserve some downtime after that Zelda mission. Relax, have fun, maybe get something to eat. I'll be back... soon." She paused. "Or at least, whatever 'soon' is here. See ya."
She slipped out the door and turned left, only to change her mind and go right before spinning to the left after all, muttering the decimals of Pi under her breath.
After what might have been ten minutes (or ten hours), Rina found herself standing in front of RC 251. She knocked tentatively; you never knew what you'd encounter behind HQ's many doors.
"Uh, hello? It's me, Rina. From the texts."
Her eyes had bags, and her hair wasn't in its usual ponytail, but she still gave Rina a smile. "Hey, there! Wasn't sure you would really come around."
She thrust a hand out to Rina. "Pleased to meet you! Name's Vania. Sorry about the unintentional anony-texting out of the blue!"
"Nice to meetcha, Vania. So..." Rina peered over Vania's shoulder into the RC, her eyebrows rising when she spotted the mass of pink. "Flamingo problem, huh? And your partner's, uh, vanished?" She bit her lip. "Think there's a connection, or maybe something happened with plotholes?"
"My only real clue is that our activator is gone, too. So . . . Doc apparently—Doc is my partner, by the way—Doc went somewhere, got these 'mingos, brought them back, and then went to a different somewhere.
"Of course, it's equally possible that Doc went looking for something in HQ, someone's pet Atog came in and ate the RA, and a plothole dumped the flamingos here. So." Vania shrugged. "Not much to go on, really. Any ideas?"
Rina ran her fingers though her hair. "Possibly something like in the Doctor Who episode Fear Her, where some powerful being drew these flamingos into your room, or at least dumped them here. Or maybe someone, perhaps Doc, is playing a prank on you like you mentioned."
"Of course," she said, shrugging as well, "it's also possible your RA blew up for some reason and its exploding opened a portal just long enough for all these flamingos to fall through. Strange it pulled forty-seven instead of forty-two, but it's possible the number was random. We'd probably want to track down Doc first, does that sound good?"
"See, Doc was, uh, drunk last night. Um, he had had a Butterbeer at Rudi's, and they have almost no alcohol content, but I guess Doc didn't know that and is also a super-lightweight? And the second I mentioned that Butterbeers contain alcohol, it suddenly hit him. Not sure how that worked.
"But anyway, the point is Doc might be . . . DRUNK PORTALLING. If that's true, though, the console will have a history recorded of every set of coordinates our RA has accessed. Which is totally a thing consoles have always had. So! Let me look through the history for unfamiliar coordinates. Would you mind checking the flamingos in the meantime, see if there are any clues where they came from?"
((I'm currently bunking at my parents' house, due to my condo filling with smoke from a not-dangerously-near fire. My posting schedule may be a little erratic for a while. Sorry in advance!))
While Vania checked the console, Rina knelt next to one of the flamingos and turned it over, looking for markings. However, when she moved the flamingo, something inside it rattled.
"Vania?" she called. "Did you know there's something in these things?"
((And no worries, just so long as you're not hurt I'm fine. :) Post whenever you like. Also I have no idea where I'm going with this.))
Vania leaned out of her chair and pushed a couple of flamingos off the wall they were leaning on. They slid down and hit the floor, making them rattle.
"Huh. Well, I guess it's time to recreate Psycho with some plastic birds." Vania went to a wall-mounted cupboard and grabbed a couple of long, spiky purple crystals—ammunition for Needler rifles. She tossed one gently to Rina. "Shall we?"
((That's okay. I don't really have any plan going here, either.))
Rina set the crystal Vania had offered her aside in favor of pulling her crowbar from her belt. She raised it over her head and brought it down on a flamingo's back.
The crowbar hit the plastic with a loud crack, and the bird burst open in a cloud of glitter.
Rina fell back, coughing. "Son of a werechihuahua, do these things have Sue residue in them or something?!"
Vania had stabbed the Needler crystal through another. "Blagh, glitter? I didn't expect Sues to be involved. I just thought Doc had gone drunk shoplifting in some tacky thrift store."
Vania moved back to the console, and pointed at the screen. "So, this set of coordinates, six from the bottom, is from our last mission. The five newer ones I don't know about; there's an unfamiliar one, another unfamiliar one, one coming back to our RC, and a last one that looks like it went to somewhere in HQ. Hopefully, that means Doc is still here; I'm going to retrace his steps and try to figure out what he was doing, then go track him down. Wanna come?" She opened a portal to Doc's first mystery location.
((Want to pick where Doc found the flamingos?))
