Stitches

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

"She should not have looked at the wallet." Audrey didn't have to turn to look at Ellen because she'd already been staring at her ever since she described the shooting. "It is not your job to grieve for the man you murdered. If you continue down this path, you will not be able to remember them all and you will lose sight of your own priorities in the process. Just like medicine," her gaze flickered to Cassar briefly, "you made the call and prioritised the lives of dozens over his. He murdered several people for drugs he did not need or even knew what they were for."

Audrey leant in slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. "Every mission we send people into, every shot, every life taken, has a compelling reason behind it. We are not on a... genocidal crusade. More pragmatically, the body count we leave behind runs countercurrent to what we try to achieve. It is our mission to find a place where mages can live peacefully - or make one for ourselves, if the situation calls for it. We have no motive for slaughter save for our own survival. It is a situation we were forced into by the rest of society."

"That being said," Audrey continued, "every shot we do not take carries incalculable risk. The one man that slipped past our bootleggers drew a gun on Angeline and Abigail. Maybe, in another history, he would have ran away. Revoked his addictions, put away his guns and became a good person. Maybe he would have alerted the FOE, or Australia's equivalent, upon seeing Abigail's magic. And maybe Brooks would not have been fast enough and that one man would have taken two more perfectly innocent people."

"I personally do not entertain such risks when I can help it. Many people have many different opinions about that approach." She was looking back at Dr Cassar now, her gaze steady and warm. "Objectively, if Brooks had not stepped in, we would have most likely lost Angeline and her healing abilities and we would have paid for that misstep."

In the space where Dr Cassar should have spoken came Abigail's voice, blurting out from her rickety plastic chair near the back again. "I was right there," she interjected, "and I sure as fuck wasn't gonna let some coked up Aussie kill Angie."

Audrey glanced at Abigail and took in her appearance with the precise sort of scrutiny Ellen was afraid of. "You did not, though. You were not fast enough."

"Where'd all your 'would have's go now, huh?" Abigail sneered. "Not fast enough yet. I aimed for the head. I knew what I was try'na do."

Audrey raised her hand slightly. "I never questioned your intent, I just pointed out your inexperience." She looked away from Abigail and back to the room in general. "We can fix that. But you need to be decisive, and above all, certain. We can no longer afford the materials and manpower to train someone who is not sure if this is the life they want to lead. In a way, it is comforting to know that all of you have had a taste of what being a combattant entails - purely because you can make an informed decision."

And that was it. Audrey's clipped, steady monologue stopped as fast as it started; she leant back again and folded her arms and resumed the same posture as if she'd never spoken at all.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

Whoo, busy weekend! @Bazmund, @Stitches any updates on characters? We'll probably be looking to get started soonish if possible!

@vietmyke

MAS fully written, Personality fully written, history is bullet pointed out. We've been (literally) worldbuilding. I might be able to get mine finished today but it'll take longer for bazmund and Dino due to a mix of IRL factors and they were doing most of the worldbuilding and haven't got as much down on paper.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

<Snipped quote by Stitches>

I think if he was given a chance to study the equipment in question, or if he was given some schematics/blueprints/operating manual, he could definitely pull it off! He's no scientist, but he's an engineer with enough knowledge of the fundamentals to do complex maintenance and repair jobs.

@Hawthorne

Don't worry; I presumed the technology was installed into the MAS by the Powers That Be in the UEE once they were certain they had a technician on hand to maintain it. I imagine he was given comprehensive training before it was even finished with its final testing phase and given opportunities to try and fix known issues himself. The 101st seems like the sort of division where prototype/new tech that's implemented in the MAS would be done in a very slow, meticulous manner based on the gobsmackingly massive amounts of money it probably costed to develop.

@Stitches understood, I was taking them into account when counting players! And if you stripped a primary and secondary, you'd probably be able to fit one more utility system

@vietmyke

Nice, that's exactly how I had it set up beforehand. Alright, I've got pretty much all of the sheet sorted but I need to flesh it out, format it and make it read gud. Once that's done I'll post it.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

My very quiet friend is making a sheet as well, but you won't get any messages from him until it's finished. @Hawthorne I'm thinking about making some delicate machinery for my MAS that needs a specialist to maintain it, do you think your guy would be trained up and qualified to do so?

