Hylozoist

Sci-fi Sandbox

Nona Bellicae
Community Chamber, MFAV Wings of Hope, 0945 Ship Time

The funeral choir finished up their song. There weren't any bodies to really dispose of, but we all went through the motions, each of the assembled determined to demonstrate their loyalty. If not to the ship, or to the mission, or even to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, then at least to protocol. It was protocol that kept the ship moving forwards, even in the face of terrible accidents.

Speaking of accidents.

Lune Omanix. made his way through the crowd, bobbing his head and excusing himself as he pushed his way through the knots of Orpil grieving, or plotting, it was sometimes hard to tell which. Judging by the jaunty little hops he took as he approached, he was struggling to contain his high spirits. As an assistant, this particular Nezzim left a lot to be desired. He was assigned to the ship to get him away from Ave-Orpil, and assigned as my assitant because the assistant of an assistant was unlikely to ever be in a position to cause much harm. I suppose a period of exile doesn't seem so terrible if you don't realise that's what it is.

"Congratulations," he begins, barely capable of standing still in front of me, "on your promotion. Oh, and mine too! Assistant to the Ministry Diplomat, even for a field promotion, that's not bad, not bad at all. Better quarters too, I'd guess."

Here was Lune, hopping about without a worry. In a room of respectful stillness, he was dancing. A few people were turning to look at him - at me, by extension - before going back to their own conversations. Even my sternest look does nothing to stop him wondering, out loud, about things like pay grades and expense accounts and access to Ministry secrets an-

I can't take it. I need to get out of there. I turn, I leave, and Lune follows, now gently gliding along behind me with wings outstretched. He provides his usual running commentary as we arrive at our quarters, I politely dip my head to those we pass, and in return they do the same. Protocol keeps us moving forwards, even in the face of terrible accidents.

The door snaps shut behind us. Sadly, it does not cut Lune in two. His incessant chatter continues, even as he clambers on to his perch and orders his terminal to connect to the ship network. With one talon gripping his perch, and the other wrapped about the odd little cylindrical thing that the Nezzim used to interact with the terminals, he just talked and talked and talked. I couldn't see what was on his terminal screen, but the glow of the display cast rippling patterns across his face. Was he just mindlessly scrolling through today's schedule?

If Lune had noticed that I was staring at him, he was at least polite enough to not say anything. I don't know what to say, and even if I did, there was no pause long enough in Lune's rambling to begin speaking. I went through my usual morning routine, settling down in front of my own terminal, flicking through documents, and then messages, with a flick of my head.

"Anything interesting?"

Was Lune watching me?

"I haven't forgiven you yet," I say, eyes studiously fixed on the terminal display.

Most of the messages are about the day-to-day business of the ship. Even though I know nothing about the details of how such a ship should be mintained, or how food is produced, or projected fuel consumption or any of that, I'm now kept in the loop. Presumably, as the Ministry Diplomat for the ship - one of many in the fleet operated by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs - I was expected to at least be told these sorts of things. There was a message from the Ministry itself, detailing the course of action we were to follow. Broadly speaking, the mission would still go ahead, even if we would be running late. Apologise, don't mention the change in Ministry Diplomat, ingratiate yourself to GFUN representatives, stress our commitment to joining, offer gifts, learn about the other members, establish an embassy, brief the staff and, most of all, enjoy your new role.

"-as far as I can tell, nobody else wanted those snacks, they'd be going to waste, I know it said Engineering Staff Only, but-"

Establish an embassy?

"-and in my defence, he started it, you spill a drink, you offer to buy a new one, that's plain courtesy, that is-"

None of us would be going back home.

"Are you even listening? I'm running out of stuff to apologise for here."

"I shall assume that your display during the Mourning Song was in there somewhere. You're forgiven. Now could you take down this message? It'll be going out to all of the Diplomatic Branch, so-"

"Yeah, yeah, no errors."

I gesture for my terminal to go into standby mode and, for a moment, see my own nervous looking reflection staring back at me from the display. My first official proclamation as a Ministry Diplomat. Formality was needed. Protocol keeps us moving forwards. It's not exile if you don't think of it that way.

"It is with great sadness that..."