...and clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a shriek of excitement.
The agents were standing smack in the middle of the cabins at Camp Half-Blood. Rina spun around, taking in the view- and stopped when she saw the Aphrodite cabin. There were plastic flamingos stuck in the ground around the cabin, flamingos somehow attatched to the walls, and flamingos peeping over the roof.
"Well, we found the source of the flamingos," Rina said. "And I'd bet anything the Stoll brothers are responsible."
"Don't know this place. Who are the Stoll brothers?"
"This is the Percy Jackson universe, and the Stoll brothers are children of Hermes. And before you ask, their name was lampshaded in canon."
Rina took another moment to drink in the beautiful, untainted canon before nodding at the RA in Vania's hand. "Next stop, then?
Vania opened the portal, and stepped into . . .
"Whoa. Ow. Colors." She shielded her eyes against a pink- and red-brick road that led to a town and castle, all in bright, bright colors.
"This is . . ." Vania suddenly grabbed at her forehead. "Familiar?" She moved down the road a bit towards a big, golden sign.
WELCOME TO SPARKLEE!!!1!1!!
Population: 11 619 117 souls and counting.
Vania stared for a moment, then grabbed at her head again. "Oh! This was where that music thing happened. They made a movie about it, I think."
Rina was overwhelmed by the swirl of color. "Seriously, what is this place?"
"It's, like, a legit Sue colony. A long while ago, some Sues started doing experiments in that castle over there that wound up sucking agents out of HQ. We mounted a rescue mission and stopped the experiments, and since then, we've had a truce going. They made a movie about all that—they run it on Nutmeg TV every so often.
"Anyway, this must be where Doc got his flamingos full of glitter. Can't imagine how he moved them all, though."
Wherever Rina was able to look without her eyes aching, there was glitter. In fact, she and Vania had landed in a pile of the stuff and their feet and legs were now caked with sparkle.
"Yech. I'd rather be coated with tree-gunk than this stuff," she said in disgust. "Can we get out of here?"
"Yes, let's," she said, kicking away some of the glitter.
As Vania had predicted, the next portal led straight back to grey HQ. They found themselves in a fairly large room with a large number of couches, and a bar to one side.
Vania put a fist to her forehead and concentrated with her eyes closed for a moment. Then, she said, "Oh! This is the Lounge! I haven't been here in—" She grunted and shook her head. "Well, anyway, I don't think Doc knew about this yet, so he must have found it by accident."
Listening a moment, she frowned, then turned to Rina. "Do you hear water? Not, like, running water. It sounds like waves."
Sure enough, she could hear lapping water, though it was very faint.
She glanced at Vania. "You don't think that could be the rumored pool, do you?"
((Pshyeah, right.))
"Well, the Lounge's geography has always been a little wonky, but I feel like someone would have found the pool by now if it had been in the lounge all along."
She began stepping around the profusion of couches. "I definitely don't remember all these being here. I— Ah ha!" Hidden between two couches was a horizontal portal set in the floor. Looking down into it gave a view of a beach in early morning, with waves lapping up out of HQ's floor before gravity sent them spilling back into the other world. Sitting in the middle of the water, gazing out at the sea was a figure in a black shirt.
Vania stared down at Doc's back, trying not to get dizzy from the unusual perspective. "Doc?" she asked quietly, then tried louder. "Doc! Can you hear—Jeeze, this water is freezing! How long have you . . . Rina, help me pull him out of there, will you?"
After a lot of tugging and pulling, the two agents finally managed to haul Doc's sodden form into the Lounge.
Rina bent over, breathing hard. "Man... Doc, you weigh... a ton..."
allowed himself to be dragged backwards, then upwards, into the Lounge.
"Doc, what were you thinking, sitting in water that cold? What was that, Siberia?"
"New York," Doc said quietly. He dropped the RA, clutched in his hand, and tried to cover his eyes, but his arms were shaking too much.
"New York? Ohhhhh boy." Vania bent down and leaned her head over the edge of the portal, Looking towards the shoreline. "Crap. There's a crowd of people looking at the portal's outline. Uh . . ." She patted at her pockets. "Rina, did you bring a neuralyzer? I don't have ours."
After dumping the complete works of Rowling, Riordan and Flanagan on the floor next to Vania, she finally found her neuralyzer at the bottom of her pockets.
"Sorry, my partner tends to use hers more," Rina apologized, fiddling with the neuralyzer's settings. "Want me to take care of the bystanders?"
Doc's eyes had slowly grown wider and wider as he watched Rina cover the floor in books.
