Character Hilbert Inn

Hralia: Inn, lobby, dining area.

Attention momentarily drawn away from the ongoing conversation about alternate realities and the minutiae that set them apart, Hralia's ears swivel toward the newcomer, gaze following in short order and revealing to her a non-divergent human, very young, distinguished by markings she assumes to be tattoos, though her own eyesight renders them less decipherable than they might be to present company.

"Hello! I would make a meal recommendation, but it seems we all perceive a different menu," she chirps amiably in her flutelike native tongue—promptly translated to synthesized speech by the device she wears on her shoulders—indicating the half-empty jar she holds in one manipulator claw. "It seems to adapt itself to dietary requirements, I assume via electrophoretic display with photo recognition sensors and a database of sapient species, but less explicable is the kitchen... the food-preparation infrastructure required would be immense. I would need to inquire about that once we've all finished here, because I am quite curious about all of this."

Her gaze flicks toward the other jar, its contents of live insects thankfully partly obscured by semi-opaque plastic for what she assumes to be the sake of other diners. Maybe not a good idea to partake in that one quite yet, and she instead merely settles for lapping up the nectar again. "Perhaps an attending employee would be able to enlighten us as to how we all ended up here, as well. Bridget probably thinks I got lost again, as I suppose I have, in some respects." she adds, thoughts wandering somewhat closer to home. "I digress. A lot. It's somewhat of a nervous tic, really. Does that happen to you, newcomer? I'm Hralia, by the way."

Selene looks more than a little distressed at this strange being talking to her in her native language. "Via what display? I'm sorry, I—not to be rude, but what are you?" She folds her arms against her chest. "Well, no, it doesn't really happen to me. I'm the direct sort. My name is Selene Kyrkos."

[Lobby: Dining Area: Lots of people]

Caroline nodded at Wolf's explanation. She had a guess as to why the patterns were somewhat consistent across timelines — men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please — but decided to keep that thought to herself for now. Although the frequency with which a pandemic cropped up in the early 2020s was concerning. Suddenly, she asked, "wait, this might sound weird, but where did the COVID-19 vaccine come from in your timelines? Do you have one yet? Because in ours, Western Amalgamated, which nobody else seems to have, invented it in mid-2020. Credit where it's due, they saved a lot of lives..." then her expression became bittersweet and she added, "...even if some historians say it's what got President Reed re-elected."

[Lobby: Dining Area, Jukebox Corner: Mort, Koyel]

Aside from glancing over at the new, teenage girl chatting with the large alien thing, Mort and Koyel continued their discussion on the creation and deployment of very illegal explosive devices. With occasional digressions hinting at Mort's long and storied history of insurance fraud, arson, industrial sabotage, and occasional assassination.

"Dead gods," Koyel said at one point, "Soqaxil ain't gonna get bored reading your deadbook."

I'll have them get up to something next post unless they're interrupted.

Edited by KillerClowns on Oct 10th 2022 at 10:42:05 AM

Dining Room - pretty much everyone.

Dark-haired Leslie introduced herself and her red-haired companion, Jean, and name-dropped her sister - the one who had fled to the toilets earlier - dismissing Liz's action as a "teenage moment", which seemed to spark a light-hearted debate between her and Jean.

They seemed to be happy verbally sparing between themselves and he wasn't sure how - or if - he could respond.

Fortunately, a new arrival provided a reason to drop that conundrum. Presenting as traditionally feminine by his own culture's standards and with pink markings - tattoos? body paint? something else? - on her arms. She looked around - as one would when confronted with such an unusual crowd - then settled at a table. He gave her points for not just bolting for the door.

Before he could say anything, Hralia engaged the newcomer in conversation... Hralia's verbosity seemed to be a serious rival to his own - it was anyone's guess as to which would be first to get something thrown at them before the day was out.

She hypothesised how the menus adapted themselves to the individual diners - though how a database of sapient species would differentiate enough between humans to determine regional quisine, was anyone's guess - then went off on a couple of tangents... which Wolf found refreshingly relatable.

The newcomer seemed out of sorts and crossed her arms - which Wolf interpreted as a self-comforting gesture - then introduced herself.

