Krayzikk

Secundi Lux

---

Before acts of nature mere mortals freeze. They stare in awe, or else avert their gaze and seek shelter from the very elements. Such was Rivka Sokolov's lot seeking a partner for the waltz. Unfortunate, but unavoidable. But how was she to solve it? How was she to modulate the force of her gaze, her very presence, to accommodate another?

The problem, fortunately, was solved for her.

"The Victoria?" She said in a lilting tone, turning the name over in her mind. It was familiar. Yes, she had played a set at the Victoria only a few nights past. Not a bad one, if she said so herself, but it wasn't quite her best work. Only a few songs was not nearly time enough to warm up properly, to find the wavelength that most resonated with her audience. Still she had clearly done well, as this officer-to-be's praise proved. "Yes, I did. This past Wednesday, I think it was."

For her musing she had already made a decision; rather than answer she took the proffered hand with her own and drew the cadet in, left arm extended to the side and her right at the small of the brunette's back. The waltz's timing was easy, nor were the steps especially intricate; but she would have patience while she waited to see how well her partner knew the steps. Should she not know, or should she need a reminder, that was fine; she could learn. And there was no better teacher than herself.

"I'm pleased to be recognized. What's your name?"

Secundi Lux

---

O

moy

Bbbbbbog.

Lifetimes ago in something that used to be called the American West— or maybe it was Europe?— executions were carried out by hanging. But for a time the tradition had been poorly written, so the legend says, that the sentence itself was hanging. If you were hung and survived you had carried out your grim sentence and were free to go. Eventually of course it was amended to "hung until death", thus ensuring a proper execution until some Hastan went and invented the guillotine.

Evidently, Rivka decided, the Duodecim were true traditionalists. They seemed to believe that cadets should be hung on every formal occasion.

The damnable noose around here neck couldn't possibly be as tight as it felt, but every time she tried to subtly finagle it into a position that did not deprive her of life-giving oxygen it seemed to tighten with renewed vigor. No more did she cast her attention away from it, seeking anything at all else to pay attention to in this affair, then it redoubled its efforts to strangle the world's most promising hero in her very seat. Worse than her boredom,, worse even than the accursed tie, was the fact that she had to be on her best behavior. A very stern injunction had been issued against any chicanery when they were informed as to what was required of them. To what end then, Rivka had almost demanded to know, was the point of the damned party? Was there not to be joy? Merriment? Entertainment? If the point was to show off the new crop of cadets, should she not show off?

Bluuuuuugh.

She had tuned out at the first stiff, atonal, and formalistic speech and never properly tuned back in. Who cared? She didn't. Let her sing. Let her dance. Let her fight! Something! She was going to waste away into dust still upon her very chair and they would still be ta-

Oh, finally.

She could get up and move. Maybe she could finally find someone to talk with, or—

The waltz began, and her eyes rolled so far back into her head that she could witness before her own eyes the breakage of her own mind.

Truly the waltz had been scandalous... Once. A few centuries ago. The dancers had, bozhe moy, been touching so indecently! They were joined at more than the hand! They faced each other! There was no room for God between their bodies, how dare the peasants seek to replace the minuet! Oh, the pianist played marvelously; of course they did, the Duodecim would never hire less than the best. At least, the best they knew about. But the selection! Worse, the Officers Academy was here. The notion of dancing with, or worse being lead by, a flatfooted officer-and-gentleman-to-be? Absolutely detestable.

In that moment, as her act of mild defiance, she finally yanked the tie off of her neck and stuffed it into the pocket of her (admittedly very nice) double-breasted uniform jacket. If they were looking closely enough to notice something amiss below her buttoned jacket she had other complaints to make, but they would not hang her again. Not unless it was to the death, for they would not get that rope back around her neck again tonight alive. This she vowed. Maybe Selma would help her knock out the pianist so she could take their place. Liven the mood up.