@vietmyke iirc I've cut out a primary and secondary from my light MAS, how many utility systems can I replace them with?

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

Sheet's going well on my end, I'm just having difficulty figuring out the MAS stuff. Technical jargon goes in one ear and out the other. Got the personality done, history bulleted out and waiting for one of my smarter friends to explain the specs.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

You have one, maybe two extra players I can bring with me who have been looking for an RP to sink their teeth into if you're willing to get this rolling again, for sure

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

Abigail sat and stared at Ellen as she spoke, her expression set somewhere between incredulity, exasperation and resentment. As she went on about her lavish lifestyle and then swapped to her dead twin the girl lost herself in her own thoughts once more, chewing on a fingernail with her brows furrowed in consternation. She looked like she had one foot in a completely different world, balancing between what was going on around her and whatever noisy rubbish was clattering around the excess of her skull. Her gaze was set on the speaker of the time (this time zephyr, eyes squinted and curious) but she often lost focus and swam back into the conversation at random intervals. She fidgeted - a lot.

Talk of dead and estranged family members made Abigail rummage around in the recesses of her mind to figure out why there was a distinct indifference towards her grandparents. She couldn't quite place her finger on it until Cassar brought out the biscuit tin and started asking about their Awakenings. Now she was struck with a dilemma; these biscuits were an incentive to get people to open up. Abigail hadn't had a biscuit for a long time. Abigail knew she wouldn't get a biscuit without judgement - unless, of course, she participated in the conversation. However... whenever Abigail blinked, shut her eyes even for a moment, she lapsed back into her corner of the RV - the shrieking, the smell of burnt plastic, the sharp pain on impact as a hardcover Bible slammed corner first into her temple and the subsequent recoil into the metal frame holding the window...that ungodly purple light and heat and the peeling of her bubbling flesh, and the hollow chill of the footsteps out back as Pops went for the hunting rifle.

But that wasn't what came out of Abigail's mouth. She shot Ellen a wary look. She didn't know how long she'd be stuck in this repurposed office, but she had a better idea of what people wanted to hear and acted accordingly to avoid another interrogation. "Mine was smooth sailing," Abigail responded, already closing the gap to swipe a biscuit before scuttling away to the back of the room. "Brooks did most of the legwork. Had candy and water bottles in the car for me, the whole thing was planned out. We had a little trouble with the police but I just sat in the trunk and let Billy and Brooks deal with it." She scarfed down the biscuit, content with her answer. It wasn't lying if she just omitted some parts out of her story, right?

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

Abigail was slouched resplendently in the uncomfortable plastic chair. She looked like she was listening; she seemed attentive, brows furrowed in consternation as she...stared at the desk. She only glanced at Dr Cassar in passing before going back to looking at the mouldering altar throughout his tale. She was also restless, constantly fidgeting and moving around whenever her head dipped to her chest. She was chewing her tongue, her jaw working and gnawing and sometimes her fingers raked at the scabs and shimmering burnt skin around her wrists and forearms.

Funnily enough, it was the kid who was the first to break the silence. She cleared her throat and spoke quietly, solemnly - trying to mimic the composure of the doctor in vain - as she steepled her fingers and made a passable attempt at looking professional. “That must’ve been very frightening,” she acknowledged with a surprising tinge of empathy. “You’re clearly a very skilled doctor. I can’t imagine tryin’ ta do shit like, uh, operations n’ all that in a bouncy castle.”

The soldier woman in the background pinched the bridge of her nose, smiled and shook her shoulders as she held back the creeping fit of giggles under Brooks’ stern gaze.

Dr. Cassar's gaze turned to Abi as she started speaking, nodding along as she acknowledged his ordeal, and then turning a little, his eyebrows raised and eyes widening slightly, at the mention of a bouncy castle.

Then he frowned for a moment, and just as quickly began to beam with a big smile, and a hearty chuckle.