Wolf nodded to Selene, his eyes meeting hers for the merest fraction of a second before passing on, and smiled. "My name's Wolf. We all seem to be travellers from different worlds - different universes, even."

Caroline asked where the COVID vaccines came from on everyone's worlds. "On my Earth," he said, "we've got at least three different vaccines, all developed by known pharmaceutical companies - Pfizer, Moderna, AstraZeneca and the like." He gave a wicked grin, "whether or not these companies are as evil as your Western Amalgamated, seems to be a matter of personal opinion... same could be said for a lot of big companies, to be honest."

He could smell his food moments before it was brought to the table and placed before him. The fried sausages, eggs, hash browns, tomatoes, onion and mushrooms looked great and smelled even better. The waiter placed a large coffee beside his plate. Wolf gave the waiter a smile. "Thanks."

See... this! The menu had given him options he would have expected to find in New Zealand - not the UK, USA, Canada, France, Germany or anywhere else his European Human phenotype might possibly have originated from. There had to be more to it than merely identifying species and ethnicity. Did the menu reflect what you expected a menu to look like? If you thought it was breakfast time, would it offer breakfast options? What if you were in the mood for an Indian, Thai or Chinese meal? Would it give you the same menu choices as it would give someone from those places or would you get offered the stuff that normally gets served in Indian, Thai and Chinese restaurants in your country of origin? Or were you stuck with your region's "normal" menu?

Such speculations were getting nowhere. He sliced off a piece of sausage, speared it with his fork and popped it in his mouth. It tasted just as good as it smelled.

Another human boy who seemed to be no older than eighteen appeared in the dining room, sitting on a table, with a bright flash of white light. He looked around, running his hand through his fluffy coal-black hair. His icy blue eyes and snowflake pale skin matched well with the cold observation on his face. It took him a moment to realize he was sitting on a table, and his pale face went red. He slid off the table, landing on the floor. He straightened a long purple scarf and cleared his throat. “Apologies,” he said. “Cameron-Paine Spade.” He introduced himself. “But please, call me Cam.”

Edited by KitkatKK2 on Oct 14th 2022 at 7:49:51 AM

Dining Room (Yes)

"In our world," Leslie said, "Johnson & Johnson, Pfizer, and Moderna handled the bulk of the production and distribution of the vaccine, but the bulk of the research came from a biotech company called Bullseye Dublin, and one called Sarcophil ran a global PR campaign to get as many people vaccinated as possible."

"You know," Jean said, "now that you bring that up...Lawrence looked into Sarcophil once because...that's what Lawrence does...and our resident research guru couldn't find anything about them except that their headquarters are in Tasmania, of all places. It's like they just...appeared, in response to the pandemic."

A new person caught Leslie's eye. She looked about Liz's age, vaguely Greek in appearance and dress, and with pink markings on her arms. Hralia immediately went to go talk to her. Hmm, Leslie thought. Maybe Liz could do with someone her age to talk to...

Her train of thought was immediately derailed by a flash of light from another nearby table. Leslie instinctively jumped to her feet, knocking her chair over in the process, and had already taken a fighting stance before her vision fully cleared. The boy now sitting on the table slowly slid to his feet, adjusted his scarf, and introduced himself as Cam.

"Don't...ever..do that again, kid." Leslie allowed her stance to relax...slightly.

Outside the Bathroom (Liz; Hilda)

"The three of us? Oh, you mean Jean? Yeah, no, Jean is Leslie's friend. I met her today. At least, I think it's today? How does time work when you travel between dimensions, anyway? That was a rhetorical question."

Liz ran her hands through her hair. "I don't like being mad at Leslie. This is the first time we've actually fought about something real in...god, I don't even remember how many years it's been. And most of those were just me acting out after I lost my parents." She looked at Hilda. "Yeah, we spent most of the inheritance money on therapy. It helped, but now we're dirt poor because nobody wants to hire a college dropout. Which she only is because our parents died one semester into her freshman year and she couldn't live in Diamondback Ridge and go to school in Albuquerque at the same time. See, this is what I'm talking about. She's always been there for me, until now. What changed?"