++++
Rcpt: Diplomatic Branch ~ MFAV-WoH
Sndr: Ministry Diplomat Office ~ MFAV-WoH
Subj: A Change Of Course [Flag: Important]

It is with great sadness that I must assume the role of Ministry Diplomat aboard the Wings of Hope. The loss of Graffil and his associates weighs heavily upon us all, but our commitment to the needs of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Greater Orpil Flock is unwavering. Let us carry their memory in our chests and, following today's moving Mourning Song, let us honour these memories through correct and considered action.

With the passing of Graffil, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has ordered a change of course for the Diplomatic Branch. Rather than simply acting as a delegate of negotiators, our new role is closer to Graffil's original vision. We are to establish a home amongst the Galactic Federation of United Nations as an embassy, conducting business and representing the interests of the Greater Orpil Flock to the wider galactic community. This bold gesture represents a significant step forward in Graffil's dream of full membership of the Galactic Federation and we at the Ministry Diplomat Office are truly thankful for the opportunity to continue his legacy.

After the Diplomatic Branch has been safely delivered, the Wings of Hope will set a course back to Ave-Orpil for repairs, refitting and renaming as the MFAV Memory of Graffil. I look forward to working alongside you in the coming years, establishing a new home for ourselves amongst the people of the Galactic Federation. An announcement regarding change to ship-clock time will follow, we assemble for departure at eleven-hundred tomorrow in Hangar Four. I look forward to meeting you all in person then in my capacity as Ministry Diplomat.

The Ministry Diplomat Office
Ministy of Foreign Affairs Vessel Wings of Hope
++++

Assistants 2nd Class Neru Monticum & Bali Encreada, Maintenance Branch
Hangar Four, MFAV Wings of Hope, 1215h Adjusted Ship Time

Two Orp work to take down the rather festive looking flags that had been arranged around the walls of Hangar Four. Their conversation is shouted across the huge empty space, with the shuttle long since departed and the festivities over, it was likely that the space would be used for storage on the return journey back to Ave-Orpil. Neither of the Orp seem to be in much of a hurry to get their work done.

"So then what happened? Nobody showed up?"

"Ah, no, no, some did, but word is that most of that branch resigned. After the message."

"Ha!"

His snorting sort of laugh echoed across the hangar.

"It's not that funny."

"Imagine, you got the shuttle, that'll take a hundred if it's a good mix, and this whole big space, all dressed up, and how many showed up?"

"Ten, I'd say. Twelve, if you count the new Ministry Diplomat and her assistant."

"Lune?"

"You mean that's the one that ate our lunch last week?"

"The very same."

"Maybe it is that funny."

Adam Philip's Totally Legit Laboratory For The Science!

Rex

"Like always," Rex began to repeat after Amadeus. Up until that point, he was confident that while there wouldn't be any coffee available until midday, it was going to be Just Another Day of doing very little indeed, punctuated only by brief naps in the sun and the occasional caffeine-fuelled burst of hyperactivity. However, as the speaker system crackled into life to deliver a fateful message about a meeting - a word that Rex had yet to fully grasp the meaning of, but had discovered that it functioned something like a curse word - his ears pricked up and, a moment later, he was seeking shelter behind the coffee machine.

For once, the word meeting did not immediately lead to explosions, the unexpected formation of anomalous time zones or their subsequent cataclysmic collapse, nor those people with the strange suits that covered their whole bodies bursting in through the windows. Peering out from behind the relatively little safety afforded by the coffee machine, Rex watched Amadeus eat something, and wander off.

After giving the room one last look over, Rex darted, not for the door, but towards the wall. Then, up the wall, his claws extended and ripping yet another set of tears into the faded floral wallpaper. Within seconds, Rex was into the vents. With one last angry stare at the coffee machine, Rex disappeared. Numerous symbols and drawings were scratched into the inside of the vents, helpfully mapping out which vent led where, along with a series of ever larger pictures of teeth to warn about getting too close to Maya's cell. Taking an up, a left, a down, a right, another right, a sort of up and a left, and then a left again, Rex arrived at the Board Room Vent.

Ever so carefully, Rex pushed at the covering and peered at the floor of the Board Room. The last time he had visited the Board Room, there wasn't even a discernible floor, just a sticky mat of thick black goo, the result of an interview process gone horribly wrong. Or horribly right, it was hard to tell. Either way, satisfied that the floor posed little to no threat, Rex levered open the metal grill covering the vent and proceeded to drop down to the floor.