Still, best to mingle in the hopes of somehow salvaging some entertainment from this officious occasion. So with poise and grace, and a better sense of the footwork involved in the dance than she cared to believe anyone else had, she stood from her team's table, gave them all her most winning smile, and began to walk out unto the breach that was the hall's incipient social scene.

Secundi Lux

---

Palmyram, like her luck, had been something of a mixed bag.

Crystal was assigned as her roommate. Worked out fine. Thus far the other Magi had been content to ignore her ramblings— rather than trying to engage with them, which could only lead to frustration for who else could understand the machinations of her mind— and more importantly had been a willing and able accomplice in her aims to design a proper logo for their little band. Even though the devushka was in another room she was still around to provide an able minion. That was to be placed within the good luck column, for sure. As was the recovery of some of her luggage.

Unfortunately, that did not mean all of it had been recovered intact.

Her guitar had been smashed. The knowledge, the reality of its demise crashing down into quantum certainty for which Schrodinger could never be sufficiently damned, had been enough to wrench from her a most undignified torrent of invectives. Not that she much cared about her dignity; dignity was for people without passion. But she could certainly have been more artistic about it. Screaming her head off, while understandable, would not endear her to the prekrasnaya. No, such things could only be detrimental to her cause. Bequeathing a coffee had been a masterstroke, the first of many, but she would need to work harder. Unfortunately for all of her hard work she had been hardpressed to find the staples of her life within the city. A shooting range had been easy, and her chance to return to a regular practice schedule (at least as regular as she could manage) had been seized with grace and delight. And she had managed to strike a deal to purchase an admittedly battered, but serviceable, new guitar with one of the city's denizens.

But she had, for far too long, been completely and utterly unable to find a place within which to sing in front of a large crowd of people. They all insisted that she be of drinking age, which was ridiculous. She needed, nor desired, no intoxicants to convince her that she could sing. She merely needed the microphone and an enthusiastic crowd. But at last, perhaps, she had a lead. Which was why Rivka was in the process of raising her phone to her ear, swinging her legs over the side of her bed.

"Devushla, you should come with me to check out my new lead. I think this one might actually let us in."

Secundi Lux

---

How did it feel to use your powers, Miss Sokolov?

LLike breaking free from a chrysalis.

Pardon?

A caterpillar doesn’t know what will happen when it makes its shell, secrets itself from the world. It melts. Nothing but a nervous system in a primitive soup, and somehow from that mess a butterfly is made. But it doesn’t know what it is, what it can be, until it breaks free.

…

I take it, then, that you do feel different after your transformation?

Of course I do. But that’s not the answer you want, is it? You want a clinician’s answer. To know if I’ve stripped a gear, if I’ve developed a God complex.

Have you?

How could I not? Not a God complex, but a god complex. I’m neither omniscient nor omnipotent. But what else can I be but a god of flame? And if I am, are you, this whole institute, not a modern Prometheus? How can this be so dull for you? So… Mundane. What you have all learned to do is a miracle. What you have made of me, and of my peers, is a miracle. I hope I never forget that. I hope the people we save see us as the deliverance of a merciful and loving God, and the Void see us as Her retribution.

How do you feel about your peers? How did they do?

Amateurishly. The devushka was slow. That girl, Aoife, came in out of turn. And Chie got hurt.

…

Don’t look at me like that. There’s nothing wrong with being an amateur. Once upon a time the word meant love. Passion. To do a thing for the love of it, not because of the money. That is an amateur, and that’s why they’ll be perfect. In time. Nothing motivates, nothing pushes us to soaring, heart aching, pulse pounding heights of artistry like love.

Give them time. Give us time. We’ll be the best Ars Magi the world has ever seen.

“Good evening, ladies,” Rivka said, drifting to the table as though gliding, not walking. She was distracted, by exactly what was hard to tell, but she sank into her seat and picked absently at her food. ”Devushka, were you raised in a barn? Mind your table manners. I am going to be the best Ars Magi in the world. We are going to be the best, show some pride. You especially, Chie, sit up straight. Show some spine. Injury in the line of battle is the fodder for the best tales in history, the noblest songs. Perk up.”