"Oh, no, no I'm sorry, I didn't explain that very well, I don't think. I would love to treat my patients in a bouncy castle, but unfortunately, even now I am still only learning, and I'm just not good enough for that yet. Our hospital was inflatable, but the floor was solid - it was mostly the walls, and some support for the ceilings and roof, that had inflatable parts." He nodded again as he finished, leaning towards Abi a little across the space they had between them in the circle.

"And thank you. I know I must seem like a real wimp, but I do still think about it, and it was very frightening at the time, you're right." He added, as his gaze drifted towards her hands, peeling and scabbed from her burns.

"Oh, that looks quite painful. Does this… happen a lot?"

Abigail looked at him blankly. For a moment, it looked like she wasn't going to answer at all; then she looked down at her hands and realised what he was on about.

"Huh. These? Heh, nah, this ain't shit." She raised her hand, rolling the wrist around in the light. "Even before the Violet Dawn I used to get burns all the goddamn time." For once, she smiled. "Back when I was, uh. When I was a kid. And the engine broke down - we lived in an RV out in Arizona. Anyway - when the engine broke down, nine times outta ten, that's a coolant issue. Dust in the head gasket or a crack in the hose. And my pawpaw, he, heheh, he used to turn 'round to me doin' homework and yell 'ABI YA USELESS PIECE'A'SHIT GET'CHER ASS OUT THERE'N FIX THE DAMN HOUSE'!"

Abigail was rambling. Unlike the few other times she'd talked at length, this felt confused. She kept tumbling from one point to another at random and she sounded like she was only partially aware of what she was saying. "Ain't got no clue why he called it a house cause it was a leaky ol' truck in the desert but cause I got small arms an' little hands it was on me. An' holy fuckin' shit. I got burnt all the time. Pop open the hood? Steam all the way up your arms. Try doin' a coolant flush with an engine y'all can cook an egg on. An' all that in an Arizona summer!"

She smiled and laughed, shaking her head. "I got burnt, I am burnt, and chances are I'm gonna burn."

Something about that last sentence gave her pause and kicked in a little realisation. She suddenly leant back and went quiet, glowering at her knees with shame and confusion. Just as quickly as it started, Abigail stopped talking and shut off with a clenched jaw and a newfound fascination with the desk.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

"Howdy folk. Special delivery fer doctor...Cassar."

Abigail managed to make it halfway into the chapel before she really registered where she was and that wasn't remotely surprising; she looked rough. Sickly. Her skin was pale and her eyes sunken with deep dark shadows underneath them, the irises glassy and unfocused as they rolled from face to face and her jaw slowly worked at the tongue she was biting. In her arms was a thick stack of papers. She wore the same outfit she had worn in the outback. With an unsteady and fluttering gait she stumbled to the altar and dumped the papers down, stopping briefly to regard the wooden tabletop and mutter "helluvasturdy desk" to herself in quiet contemplation. She did a sloppy one-eighty, shot some finger guns with a click of her tongue and hastily squeezed past Billy to make a beeline for the door; almost exactly how she scurried out of the briefing just before the mission, too.

Or at least she would have, if Brooks hadn't very loudly cleared his throat once she got a few feet from the exit.

The effect was immediate. He might as well have yanked the collar of her shirt with how promptly she arrested her movement. The woman sat next to him sighed through her nostrils but seemed unfazed by the girl's behaviour whilst Brooks turned his head a fraction of an inch to stare her down and Abigail jutted her chin out to stare back. The exchange lasted a few seconds but conveyed more than any meaningless conversation could have managed. With great reluctance and a healthy dose of stroppiness, the kid collapsed into one of the chairs in a disruptive clatter and slouched back to glower at her lap - a 'pew' forward and to the left of the two fighters, closest to the aisle. "Sylvia's waitin' fer me, y'know. I ain't supposed to dawdle."

Dr. Cassar watched the progress of the juvenile insomnia-fiend with a mixture of concern, genuine interest, and understanding.

“Oh, Sylvia? I know Sylvia quite well actually - don’t worry, I can let her know that you were doing something important. Actually, it’s good you’re here, I wanted to thank all of you for the work you did recently - and I also wanted to maybe talk about it a little bit. I thought it might be helpful if we all sat down and talk a bit about ourselves, so that we don’t sit on the stress of it so long that we explode, you know?” He looked around the little circle, speaking softly and slowly, using his arms to gesticulate gently with each point in that practiced but genuine way that the very sincere are sometimes good at.