Or, that was the plan; the grill snapping shut behind him caught the hem of his laboratory coat and, rather than hitting the floor, he instead just hung there, upside-down, suspended from the ceiling by his little lab coat. At least, from here, he could actually watch the meeting unfold, and didn't risk being trod underfoot.

Sci-fi Sandbox

@Hylozoist Your sheets are accepted.

@Stepford Psycho

Thanks @Stepford Psycho - and thanks for tidying up it a little with the extra hiders. Looking forward to reading up new stuff and starting to do some ICly things!

Sci-fi Sandbox

Well, I started writing stuff last night, then I did some more this morning, and then I actually got some work done, and then came back to it and I think I'm approximating something that's near finished. I've still got to describe the capital planet properly using the Planet Description Sheet though, as, right now, it's sort of just "a planet that's covered in jungles that are slowly reclaiming the ruins of a previous civilisation".

Here's what I've got so far, apologies for the wall of text and my rather informal style.

Species - Nezzim, Avelone, Orp

Three bird-like species, uplifted to sentience and tinkered around with by the Creators.

Name: Nezzim
Kingdom: Animalia
Base: Carbon
Composition: Multicellular
Physiology: Small in regards to the rest of the Orpil Flock, averaging out to about 20 inches in length, with a wingspan of around twenty six inches. Most often recognised by it's black and white feathers, small beak and, according to some, "mean looking eyes". As with all the uplifted species within the Orpil Flock, their toes are highly articulated and posess something similar to an opposable thumb.

Think "Eurasian Magpie", and you won't be too far wrong.

Reproduction: Sexual. Usually once a year, with an egg taking around a month to hatch. A single, solitary egg is laid; now it often artificially incubated, tested and generally looked after as well as possible. Around 30% of eggs fail.
Dimorphic? Males tend to be slightly smaller then females, with more iridescence in the black feathers.

Name: Avelone
Kingdom: Animalia
Base: Carbon
Composition: Multicellular
Physiology: A large, heavy, flightless species, nearly two meters in length, with short wings that are rarely displayed. The Avelone posesses a short, hooked beak, "dull" plumage of dappled green, yellow and brown. Facial plumage gives members of this species something approximating a moustache and eyebrows, which are used in displays and as an aid to communication. As with other uplifted species in the Orpil Flock, it has highly articulated toes and a digit that functions like an opposable thumb.

Think bloody great big "Kakapo", and you won't be too far wrong.

Reproduction: Sexual. Clutches of eggs (usually around five) are laid once every three years, hatching after three months. Approximately half of the eggs fail to hatch. Use of artificial incubators is something of a taboo, instead, family members, friends and trusted people within the community take it in turns to look after eggs and the young.
Dimorphic? Nope.

Name: Orp
Kingdom: Animalia
Base: Carbon
Composition: Multicellular
Physiology: A large, brightly coloured bill is the defining trait of the Orp species - it shares the same black and white plumage of the Nezzim, and is only slightly larger at three feet in length. A large wingspan and long tail helps somewhat to balance out the size of the bill in flight, but it still looks like a fundamentally top-heavy creature. As with all members of the "Orpil Flock", it has highly articulated toes with an opposable thumb-like digit.

Think "Toco Toucan", and you won't be too far wrong.

Reproduction: Sexual. Inherited a lot of mating behaviour from their pre-uplift ancestors; a male with a suitably large and impressive bill will be accepted by multiple female partners in the yearly breeding season. Pre-uplift behaviour of nest-building and the male rotating around his territory to provide food for the females is no longer displayed, and the rise of artificial incubation means that a female is no longer tied to a nest for three weeks. Communal incubation is the modern norm.
Dimorphic? Male bill colouration tends towards stripes and brighter colours compared to the female.

Nation - Greater Orpil Flock

Briefly, comprising three species (the "Orpil", being Nezzim, Avelone & Orp), a bureaucracy that endlessly fights with itself as various Ministries squabble amongst themselves and a pair of cultures that sort of get along with one another.