“You…” She stopped, staring between Aoife and Selma. One had her elbows on the table, throwing aside detritus and gristle like so much trash with the very vigor of her consumption. And the other ruined the otherwise pleasant sound of her voice by talking through a shovelful of food. She was surrounded by animals. They may yet be the best Magi in the world, but by God she’d never be able to take them anywhere. Not like that redhead over there. Bozhe moy, kakoye sovershenstvo. Moya zhizn' za vozmozhnost'. “Never mind. Maybe the library has a book on etiquette.”

“How are we all feelin? Invigorated? Has our fight against smaller Void prepared us to quell the bigger ones?” At last, she herself actually took a bite. And a sip. And then she continued, undeterred. “More importantly, we need a team name. And an emblem. Who among you can draw? My skill with a pencil is not the equal of my skill with a note, and I dare not wear my own handiwork upon my uniform.”

Her eyes, despite her eager questioning, drifted again.

That’s a grand claim, Miss Sokolov.

But you’re curious if I can back it up, I think. Perhaps there’s a spark of wonder left in you after all, Doctor. Are we done?

Yes, we’re done. Your… philosophies aside, I see no cause for concern. Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Sokolov. You are an Ars Magi.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

That's the little one, the big one is half pre-written. Fiiiiinally got my meds sorted, I think, so I can actually focus on things and not just sleep.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

<<Understood, Outrider, Pandora copies. Tactical update was not planned. Word upstairs is we triggered some sort of data dump, it altered tactical data downstream.>> The Chief paused on the other end with what sounded suspiciously like a muffled curse. <<No sign of network compromise, otherwise, but Novikova is going over it with a fine toothed comb. Eggheads are gonna have a field day.>>

<<Acknowledge Oscar Mike in five, Castle. You are all urged to expedite. There won’t be enough time for a full brief once you’re on board so I’m starting it now. Relevant data will be transmitted as it is finalized. That update appears to have contained, among other things, an IFF modifier that renders us friendly to whoever used to live here. More than that, whoever they used to be they’ve still got a lot of signals left active. Oberths die slow and sensor data shows that Orbital you dug up sure ran on one.>> True to her word data began to flow, in dribs and drabs, to the pilots below. Sensor data from the Pandora, specifically showing the point sources in orbit above the planet. One particular source, more along the lines of two overlapping points of origin, flashed on their display. <<Novikova says this is where the dump originated. We’re not picking up any readings beyond the transponders, and their radar and lidar returns are so low we’d never have found them if we didn’t know where to look. Not a fan of that, between you lot, me, and the fence post.>>

<<But we’ve got enough of a return to indicate that it looks like we’re dealing with a small space station and a ship that was docked to it. We won’t get a better idea until we’re close enough to use the Mark One Eyeball, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is where you come in.>> The Chief actually laughed, which was a much less comforting sound than it might have been from someone else. <<For your sins, folks, you’re our tech savviest advance scouts. A Hawk will be doing a preliminary flyby on your way back. After your Orbitals are docked for repairs you all get to suit up.>>

<<Hope you all remember how to seal your spacesuits.>>

---

<<Copy, Starstrike.>> Artemie said as the signal came through. <<Update tripped a lot of security measures. I read you, and we’re all fine. We’re supposed to return to hangar ASAP.>>

<<Voyager is undamaged, Castle. Starstrike’s out the network but alive and well. Hallim, sound off if you can. Volana? Can Aurora reconnect your boosters with that shoulder, or do you need a lift?>>

@ghastlyInc @FlappyTheSpybot @Plank Sinatra @Caasicam @eemmtt @The World @ArmorPlated @Hawthorne

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

Soo... @Krayzikk, what happened?

@FlappyTheSpybot

Short version, my parents both got real sick. Dad had pneumonia for nearly two weeks and then as soon as that was getting better Mom was having some serious vertigo so for a bit there I was the only one in the household standing. Which really sucked.