Edited by apocalemur on Oct 15th 2022 at 11:41:16 AM

"I fully intend to do that again, but if it's any comfort, I will be leaving to another universe when I do. And as for your addressing me as 'kid', I assure you that I am likely your senior by at least 150 years, likely closer to 170." He, with another, much less bright flash, summoned a journal, and, not looking down, quickly noted his surroundings. He dismissed the journal with another flash. "I'm 193 years old, 194 in December. Not that you could guess that. Immortality tends to have that effect."

Cam glanced around, embarrassment already gone, and the cynical yet thoughtful gaze reappearing.

He picked up a menu sitting on the table he had appeared on. "Hm. This place seems good... too good. My tastes exactly." He sat down (on a chair this time) and stared at it through the top of his circular glasses suspiciously, before seemingly deciding that it didn't matter. "Odd, but not apparently malicious in any way," he said to himself. "Either coincidence or magic."

After considering it for a moment, he ordered a coffee with cream and sugar, and some simple French toast.

He summoned the journal once again, and continued writing.

Hralia: Inn, lobby, dining area.

"It is quite rude regardless, no one is a 'what'." Hralia gently chides, no doubt accompanied by a stern furrowing of her brow had she the prerequisite facial muscles, before considering for a moment what to tell the young newcomer that won't simply confuse her further. "No matter, I am what is called a liir'aalu, or in human scientific nomenclature Tibiacornus sapiens, for our hornlike nasal cavities that produce the vocalizations you hear being translated. In my world—one not totally unfamiliar to those present from what I gather, save for a few centuries' gap in time—we are but one of numerous sapient species who have proliferated among the stars and gone on to achieve many-"

Cutting off her ramble before it can truly get off the ground, though, is a brilliant flash of light that catches the alien quadruped off-guard, prompting her to let out a series of shrill notes that go untranslated as she scoots a short distance backwards on her haunches, the spine-like quills decorating her neck standing momentarily on-end. Where that flash of light had been is yet another patron, also a young human as far as can be discerned... and with a rather less pleasant attitude. The roughnecks and hard-nosed mechanics she rubs shoulders with can oftentimes be exceedingly blunt and uncouth, but outright childish arrogance is something she hasn't had to tolerate since she herself was a calf, and she doesn't miss it.

"-great things." she quavers at last, reconnecting her broken train of thought and briefly verifying that she hasn't jostled anything particularly fragile on the table or on her person, in particular her translator. "Like... become mechanical engineers in shuttlecraft repair bays. Little glamour but decent pay."

She spares a mildly irritated glance at this 'Cameron'. "My name is Hralia, and I second the motion that you not. Some of us trace our ancestry back to prey animals and the sudden commotion is quite inconsiderate."

Edited by Chortleous on Oct 17th 2022 at 8:42:39 AM

Selene looks very overwhelmed right now. She takes a moment to process everything going on before addressing what's going on one at a time.

She starts with Wolf. "A pleasure," she says. "If you don't mind my asking, what's a vaccine?"

Cam, Selene looks ready to address normally, except then he goes and mentions he's nearly 200 years old, and she blanches. "You're how old?"

Hralia's chiding does seem to get through to her, and she nods. "Of course. Apologies. It's just that I've never met a, um, a leer-alu? I'm sorry, it doesn't translate well to Thylosian—that's what I'm speaking. I can only assume there's some sort of translation spell active, because I think I'd have heard about it if you or anyone like you showed up where I'm from."

She folds her arms on the table, skimming the menu. "Wait, what do you mean, among the stars? They're certainly very nice to look at, but how could one be among them?"

Having had a good chunk of her worldview uprooted in the past ten minutes, Selene orders flatbread, tzatziki, and a shot of ouzo. She thinks she's earned the alcohol.

“Did you not hear me, or was that an expression of disbelief? I’m 193 years old,” Cam said, with the same casualness as he would have if he had said he were 16.

He took a sip of his coffee. “I understand that humans don’t typically live that long. As I have mentioned before, I am immortal.”

“Well, ‘immortal’. I don’t age, a wound could kill me. Not that there’s a practical difference, with my powers. Moving universes at the first sign of danger usually prevents getting into danger. How about that?” He laughed.