Name: Greater Orpil Flock (GOF)
Territory:
EN08 "Ave-Mux" system - comprising of their capital, Ave-Orpil, which is heavily populated. Orbital stations above Ave-Janus and Ave-Lorr monitor pre-sentient life on their respective planets. Ave-Orpil is dominated by dense forests and jungles, with modern constructions built alongside and into the ruins of the Creators.
KV77 system - designated within the GOF as an "area of ecological interest". Three stations are present in the system; two scientific observatories with associated living and laboratory space operated by the Ministry of Environmental Concerns, one naval station operated by the Ministry of Harmony. The latter helps enforce the quarrantine of KV77 while the Ministry of Environmental Concerns tracks the development of an "Iron Age Equivalent" species on the surface of KV77 IV.
BE15 "Ruin" - extensive archaeological work is overseen by the Ministry of Culture on BE15 II, uncovering sites that may have belonged to the Creators. It might also serve as something of a place to send undesirables, malcontents and those who have fallen afoul of Ministry politics. The other five planets remain uninhabited, though the Ministry of Procurement has expressed an interest in establishing a colony on BE15 IV.

Culture: Surprisingly, the culture is not split along racial lines. Two main cultures dominate the GOF; the Southern Song, and the East Wind.

The Southern Song considers itself to be the ones most capable of organisation, or at least, the ones most vociferous in promoting co-operation between members of the GOF. History is an important subject to this culture, though few take it to the extremes of venerating the Creators, nearly everyone within the Southern Song will have an opinion on that subject. Politeness, formality and civility are treasured, such that outsiders may not realise that they have born witness to a major disagreement. Worse still, an outsider may not realise that they are making a terrible social gaffe, fail to recognise the signs of displeasure, and only realise they are now considered a pariah when they are no longer invited to social events. A relatively sheltered life within the jungle-ruins of the Creators has given the Southern Song an air of refinement and knowledge of their place in history. To the East Wind, they are seen as stuffy, slow, but useful to have around.

The East Wind territory is home to scarred lands and the ruins of devestated cities left behind in the wake of the fall of the Creators. Faced with the constant reminders of an age long since passed, their culture is considered - by the Southern Song, at least - a little odd. Some are prone to fatalism, seeing the wreckage of terrible machines of war. Some promise to live their lives to the fullest, knowing that it could all easily end for them just as it did for their Creators. Some dream of the stars a as a way to avoid the terrible threat of extinction. Regardless of the nature of the actions they take, they value the simple act of acting - they consider themselves to be a dynamic people, propelled forward by the explosions that tore apart the Creators. Loud, boisterous, active, they are the means by which the Greater Orpil Flock reached the stars. To the Southern Song, they are reckless and difficult to understand, but useful to have around.

Warring factions / Political Parties: Political life is dominated by various Ministries, with each having very strict limits on what they may control. However, most Ministries employ a number of exceedingly clever people who have the task of arguing just how their interpretation of statutes and codes allows their own Ministry to interfere in a matter that might not directly be within their domain. Open violence between the Ministries is more or less unheard of, but dirty tricks, espionage, assassination and strongly worded letters have all been deployed in the name of one Ministry or other. Each Ministry is led by a Minister, and the squabbling group of Ministers forms the government of the Greater Orpil Flock, with a directly elected "Speaker" acting as something akin to a head of state. Elections for Speaker are held every ten years, and each Ministry is responsible for it's own arcane processes by which it chooses a Minister.

Recently, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs have suffered a series of set-backs. The Ministry of Harmony - responsible for the (rather limited) armed forces of the Greater Orpil Flock - has seen a rise in prominence in recent years, partly due to the election of Speaker Mallicum (a close personal friend of Minister-General Fortidae).

History: The History of Ave-Orpil, and the Greater Orpil Flock, is generally broken down into three ages. There is the Age of Life, the Fall, and the Modern Age.

The roots of the three species that comprise the "Orpil" are in the Age of Life. By their understanding of history, the Creators brought the Orpil species out of the darkness of ignorance, such that they might carry the brilliance of the Creators onwards into the future. It is regarded as something of a Golden Age, mostly due to the efforts of romantic writers who promoted the image of the Orpils and the Creators living as equals in a peaceful society. While scholarly studies suggest that this was certainly not the case, that the Orpil species were just one set of many that were uplifted and that the act of uplifting itself was considered distasteful by many of the nation-states that the Creators lived in. To the majority, however, they remain the multi-armed, flightless pseudo-gods, who chose their ancestors for a life of greatness.