They're both doing better though so I'm finally not filling in as a part time nurse. Smaller post forthcoming within the next day, if not tonight, to nudge us along to the bigger one that'll set you guys up to interact with each other for a bit.

Secundi Lux

"You were slow." The Baeterraen accused with a severity that only increased with baseless accusations that she was pouting. "The setup was perfect, and you ruined the timing you neuklyuzhaya devushka. And now you're bleeding you fool."

The arm around her shoulders had required a certain degree of bend to the towering tree, a bend Rivka mercilessly exploited to yank her a little lower and flick her green hair aside. One couldn't quite call the motion contemptuous but she certainly was irritated. She flicked her fingers through the pine needles until she found the source of the flow and pursed her lips. What she wanted to do was cauterize it, give the devushka a drink and it would be fine. A little home first aid never hurt anyone. But that might have been considered rude, and cruel, and hazardous to their friendship so she declined. What she did do was generate a small, controlled flame at the end of her finger as hot as she could manage and held it a few inches off of her scalp for a few moments; just long enough to encourage the blood to dry and clot, gently and naturally stemming the flow. A proper medic would no doubt stitch it up but now she wouldn't drip the whole way back to the tower.

"I wish a stronger one had shown up. How can I get truly, passionately prepared to do battle when the opposition crumbles so easily? So disappointing. I had my debut, give me something resonant." She did not give Chie the same examination, because after a moment she decided she would take it even worse than the giant did. The lightning Ars Magi was assisting her- whatever her name had been- and was perfectly able to stem the flow should it be necessary. Or Crystal could, for that matter, but frostbite would probably be worse than a burn come to that. Hmph. There was just no pleasing everyone. "Chie, are you bleeding badly? And how are you feeling, Crystal?"

"And have you," She turned her attention to Aiofe, regarding her intently and with great skepticism. Her demeanor had changed so quickly, and Rivka could not quite decide why. The heat of battle? A concealed mean streak? Had the conclusion left her disappointed, as well? Many questions, and none of them answered. Least of all where she had come from or how she and the other one had arrived so quickly after the Void appeared. Was it perhaps not as accidental as it seemed? Was she trying to steal Rivka/s rightful spotlight? Of course not, no one could.

But she looked to be an acceptable accompaniment to her majesty. At least so far.

"got another one of those?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Still alive. Sorry about how long posting is taking, going to try and get one up here tomorrow.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

GM IC:

---

“Talk to me, Ensign.”

“I don’t know, sir!” Ensign Yelena Novikova answered, throwing her hands up in an unprofessional if perfectly understandable display of frustration. The Electronic Warfare officer was the youngest officer on the Pandora’s bridge even before she slept the whole journey to Proxima Centauri. There hadn’t been any need for an EW specialist in transit so she had been excluded from the skeleton crew that slept in shifts. For once she seemed as inexperienced as she looked, fighting with her console as though she had any control at all. She could monitor the computer with perfect clarity but nothing she did seemed to have any impact. The invasion of their systems continued as though she did nothing at all. “Nothing in the universe should be able to route data like this. It’s dropping the data flow down to a hardware level in real time to bypass the software restrictions, and it’s doing it without a noticeable drop in speed. It’s... “

Yelena threw up her hands again and everyone understood. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand what was happening, or that she couldn’t explain it; but no one on the bridge would understand it as well as her. Her rank was extremely junior for such an expedition but there hadn’t been a better EW specialist out of any human institution in a long time. If she said it was impossible, then it was impossible. By human standards, at least. She was fighting it tooth and nail but to no avail. The process continued.

“Harkin, put CIWS in local control.” The Captain ordered after a moment’s deliberation, inclining his head towards the Tactical station. “Our sensors may be out but they should work. If it’s moving and it doesn’t have a friendly tag it gets shot down. Then warm up the cannon. Mons I want our nose pointed towards that cluster of signals we saw before our eyes went down.”