Cam looked up from his journal. “Oh, there’s ink on my hand. Ugh.” He blew on his hand to dry it off. “May I ask where I’ve ended up?”

[Lobby: Dining Area, Jukebox Corner (Mort, Koyel) —> Sparring Circle (Mort, Koyel)]

It was for the best that neither Mort nor Koyel had firearms on them. If they had, Cam's entrance might have ended with said firearms readied. After a moment, though, they cooled and recognized Cam as an unarmed non-threat.

Mort and Koyel finished their discussion. Then Mort said, "well, that was nice. Hey, wanna beat the shit outta each other with sticks?"

Koyel looked quizzically at Mort.

Mort said, "...sparring match, Koyel. With them big ol' sticks you guys like so much."

"The point's not getting beat," Koyel said, "but sure. Lemme just talk to someone and see if we got the proper stuff..."

Despite the untranslated Qorisayane words Koyel used explaining his request, the staff seemed to understand exactly what was being requested. An area behind the inn, visible from the lobby, was soon cleared into a makeshift sparring circle. The weapons provided were a selection of wooden staffs, a bit over four feet in length, made of some kind of dark hardwood. Also provided were stacks of thick, flexible gambesons and padded helmets that would serve to make the blows more bearable. The gambesons in particular were remarkable: densely layered with unspun cotton, they provided excellent protective power for their weight.

Mort and Koyel each picked up a sparring staff, testing the weight and balance. Still, they didn't quite move into the fight yet; if anyone else wanted to step in and see what the old man and the young farmer were capable of, now would be a good time.

I use the term "gambesons" loosely. The Qorisayane armor in question is actually closer to the Mesoamerican ichcahuipilli that many conquistadors famously abandoned their steel breastplates in favor of.

Edited by KillerClowns on Oct 17th 2022 at 3:37:28 AM

Selene downs her shot, suddenly understanding why adults like alcohol. "I heard you. I'm just a little bewildered at how you're a hundred and ninety-three, not to mention that you look like you could be my classmate. And what do you mean, moving universes? How many have you been to?"

[Dining Room (Caroline Thao, Many Others)]

Caroline watched her slightly tipsy companions head out for their friendly brawl. Typical, but... well, at the very least, this was exactly the sort of thing they had Mort in the organization for. The Unicorns did not fetishize political violence the way some anti-corporate groups did, but they still needed people comfortable around a gun. Or a stick.

To Wolf, Caroline said, "we've had two of those where I come from. Western Amalgamated swallowed up Pfizer back in the 80s, and AstraZeneca is still around. Moderna..." she shook her head. "Nope." She glanced over at Leslie. "Same for Bullseye Dublin and Sarcophil."

Caroline was paying some attention to the newcomers. First, Cam. She indifferently filed his age in the back of her mind. She'd suffered enough temporal vertigo talking with Thuexatiqome that a century or two was merely unusual. Had his immortality arrested the development of his frontal lobe as well? Caroline hoped not. His attitude didn't really annoy her either. Given his immortality and "universe-shifting" power, it seemed perfectly possible to her that his demeanor might be a maladaptive product of this life. Why make friends when you might spontaneously be torn away from them? Again, of course, she wasn't a therapist, and didn't know him well enough to make such a judgment even if she had the training. For now, she simply had a hypothesis.

So she answered Cam's question as casually as he had said his age. "You're in a nexus between dimensions, manifesting as an inn." Given what he'd said thus far, she expected an indifferent, unsurprised response. Like herself, Cam was probably used to hearing very strange sentences and quickly adapting to the circumstanced applied without delaying for shock or befuddlement.

Next was the young woman with the pink markings on her arms. She seemed nice, though too young to be drinking shot alcohol like that. She knew some cultures might allow a glass of wine at that age, but the developmental effects of alcohol on teenagers were concerning. Meanwhile, her attempt to place the young woman in approximate or definite time had a few details. "Classmates" implied a school system of some sort, but no knowledge of vaccines. Her denonym, "Thylosian", meant nothing to Caroline, but the cuisine, appearance, and fashion all seemed Greek-ish. The markings were a total mystery, and her response to immortality suggested the idea was one she regarded as primarily fictional. Caroline was no historian, and didn't want to guess too confidently, but her loose estimate was pre-industrial technology. That it extended its educational program to women was a good sign, though this could mean it was egalitarian, matriarchal, a reforming patriarchy, or simply that Selene was a special case. Were the pink markings inherent or applied? Did they indicate some supernatural trait?