Then came the Fall. To the Orpil, an unexplained, mysterious event that devastated the Creators. Many presume that outside interference is to blame, while the truth is that conflict between a number of states escalated into a highly destructive, global war. One continent - the cultural home of the East Wind - is particularly scarred, while the rest of the world has been steadily reclaimed by nature, and the inheritors of the world, the Orpil.

The Modern Age begins with the reclamation of the Creators works, the adaptation of their technologies to use by the Orpil and the establishment of the Greater Orpil Flock. Reclamation was slow; so much was lost, many areas were initially uninhabitable, and the barely sentient Orpil left in the wake of the Fall were forced to scratch an existence in the shadows of the ruins. True intelligence, as the Orpil reckon it, actually developed during this time - and it was a slow, slow process. "Official History" paints a picture of brave Orpil striking out of the still-smoking wreckage with mastery of the tools left by the Creators. The truth is that, just like many species, they went through various ages of technological progress, albeit significantly accelerated by the guidance of technologies left behind by the Creators.

The history so favoured by the Southern Song is of recent, modern history, and the formation of the Greater Orpil Flock out of the East Wind and the Southern Song. It was a time of coming together, of cut-throat negotiations, of compromises and agreements that led to the creation of the first Ministries, where Song and Wind could come together and share in a mutual interest. Local governments began to be replaced by the Ministries, and the bureaucracies endemic to the Ministries began to blossom, absorbing various political functions. Finally, the Ministries were ascendant, and an accord had to be reached - none of the Ministries, with their specialisations, could allow another to lead them, but a leader was needed.

Wars followed. Once great Ministries fell, some absorbed by others, others scattered to the winds. A compromise was reached once again, following the surrender of the Ministry of Arms & Armour to the Ministry of Harmony; no Ministry would be placed above another, and the leader shall be directly chosen by the "Greater Orpil Flock", comprising of the Southern Song people and the East Wind people, regardless of what Ministry they were employed by. With disputes mostly put aside, and grudges kept to themselves, progress began to happen fast. Three hundred and sixty five years after the election of the first Speaker, and the establishment of the Greater Orpil Flock as a (mostly) functioning government that stretched across Ave-Orpil, we arrive at the modern day.

Hostility Scale: 1-2. The inability for the Ministries to come to a consensus on many issues creates an outwardly facing pacifism. Even in the face of an existential threat from outside the GOF, it is unlikely that the Ministries would agree on hostile action. Individual Ministries may employ covert operations outside of the GOF unofficially, though discovery would likely see the other Ministries turn on them.

Laws & Legality
Prior to the rise of the Ministries and the establishment of the Greater Orpil Flock, each community tended to adopt their own legal code. In the modern age, the Ministry of Justice is responsible for most things legal. There are no laws, as such, but rather agreements and understandings. A party who feels aggrieved by the actions of another may seek justice from the Ministry of Justice, who will consider, as best they are able, whether actions taken against the aggrieved party constitute a crime. The ponderously slow bureaucracy of the Ministry of Justice check prior rulings of the Ministry to help determine whether a crime has actually taken place, though individual Adjudicators can rule on one side or the other based on their own judgement. If found guilty, relevant information is handed to the Ministry of Harmony.

Punishments, like legality, vary, and is decided upon by representatives from both the Ministry of Harmony and the aggrieved party. Periods of indentured servitude are generally preferred to other punishments, with the guilty party becoming a low-paid employee of the aggrieved party.

One of the obvious, and often exploited, loopholes in the system is that the Greater Orpil Flock does not pursue legal recompense, but that it comes down to the single aggrieved individuals, or those that are close to them. Political assassinations are often incredibly bloody affairs, as if there are no "aggrieved individuals" left to complain about it, no criminal action has taken place.

Narrator

Name: Nona Bellicae
Age: Twenty nine.
Species: Avelone.
Sex: Female.

Appearance: Frazzled. Dishevelled plumage. A rather plain looking white bonnet, a couple of wooden leg-rings and a pair of spectacles carefully perched upon her bill make up her everyday outfit. Attempts to get her long "eyebrow" and "moustaches" feathers into some semblance of order have failed so often that she appears to have given up entirely, making her look near permanently startled.