Now, he reached out for them. "Preeeeeciooouuus."
Vania whapped his hands. "Bad Doc! Not your Precious!"
Then, more nicely, "If you wouldn't mind, Rina."
She crammed the books back in her pockets and lowered herself through the portal, the neuralyzer clamped between her teeth.
"I haf m' RA in m' pcket," she mumbled around the neuralyzer. "Meet you 'n Med'cal?"
He's unconstrained by sanity, physics, or his liver.
((I totally didn't see the same one a little ways down, my bad.))
I'm gonna go for the gay guy. The ginger is freaking me out.
If you're talking about who I think you're talking about, I gotta see this. Don't move, I'll be right there.
The weirdo ginger or the gay bloke?
The Lounge, right?
And it's both of them together. Otherwise none of this makes sense and I'm going to be really embarrassed.
By the way, have we actually met?
Wait, this isn't Denny? Who is this?
Jenni Robinson, FicPsych. I guess I can see how the two could be confused.
I'd butt out, but those guys are my friends and I'm here now, so yeah. Don't worry, I'll stay out of the way. :)
Gerry looked up the moment she received the reply; it'd figure it wasn't Denny who got the message. He wouldn't have taken it nearly as well, which was part of the point. She and Colt sometimes liked to see who could get him wound up, which wasn't all that hard at times, even if it was all just friendly stuff.
She scoped around the Lounge (still keeping a mental note where the ginger and gay guy were) before she spotted someone who hadn't been in earlier and looked like they were probably the right person. When she did, she loped over, a bit of a smirk on her face. Combined with her fairly aquiline features and the whiptight braid, it made her look more like she was on the hunt than anything else. The flash patch indicating that she was part of BM and the handgun holstered at her side did nothing to dissuade that impression.
"Robinson?" She asked.
True to her word, she was trying not to be noticed as she looked for Nume and Ilraen. She wasn't entirely sure why anyone would peg Nume as "the gay guy," unless it was something about his personal grooming standards and slightly outdated fashion sense, but the off-putting redhead had to be Ilraen in human morph. She didn't see them around the bar, which was Nume's usual haunt, but it looked like there was some sort of screening happening at the other end of the room. Maybe they were over there.
Her investigation was interrupted when an impressive-looking woman came up to her.
"Yes?" Jenni answered, blinking in surprise at being addressed. "Are you Gerry, then?"
At this point she'd been part of BM longer than she had been an assassin, but she had still hung out with her former partner and friends in DMS after the forced transfer to hear talk about the people in Medical and FicPsych. At least until most of them went crazy from the work, anyways. Or disappeared into a high fantasy continuum, never to be seen again. (But Parks had never been really entirely there in the first place.)
Names tended to come up, and the reputations attached to them, and Robinson had been an overall more than okay one, even if the group she used to move with was fairly wary of FicPsych and Medical in general (especially after she had been essentially allergic to Sues of all things).
"So, they're friends of yours?" She nodded in the direction where she had last spotted them.
Jenni looked into the crowd where Gerry had indicated. Yup, she'd recognize the backs of those two heads anywhere. She could see that Nume was holding a large bag of popcorn in what was apparently a self-restraint exercise for his partner. As she watched, Ilraen leaned toward the bag, as if drawn by some invisible string, and when his hand got too close, Nume slapped it. Not hard enough to make a loud noise, but enough to startle Ilraen into remembering himself.
The nurse grinned. "Yep. Supernumerary and Ilraen, DIC. If you're gonna make a pass at either of them, I won't stop you, but I feel obligated to warn you it won't work and will amuse me."
"I'm not expecting it to work." She's actually pretty sure the taller man's probably not gay- Gerry just put it that way to hopefully make Denny choke on his coffee or whatever he's drinking to stay awake on the extra shift he's doing right now- but he definitely doesn't look like the type for casual encounters of the close kind.
"I'm just hoping to rile a few people up."
"Now, that, I can guarantee. So, what's the plan? Wait until the movie's over, or sneak up while they can't escape?"
It did occur to her that Gerry might be up to no good and therefore she shouldn't be encouraging this, but she doubted it. There would have to be something very wrong with her to miss sensing any blatant ill intentions. Anyway, even if that did turn out to be the case, she was fortuitously on hand to come to the boys' rescue.
It also occurred to her that Gerry was of a type she might try to pick up herself if she thought she could get away with it. She was pretty sure Suicide wouldn't mind, though he'd be disappointed he wasn't there to join in.
"You know if he likes anything besides bleepka or is he a teetotaler sort?" While it was more aggressive, she wasn't going to give them an opportunity to leave- especially Supernumerary.