For now, Caroline answered her question. "A vaccine is, over-simply, an extremely weak version of a disease, given to people to teach their bodies how to defend against more dangerous kinds of the same disease." Hralia could explain 'among the stars', since that might be a bit more to take in, and the spacefarer seemed better to explain it than herself.

Caroline finally took a menu and began to scan it. It seemed whatever magic customized the menus had accounted for her sweet tooth as well. Out of curiosity, she glanced over at the empty table, squinting to make out Mort and Koyel's menus. Mort's looked like a diner's menu and... ah, yes, just as she suspected. Koyel's menu was highly pictorial, and the Qorisayane lettering subtly non-standard, accounting for his dyslexia. (Not officially diagnosed, Qorisa's understanding of learning disabilities and mental illness was tragically poor, but it wasn't hard to figure out why he "wasn't much for letters" despite his quick mind.) She continued to skim her own menu, noting with amusement that a few of the Qorisayane dishes she'd grown fond of were mixed into it, and even some bold fusion dishes. Like... heartfruit shortcake? This she had to try.

Edited by KillerClowns on Nov 3rd 2022 at 5:27:57 AM

Hralia: Inn, lobby, dining area > sparring circle

"It's no worry." she shakes her head. "I can sympathize with your present circumstances."

"On my end of things, I can understand you all—and you me—thanks to this device I wear." she intones, indicating the harness. "But as for your language... the name isn't familiar, so I have to assume its translation is a property of the space in which we've found ourselves, as much as that doesn't gel with my understanding of technology the more I learn about it."

Pushing that mildly disconcerting thought aside, she thinks for a moment at the girl's star question, considering how to explain something that, for her, had been a routine part of her life for as long as she could form memories. She taps her manipulator claws together again. "We use ships, of a sort. Like boats, but... they go up. Star-ships if you will." she nods upward as if to indicate the sky. "Pressurized and self-contained craft, as there is no air out there, propelled up and beyond the blue sky generally by way of the controlled ignition of volatile chemicals known as propellants, which are themselves not unlike the oil in an old-fashioned lamp, only vastly more powerful..."

Before she can finish this particular ramble, an ear twitches and she picks up on the tail end of Mort and Koyel's conversation and observes the latter making a request of one of the inn's staff—a request that her translator curiously doesn't pick up on. Curiouser, though, is that the worker seems to understand the inquiry and leads the two to an area behind the building that she intuits to be a makeshift sparring ring from contextual cues and soon finds confirmed when they each pick up a staff-like weapon and heft it, though distance and her own eyesight provide little other useful information.

"Pardon," she chirps to those still seated before getting up off her haunches and following along for a closer view, though not before finishing the rest of her nectar and grabbing the other untouched jar. "but it seems we have a meal and a show. Exciting!"

Stepping outside and standing gingerly at edge of the designated circle with a few feet to spare for safety's sake, she studies them both and observes what they do with interest. "Is this a custom of yours?" she chimes. "I've never seen a fight before. Or, well, not a voluntary one. I've seen plenty of fight fights. Usually with fists."

"Beaks, once."

Edited by Chortleous on Nov 8th 2022 at 12:03:09 PM

Bathroom Area

"Ah, I stand corrected then." Hilda replied with a nod.

"What I'm trying to say," She went on. "Is that you all are going trough a rough time. I suppose that plays a role. I remember that my own relationship with my parents became strained after we first abandoned our hometown. We had many spats over the next year. But we reconciled, eventually." She looked down briefly, smiling with nostalgia. "I know they wanted the best for me, and I wanted to make them proud."

The knight looked back at Liz, and saw that she seemed a little more calm. "How are you feeling now? Don't worry, I'm sure things will get better between you two. Just give it some time."