Personality: Hard-working, obedient and more than a little bit nervous. Is not particularly happy about the things she has done, but has mostly convinced herself that it was simply following orders, which is the Right Thing To Do. Usually tries to pass off her nervousness as simply being cautious. Plans out everything, makes plans for when those plans don't work, and gets quite worried when things do not go according to the plan(s).

Nationality: Southern Song / Greater Orpil Flock

Role in society: Ministry Diplomat.

History: Prior to being assigned to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Nona Bellicae held a number of fairly lowly positions within the ever-expanding bureaucracy of the Greater Orpil Flock. While many within her extended family had natural aptitudes that made them ideally suited for some particular role or other, Nona could find no particular role that spoke to her. Bumped from department to department in order to find the right position, by the time she arrived in Foreign Affairs she had a fair understanding of the politics that dominated the other Ministries, along with a string of mostly useful contacts.

Nona was first assigned as a diplomatic envoy, attached to a Ministry Diplomat, that would help oversee the First Application for Membership with the Galactic Federation of United Nations. Disputes within the most prestigious of the Ministries - the Ministry of Harmony, the Ministry of Environmental Concerns and the Ministry of Procurement - regarding the prominence of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the age of space travel saw the three reaching an agreement that Something Must Be Done. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs would be purged of their senior leadership, and in its place would sit leaders and officers that could be easily controlled.

Nona Bellicae would be one of those people. Following the tragic death of Ministry Diplomat Graffil in an air-lock accident, along with the grief-stricken suicides of his direct staff and the unexplained fire that consumed a communal habitation area belonging to his relatives on board the MFAV Wings of Hope, Nona was given the field promotion to "Ministry Diplomat". Now the badly damaged, understaffed Wings of Hope limps along to meet up with representatives from GFUN to negotiate their admittance into the - with the interests of the other Ministries firmly in mind, of course.

Kill Count: None. Or, well, maybe a few in an indirect sort of way.

Sci-fi Sandbox

I'm interested! I like the mix of world-building scale stuff and character interactions, and the creating missions for other players sounds like it'd be a nice way to keep things interesting with people throwing their own little things-that-need-doing into the story mix.

Adam Philip's Totally Legit Laboratory For The Science!

I suddenly had a vision of her living in a Barbie doll castle.

@RomanAria

One with all the modern conveniences that mad unorthodox science can provide?

Adam Philip's Totally Legit Laboratory For The Science!

Rex had a system for surviving the morning rush, and the accquistion of something approximating a healthy breakfast for whatever he was, and this morning was much like any other. It began with carefully perching upon a coat stand that had long since given up it's career as a place for coats and hats to pursue it's lifelong dream of gathering dust. It remained near enough to the entrance to suit Rex's purposes, a perch from which he could wait for Amadeus to make his entrance. More or less right on time, Amadeus passed by, and Rex leapt to the ground, following along in his footsteps on all fours. With his ears perked up, his nose to the ground, and his eyes focused on his feet, Rex wove a meandering path behind Amadeus.

Then, on the final approach to the coffee machine, he made his move. Scrambling rather ungracefully out from behind Amadeus, he made his way up onto the table that held the miraculous machine that provided the bitter brown stuff that he had developed something of a craving for. After only one failed attempt to clamber up the table leg and on to the tabletop proper, he sat and stared at where the pot would be - should be! - were it not for the big, green coffee stealing machne that was Worogoro.

Rex stared despondently at the coffee machine, sans pot.

"Why? Coffee?"

The coffee machine, unsurprisingly, did not answer back.

Adam Philip's Totally Legit Laboratory For The Science!

Name: Rex

Appearance: Clicky! Cute. Fuzzy. Small. Contains a surprisingly large amount of teeth. An orange tag in his ear has been half chewed off.

Interesting Physical Traits: Remarkably difficult to break. Hypoallergenic.

Personality: Alarmingly curious. If it is closed, it must be opened. If looks like food, it should be tasted. If it can be poked, prodded, nibbled, so it must be. Has a very loose and flexible understanding of what constitutes "personal space". Collects things that are interesting, although the criteria that defines whether or not something is "interesting" changes fairly often. Goes from fast asleep to frenzied and back again very quickly.