"And what's with the ginger, anyways?"
"Long story short, he doesn't normally have a mouth, so he can get a little overexcited about food. Believe it or not, he's handling himself very well, relatively." She smiled fondly in Ilraen's direction.
"As for Nume, he doesn't drink the real stuff anymore, but you could try some kind of Bleep-cocktail if you want to get fancy. Don't ask me what; I don't speak booze." She gave a self-effacing shrug. "He likes bitter stuff, though, if that's any help."
Gerry shrugged. "Sometimes you just can't tell, with some people." There was strange, and then there was strange, especially with the PPC. Andalite definitely went a long way with explaining things. She didn't even know they had any of those around here, but it stood to reason.
"And yeah, that does help," she said, as she gave another toothy grin. "Any other advice? Might as well make it fun."
"Hmm... Well, he's a Trekkie. Work that in somehow and you may escape with only a light coating of sar-plasm. Other than that, all I can say is good luck. Oh, and don't mention me. If he finds out I was involved, we're both in for it." She grinned.
Does anyone know where I am?
-you were trapped in the internet. Just asking, is it nice in there? And can you possibly solve the question of, 'is Google male or female?'
I was pretty sure I got out of there with Frost and his ridiculous puppet.
And rookie: Google was a piece of software, not a person. Even then, I seriously doubt a search algorithm has a sex in the first place.
I can see you through Windows.
((Okay, that was a horrible, horrible pun. I should probably shut up now.))
...that I have a ridiculous urge to have sex while the theme song to the Pirates of the Carrbibbean blares in the background?
Wait. Does the theme from Skyrim count? 'Cause that'd be pretty awesome sex music too.
Apparently this exists? Dunno if it does anything for me, but whatev.
Skyrim is awesome and totally counts. The Nords shoulda taken a page out of Berk's book, teamed up with the dragons, and laid fiery waste to the Empire and the Thalmor. Problem solved.
I'll try to yell "FUS RO DAH" as I climax for maximum effect. It's either gonna be awesome or totally horrible while still being a little awesome at the same time.
So who's the lucky biped getting a taste of your Unrelenting Force?
You're right. I totally would.
I'm pretty sure you've met her before. She picked me up a few times after those AHAIRQL games we had back in 2012. You remember, right? Or were you too concussed to focus properly. I vaguely recall you calling me by your dragon's name after that one match in the basement of the Musee des Univers Perdus.
Wait. Did you? I might have been a little concussed too.
((OOC: I'm still thinking how canon-friendly/non-canon I want to make this bit, thus the vagueness.))
Or wait, do you mean the other one, whatsherface? I didn't know you guys hooked up! I probably was concussed. Wouldn't be the first time, or the last.
Ugh, I can't stand that you're beating me at getting laid. Maybe I'll make another run at my partner. Stubborn jerk has to give it up eventually, angst or no angst. I WILL hit that beefsteak, so help me...
(( I apologize for Gall's utter lack of class. ))
I really was concussed. No memory of her whatsoever.
No, I'm talking about my partner. The skinny one with blue hair and a big coat. We started going "officially" round near the end of last year. Could've sworn I told you about that. We might have been drunk. Or concussed again. Or both.
Your partner? Tall, Scarred, and Brooding? Hells yeah, you should go after him! Find some way to tame his dragon -- choose to interpret that however you like.
((I likewise apologize for Gremlin's lack of class.))
I think she might've been a townie. I'm not into boobs, but sometimes you just can't help but notice, ya know?
Hang on, it's starting to come back to me now. There was definitely drinking going on. We did shots to celebrate. They might have been on fire, or maybe that was the guy next to us. Something was on fire at some point.
Man, I have so many questions now. What is it even like with someone like her? ... We are going out ASAP, and you are telling me everything.
(( And maybe that's a good place to leave it, to spare everyone's sensibilities. ^_^; I gotta say I like the shape of this friendship for these two, though! ))
Meet you at Rudi's in fifteen. Bring money this time.
((Agreed on both points. I'm not sure whether being around these two while they drink would be hilarious or slightly terrifying. Or maybe both. In either case, I see poor decisions in their futures.))
Most certainly and undoubtedly yes. Yes in capital letters.
Would the Indiana Jones theme be any better?
The Society for the Appreciation of Composers That are Dead for 264 Years would like to remind you of a certain piece that would better fit the mood.
-Attachement included
...if I wanted to put us both to sleep right in the middle. Classical's got its place, but it's not in the bedroom. Not my bedroom, anyway.