Selene seems to understand the vaccine explanation well enough. "That's good," she says. "We don't have to worry much about disease back home-not a lot of folk entering or leaving the island—but I've heard of some pretty bad outbreaks in denser areas. Nothing recently, thank the gods. Alchemists have developed plenty of medicines, but this vaccine thing seems much more proactive."

The explanation of space travel, on the other hand, leaves her bug-eyed. And then Hralia tries to leave after turning her whole world upside down, and that just won't do. Selene leaps out of her chair, dashing after her. "Wait—Madam Hralia, are you telling me there's other worlds out there? In the sky?!"

[Sparring Circle (Mort, Koyel; Hralia)]

Koyel turned to Hralia and said, "ain't a village I know that doesn't have a ring, and ain't a festival that doesn't see a few rounds of tenaxu." Koyel spun the staff dramatically... or tried to, though it ended with him awkwardly recovering the thing before it flew too out of control. Not a bad recovery, though.

"Of course," Mort said, jerking a thumb towards Koyel, "that's his thing. I'm just here to see if Koyel's learned a thing or two from the whoopings I gave him..."

Koyel replied, "like you ain't been knocked around a fair few times yourself. I saw what Mama Layi did to you..."

"That woman's built different," Mort replied, leaning on his own staff. "She seemed so nice until she got that stick in her hands..."

"She taught me everything I know," Koyel said, "so you ain't gotta tell me. If you think that's bad, you should see what happens when she's actually got a grudge in her." Then Koyel turned back to Hralia and said, "so yeah, I guess you could call it a custom. Where I come from, every man and woman's gotta know a little bit how to fight. It's what makes us... well, us, I guess. If you ain't got that fight in you, if you ain't got that spirit in your heart, you just ain't Qorisayane. It's who we are."

Both of them gave Selene a nod of acknowledgment, but as the question was directed at Hralia, thereafter they went back to squaring up.

Edited by KillerClowns on Nov 18th 2022 at 12:09:13 PM

Dining Room —> Alfresco dining area (Wolf and pretty much everyone else)

As Wolf enjoyed his meal he was conscious of Leslie explaining which companies produced the COVID vaccine on her world and of Hralia talking with Selene and the distant sounds of talking coming from near the toilets... which meant he was already feeling somewhat overloaded when there was a bright flash of light that stabbed into his brain, swiftly followed by the crash of something hard hitting the floor and a shrill piping sound.

He jolted, barely avoiding sending his food or coffee flying, then froze; body tense, knife and fork in a death-grip and lips pressed tightly shut. His eyes darted around the tables.

Apparently the bright flash of light was the sudden arrival - on one of the tables - of a teenager who didn't appear to be much older than Wolf's eldest son... so around 17 or 18.

The loud crash, it appeared, was Leslie's chair, as she was now standing in a combat stance and looking as tense as he felt.

The shrill piping was most likely Hralia, who had scooted back from her table in alarm

On realising he was sitting on a table, the teen slid to the floor, apologised curtly and introduced himself to the room at large.

Wolf managed to relax his muscles and lighten his grip on his eating utensils but his nerves were jangling. Leslie softened her stance a little and told Cam to never do that again - a sentiment that Wolf could really get behind... as could Hralia, it seemed, as she seconded the "motion" and pointed out that she found the sudden commotion to be inconsiderate.

Wolf briefly considered giving Cam a similar admonition but figured that would be tantamount to harrassing the kid - after all, he'd been told twice, already.

To Wolf's surprise, Cam responded to Leslie in a way that Wolf found condescending and then claimed to be 150 to 170 years older than her. There was another annoying flash and there was a book in Cam's hands. A moment later there was yet another flash and it was gone - this was getting old really quickly. Wolf had no idea if this teleportation was magical or technological - it could easily have been either, given the current circumstances - but did it have to be so fucking bright?

After bragging about being nearly 194 years old Cam settled down to read the menu. Wolf considered calling him out on his condescending attitude but it was not his place to undermine Leslie's sovereign authority. Leslie was the target of Cam's arrogance, so the right of response was hers, not his.

He did, however, think, 194 years... and still hasn't learned manners.