“I can go first, if you would prefer.” He added after a moment.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

The debrief was a blur for most of you - after you left the outback, supplies in tow, most of you were too exhausted in one way or another to have much more input in affairs. The important details were that in doing what you did, you’d saved about thirty people who were going to run out of insulin in the next few days, and that the other medical supplies were all things there were major shortages of too; about ten litres of sterile saline, a whole bunch of little glass ampoules of various different drugs, a few packs of disposable syringes and cannulas, and an assortment of other things on top of that. For a hospital, or even just a clinic, it was a poor show of stock - but for a refugee camp of universal unpersons, it was a miracle. Not much else was said during the debrief - apart from one thing;

“The guy you found in the kitchen, Peter Williams, is in a critical condition - but he’s stable for now. Doc said he would’ve been a goner if it wasn’t for whatever one of you did with your magic that slowed the bleeding. Called it a miracle, actually.”

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Goodnight

7th February, 2020

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"What the fuck, dude?” Came a furious shout, accompanied by the breaking of a plate and the spilling of food.

"Oh shit, I’m sorry-"

"We've all gotta eat you piece of shit!"

"I said I'm sorry, I don't know what else you-"

"No fuck you!" The other man lashed out, pushing the mage who’d knocked his food on the floor down into the very same mess he’d just made.

Food, the survivors noticed, was a sore spot in Goodnight's collective. Rationing was in place to make sure everyone got their share but it left everyone hungry - and hungry mages made for short tempered disasters. The violence happening in the cafeteria wasn’t a daily occurrence - but it wasn’t unusual either; arguments had suddenly become a guessing game of which destructive ability or unnatural powers might be unleashed if the wrong hair-trigger temper got pulled. People had gotten hurt before. Worse still, even though things had gotten better with the supplies recovered by your team, the medical department were still running on just barely more than fumes; every injury, every infection, every casualty, it was all a risk - more than ever before.

The violet underground were largely kept indoors unless explicitly allowed to go outside. This meant that various wings of the abandoned mall had naturally formed into haunts for particular people, with non-english cultures being the most common to sequester themselves away from everyone else. The mall was full. There wasn't a room that wasn't being lived in or used by the operatives for one reason or another. Illness was common, setting Goodnight to a backing track of coughing and weeping that was alleviated only by the occasional business of mealtimes and the odd class on magic by whichever operatives were around to do it.

One of these operatives was cutting through the crowd right now, flanked by one other figure. The aggressor raised his right hand at the man he’d pushed to the floor, and just as the tips of his fingers started to glow bright red, there was a low, dull, roar, and he recoiled.

"Enough," the newcomer, a tall, dark, military type barked. "No magic. No fighting." She continued, just as her comrade stopped focusing on the aggressive mage’s hand.

“What the- what did you do?”

“Shut you down. Like the lady said, no magic, no fighting.”

The Moroccan woman grabbed them both - the man who’d just been shoved down to the floor and the man who’d just tried and been denied casting a spell at him - and all but picked them up by their collars.

"But where the hell am I meant to get something to eat?!" Protested the stranger.

Not even the soldier had an answer. "Consider it your punishment for endangering the others. Now sit back down or go somewhere else. As for you…" she regarded the clutz with steely indifference. "... Don't let me catch you doing that again."

"This isn't fair! You keep us in here like animals and won't even feed us?!" The man was already being lifted to his feet and lead out of the room roughly. "At least make sure we have enough to go around, damnit!" His protests faded into the din of the crowd as she dragged him into the next room, presumably for a stern talking to. The other man tried to shy away from the sea of embittered, judgemental stares and back into the crowd.

Supper continued.

After a little while, Billy came up to the table where Ellen and Angie were sitting.

“Hey, uh, how you doin’ guys? Listen, I was just wonderin’ if y’all’d like to come to the chapel with me. It ain’t much of a chapel, actually, to tell the truth - but uh, a few of us are already there at just the moment, and we’re just plannin’ to talk about the last job we did. Y’know, just, get the words out. I was wonderin’ if you were interested?”