The Society for the Appreciation of Composers That are Dead for 264 Years would like to turn you into mush, heretic! How dare you not agree that JSB is not perfection itself!
Please bring me back my left shoe. I have a mission as soon as the console decides I'm bluffing.
You have yet to return my iPod, so until I get it back, your shoe remains active hostage there pal.
I'll send along a pic next text. You have seven hours to reply.
How in the world did it get over there?
...and, uh, what's your iPod look like?
Silver and Black, has a gear with a crossed quill and pipe-wrench etched into the back. Screen is in perfect condition.
Room 20XX. Or I could come to your room to pick it up, whatever, not picky. I just want my phone back.
Dunno how I wound up with it, but could probably do you a trade. Think you could find ours? RC Phi. Don't really wanna wander the halls with one shoe.
...wait, hang on, is it a phone or an iPod?
...Great night, great people but I lost my emergency induction port, woke up this morning and just could not find it. I think I stumbled in2 ur RC last night do you have it?
How many quarians do you know in HQ anyways? You also left your Omni-tool in my dishwasher.
Oh, that's where it went. Was wondering y I had a CAD strapped to my arm.
You also left a few tech grenades in my RC. Thanks for that by the way, it cause some serious havoc when I woke up this morning, such as lighting my sheets on fire. Again.
Brb, need 2 replace my sis's lptop for 5th time. Y arn't these dmn keyboards beak-compatibl?!
Because you peck the keys too hard, you clueless tin turkey.
That man is just a bundle of powerful magic and poor judgement.
It's the Force. But yeah, I'm with you 100 percent on the "bad judgement" thing. No one is meant to combine that much alcohol with that much hot sauce.
Wake up. Eat bread. Find your dignity. Don't be late for work again.
It's 4:30 AM, and I just walked through a line of 10 deer without freaking them out. I am the campus deer queen.
Believe me they were not all deer. It was however a fantastic night.
He's unconstrained by sanity, physics, or his liver.
...so you were there too? I didn't see you. But then again, we were a bit busy with the crowbar and the Bleepka, so...
...started interpretive dancing to Mozart.
Serves you right for not listening to your superiors.
I just chose to ignore you.
Now he's sulking, and I'm at the receiving end. Thanks a bunch, really. I appreciate that.
(For the uninitiated: that was sarcasm.)
Really, don't thank me. I get enough of that every day.
My, are we pleasant today. You know that he has that damned Tablet of his in his hands, and that means you're gonna get hacked sooner or later, right?
And thanks for the warning. You're talking to the girl who stays up all night on her iPad instead of doing simple tasks like sleeping. I will be prepared!
...for not turning into a raging b*tch.
I have no idea what you have done, but keeping oneself sane is an obligation, not something to be rewarded.
I can't control myself when I wear a cape.
If this is indeed the case: do not wear a cape.
On Saturday 11th of November, Kitty wrote...
... alright, if I email the police department asking for my mug shot do you think they will email it to me?
Get drunk, eat breadsticks. It's going to be great.
...I hope we come out of this alive. And with clean prison records.
is a headline I never want to be about me.
been 45 minues now
still stuck head first in giant smuppet doll in my rc all the way up to my waist and i can't move
sonia is away with friends and i am alone
phone battery is dying
this is it
this is how i die
- - -
((This sounds fun! I'm in.))
Is it the urple colored one?
it feels like days since i sent that text
whoever you are come quick to rc 1313 and get me out of this thing
bring a big pair of scissors or something
i have no idea what colour this thing is i just know that i'm half inside it and i want out
^Yeah, sorry, it's been a weird week. I finally got my real phone back after... things and happenings. We'll talk about it later. Where's your partner anyway?^
Ashley sends the text with a firm nod before putting the phone in his pocket, rolling his neck side to side as he trots through HQ, making his way to 1313 from his room, 20XX.
This place, the people in it, he didn't particularly understand it yet, and he was trying to learn, especially after he mentioned idly 'that he was prior military' and they snatched him up for 'field work'. whatever that was...
The human huffs out a breath and idly moves one of his bangs out of his face as he picks up the pace a little as he spies the door to 1313. Probably would be best to not let whomever this was die anyway.
'Cause I'd completely love to do this (I even found the perfect one for my insane Agent with questionable sanity) but I don't have Permission yet.
The short answer is yes.
The long answer is that by default, PPCers even without permission are generally allowed to join in on RPs usually- of course, if you make a muck out of things (which is rare!) you can expect a sharp poke, but that's rarely the case.