There was another goddamned flash of light and the book was back again. Metaphorically biting his tongue, Wolf turned his attention to his neglected meal and skewered an unsuspecting mushroom with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.

Selene, for her part, seemed quite astounded at Cam's claim and questioned it, unleashing more of Cam's condescension on herself. Wolf did his best to try to tune him out by focussing on his meal and other things going on.

He noticed Mort and Koyel heading outside, the waiter delivering a shot glass to Selene - the noticeable stench of aniseed making it likely to be Ouzo - and Caroline explaining what this place was... presumably for Cam's benefit.

To his amazement, Selene downed the shot without any apparent adverse effects - either from the sudden belt of potent spirits or from taking a gobful of strong aniseed flavour.

Hralia's departure towards the doors called his attention to what was going on out there. It seemed there was a ring set up and Mort and Koyel were arming themselves with staves - which looked like a far better prospect than putting up with someone who was so divorced from humanity they couldn't even be civil.

Wolf placed his knife and fork on his plate, scooped up plate and coffee and headed towards the outdoors - behind Selene. Years of practice enabled him to negotiate the door despite both hands being full and not wanting to spill food or coffee and he stepped outdoors.

It wasn't difficult to find one of the tables the Inn had thoughtfully provided - for those who might like to dine alfresco with a view of the lake - that afforded him a good view of the ring where a slightly tipsy pair were about to attempt to spar. Wolf placed his plate and coffee on the table and sat to enjoy his interrupted meal.

Hralia: Inn, lobby, dining area > sparring circle

Watching the proceedings with interest, Hralia tilts an ear and glances back to acknowledge Selene's question. "Indeed there are. It's said that 50% of stars in the sky play host to worlds of their own—just like your own sun, as that's what they are." she explains, somewhat lowering the volume of her translator and her own speech so as not to disrupt what she still assumes to be a sacred ritual. "They are each in actuality unimaginably far apart, the visible sky only a fraction of what truly lay out there, but nothing we haven't been able to overcome with ingenuity."

She considers elaborating on what she means by that last point, but then in uncharacteristically thoughtful fashion ponders on how much is wise to tell the girl. It wasn't so long ago that her own kind had been at such an early stage in their development, barely even hunter-gatherers by human metrics, before contact with the wider galaxy propelled them forward by millennia within the span of a few years. It's still well within living memory for many, namely her own matriarch, and to say it resulted in 'growing pains' would be an understatement. Strife between tradition and progress, between instinct and logic... some quite interesting datacart books had been written on the matter and although anthropology was never her forte (she prefers electronics and computer science) they'd been good off-time reads.

...now I'm rambling internally.

Gabe: Inn, outdoor dining area

Someone had, at some point during the excitement surrounding the boy's arrival and the hustle to watch the impromptu drunken sparring match, slipped into the inn and ordered a meal of their own before taking it outside and finding a seat at a table nearby to Wolf's, out-of-the-way but not far removed from the 'action'.

Unlike Hralia, they're bipedal and clad in a rather more casual getup of loose gray tank and midcalf cargo shorts, but markedly unlike most of the rest of the inn's patrons they're not outwardly human. Appearing lanky and unmistakably lemuroid, they're pale-furred with black markings around their sunken eyes and on the tip of their snout, with a mop of slightly disheveled curly hair in a shade of grayish blue just north of charcoal, buzzed off the sides and just long enough to hang over one brow, barely concealing a pair of what appear to be cable jacks set into their furred skin. They walk with the aid of an adjustable metal cane, fluffy ringed tail hanging behind them, swaying and twitching to help them maintain a somewhat unsteady balance on work-booted paws before they set down their meal—a green iced latte-like drink and some indeterminate foodstuff in a paper to-go bag—and take a seat.

Gabe◊ doesn't say anything at first, merely resting her cane against the table and greeting nearby patrons with a nod before taking a sip of her drink. She spares a brief puzzled glance over at Hralia, but not an unfamiliar one; she'd met liir'aalu, but the sight of one unaccompanied by any others of their kind, and in what she estimates is a Pronovan work uniform despite being so far from that particular colony, is undeniably odd.