A chorus of assent answered as the bridge went to work readying their precautions. Under the circumstances it was the best they could do. Until Tiger reported or until their sensors were restored they could do nothing but prepare for a fight. But if one came they would need to be able to see.

“Novikova.” The Ensign raised her head from her futile efforts, looking almost irritated at the interruption until she met the Captain’s eyes. “The first sign of enemy fire detonate the bolt. We can replace the comms array. We can’t replace the whole ship.”

Novikova nodded, a touch unwillingly. It was the right call. Cutting off the comm array with the old fashioned explosive charge pre-installed would end whatever process this way and free up their systems, but would render them mute and deaf. Worst of all it would deny then any ability to operate offensively in kind, but she had to admit (very reluctantly) that if a foe could do this then she couldn’t-

“We’re back up!” She snapped suddenly, eyes snapping down at a chirp from her console. “No system failures, all systems responding normally. We pushed a tactical update downstream to all deployed units, our IFF was altered, and… Khristos. Sciences are reporting damned near an exabyte of data uploaded to their drives!”

“Status change! Many signatures!” Harkin announced quickly trying to categorize the codes that had began blossoming on his display. Dozens of new icons appeared on the planet’s surface with at least as many in orbit and scattered through the system, filling the void with traffic where seconds before had been silence. “All friendly. IFFs queried, consistent with our altered IFF!”

“Tiger Three is reporting silhouettes on our current heading, obscured by orbital debris.” He continued, flashing the relevant data to the Captain’s chair. Clear it wasn’t, but definite movement had been detected from inside a dense cluster. “Trying to refine.”

As quickly as they were seen the bogeys vanished in an electromagnetic aurora, winking out of existence as though they had never been and taking some of the debris with them.

“Targets lost. Chief Takaya is getting an update from the ground, relaying status changes now.”

---

Bandit Two screamed.

[ERROR: Data Transfer to PANDORA unable to complete. Suspected Signal Interference. Retry? Y/N]

[UPDATE: Data Transfer f̵r̵o̵m̴ PANDORA completed. Cached tactical data dumped to PANDORA.]

In the span of a second an update was pushed to every device tied into Pandora’s tactical network carrying with it instructions that performed an update and reinstancing of the transponder on every unit. For a split second Kon’s display became a mess of orange, every unit pinged as unknown and giving Merlon an electronic fit before it was corrected and proper coding was reapplied to every detected entity.

Bandit Two died and it seemed to die painfully. A supernova flared from the point just below its spines, shrapnel and flame alike tearing into its surface with wanton delight. The sound of its scream simply stopped more than it died down, ending as suddenly as it began while the alien slumped. What was left of it, at least. The enemy had been nearly bisected and not cleanly. Traces of its armor, or carapace, were scattered in the sand and the remaining sinuous connections between its upper and lower halves were scorched and shriveled. There was no fight left in it, no sign of its earlier malice. And it did not die alone. Bandit One screeched as Fox’s interference began and when Bandit Two died it simply stopped. Voyager impacted, Aurora shifted, and the alien simply fell to the sand limp.

With their cessation the alien Orbital stopped moving, again slumping into the sand that had entombed it for so long.

“Starlight, what are all these readings?” Artemie asked, keeping Voyager at the ready but turning her attention briefly to the status changes from Pandora. “Where did all these icons come from?”

“That’s… A little strange.” The assistant answered distractedly, as though processing. “Pandora pushed out a tactical update that added a thirty two bit modifier to each of our transponders. The first eight are shared among all of us, including Pandora. The next sixteen are shared sequentially by all observable Orbitals and the last octet seems to be unique. These icons appeared at the same time and seem to follow a similar pattern.”

<<Pilots, this is Chief Takaya.>> The COO chimed in on their shared frequency. <<Explorer One reached the ship. Now you guys, too. Saddle up and return to the hangar. Something had the bridge’s underwear bunched and we’re going to be checking it out. A security detail is deploying, so leave the hostiles. Bring the Orbital if you can.>>