History:
"Thanks for turning up to my presentation, folks. Really appreciate it. Anyway, me and Bannon, we've been cooking up something special these past few months. Now, I know there's been set-backs, and costs too, but once you see what we've produced, you'll know it's worth the effort. The perfect pet for the coming winter holiday season! No allergic reactions, so little Timmy doesn't have to spend his Christmas morning sneezing and snuffling. Can survive a fall of seventy five yards, so Mom won't have to drive out to the store and buy a new one. Spliced some homing pigeon in there, so if little Timmy gets kidnapped while walking it, it'll come right back home. It's got rudimentary language skills, it can eat just about anything and the focus group we kidnapped responded well to the colour choice and the promise of a phone-call to their loved ones. Ladies, gentlemen, fellow colleagues and what appear to be members of an armed gang associated with a local animal rights organisation that are presently trying to kick down the door, I give you... the future of pets!"
- The final words of "Doctor" Higgins.

The product of an ill-conceived attempt to break into both the biological weapons and toy market a few years back, Rex is now all that remains of the project. Having survived the rigorous processes set out in the first edition of the Hazardous Materials Dispoal Manual ("Have you tried flushing it down the toilet? What about feeding it to the garbage disposal? Okay, um, just... leave it on the side of the road?"), courtesy of the resilience that would have surely made the project popular with distracted parents and dictators looking for super-soldiers alike, Rex was granted "Honorary Employee Status" as a test subject. Plus, somebody made him a little lab coat, and that's bloody adorable.

Items: A litte lab coat, with "Rex" stitched on to the pocket. A half chewed tag in his ear.

Adam Philip's Totally Legit Laboratory For The Science!

Yay, thanks - I shall get on that now. And maybe make a cup of tea.

Adam Philip's Totally Legit Laboratory For The Science!

Sorry it took me a while, @AdobeFlash, my need for sleep and lack of tea finally managed to catch up with me.

Rex

Name: Rex

Appearance: Clicky! Cute. Fuzzy. Small. Contains a surprisingly large amount of teeth. An orange tag in his ear has been half chewed off.

Interesting Physical Traits: Remarkably difficult to break. Hypoallergenic.

Personality: Alarmingly curious. If it is closed, it must be opened. If looks like food, it should be tasted. If it can be poked, prodded, nibbled, so it must be. Has a very loose and flexible understanding of what constitutes "personal space". Collects things that are interesting, although the criteria that defines whether or not something is "interesting" changes fairly often. Goes from fast asleep to frenzied and back again very quickly.

History:
"Thanks for turning up to my presentation, folks. Really appreciate it. Anyway, me and Bannon, we've been cooking up something special these past few months. Now, I know there's been set-backs, and costs too, but once you see what we've produced, you'll know it's worth the effort. The perfect pet for the coming winter holiday season! No allergic reactions, so little Timmy doesn't have to spend his Christmas morning sneezing and snuffling. Can survive a fall of seventy five yards, so Mom won't have to drive out to the store and buy a new one. Spliced some homing pigeon in there, so if little Timmy gets kidnapped while walking it, it'll come right back home. It's got rudimentary language skills, it can eat just about anything and the focus group we kidnapped responded well to the colour choice and the promise of a phone-call to their loved ones. Ladies, gentlemen, fellow colleagues and what appear to be members of an armed gang associated with a local animal rights organisation that are presently trying to kick down the door, I give you... the future of pets!"
- The final words of "Doctor" Higgins.

The product of an ill-conceived attempt to break into both the biological weapons and toy market a few years back, Rex is now all that remains of the project. Having survived the rigorous processes set out in the first edition of the Hazardous Materials Dispoal Manual ("Have you tried flushing it down the toilet? What about feeding it to the garbage disposal? Okay, um, just... leave it on the side of the road?"), courtesy of the resilience that would have surely made the project popular with distracted parents and dictators looking for super-soldiers alike, Rex was granted "Honorary Employee Status" as a test subject. Plus, somebody made him a little lab coat, and that's bloody adorable.

Items: A litte lab coat, with "Rex" stitched on to the pocket. A half chewed tag in his ear.