Putting that aside, she settles in to enjoy the fresh air, the sights, the smells of greenery, and the general feeling of not being stuck in a cramped metal can for months on end. It seems a planetside colony visit was as good a place as any to spend the rest of her pay, but she didn't remember seeing this place on any of the brochures.

[In the sparring circle (Mort, Koyel)]

At last, the two began their fight. Despite the alcohol and padding, they were both light on their feet and clearly skilled. For now, Mort had the upper hand. He was aggressive, but precise, pushing and probing for a weakness in Koyel's defenses. Forcing him on he back foot. Trying to coax a mistake out of his younger, fitter opponent.

But he just wasn't finding it. Koyel was fighting conservatively. Perhaps too conservatively, on the whole. He did not take the bait for any of Mort's feints, but nor was he able to exploit any of the openings Mort pushed a little too hard. From time to time, Koyel tried to offer a reply, but it always lacked the necessary edge. Too reserved, too careful, Mort parried or dodged every attempt. Yet at the same token, these mistakes never left an appreciable gap in Koyel's defenses.

Mort was in control, but how long could he keep it up? Would he get the opportunity he was seeking?

(wrong thread, sorry)

Edited by apocalemur on Dec 2nd 2022 at 9:02:16 AM

(Sorry for the delay, I didn't realize you were waiting on me)

Selene's eyes are the size of dinner plates. "Fifty percent? But...there's so damn many. There must be hundreds visible in the night sky, perhaps even thousands, and—and you say there's countless more beyond what we can see from where we are? But then—there's so many worlds! So many civilizations! And...we can't get to any of them." She appears to be having a slight existential crisis. "I wonder if I could..." She traces her markings with a finger. "No, I'd suffocate, wouldn't I? I wonder if a water-breathing potion would work for the sky. But if it's as far away as it seems, there's no potion that lasts that long, is there? Perhaps an enchanter could make something? Would that stretch beyond the limits of enchanting? Ugh, this is getting me nowhere." She is quite clearly not a scientist.

Outdoor Dining Area/Sparring Circle

Wolf was close enough to where Hralia and Selene were situated that he was able to catch bits of the former's commentary on the number of planetary systems - even though her translator seemed quieter than before - and bits of the latter's astounded response... enough to catch references to potions and enchanters.

He wasn't exactly trying to listen in; but they weren't far away and they were on his right-hand side, not his left.

Wolf didn't have much time to ponder the implications for Selene's world when a newcomer arrived. The facial markings and tail were reminiscent of a ring-tailed lemur, so it wasn't difficult to imagine that they could have had ancestors in common - at least on whatever world this newcomer hailed from. The fact that the newcomer was wearing clothes and using technology suggested that they were as far from those hypothetical common ancestors as he was from the ancestors he held in common with chimpanzees. Or maybe they were an "uplifted" lemur, the result of some sort of deliberate genetic manipulation or splicing.

Pierced ears, some sort of mohawk cut that had been dyed blueish-grey, cargo pants, tank top, work boots and some sort of implants gave a distinct "cyberpunk" look.

The newcomer nodded to those in the area, Wolf included and then sat down to enjoy their drink. Wolf returned the nod, his eyes making only the briefest of contact with those of the newcomer.

The newcomer didn't seem overly surprised to see anyone here, neither human nor... what was it that Hralia had called her species? Leeraalu? So... they'd encountered aliens before?

Over in the makeshift arena, the fight had begun. Despite having been demonstrably drunk, both were handling themselves well. Mort was clearly more aggressive and Koyel had adopted a more defensive approach. Wolf wasn't sure if this was because Koyel was not as good at attacking or whether he was biding his time until Mort overstretched.

Wolf turned his attention back to the lemuroid newcomer, who was drinking some sort of green beverage, and flashed a smile. "Cool place, innit? I'm Wolf, by the way. Human. From Earth... one of 'em, anyway." He wondered how well that translated into whatever language they spoke. Would the strange automatic translation fail to convert words like "human" and "Earth" for them, the way it failed to translate "Qorisayane" - and other words for which there was no English equivalent - for him?

Hralia: Inn, lobby, sparring circle

She pauses for a moment, realizing too late that she may have already said too much... but nevertheless sees it important to note: "Not all support life, mind you, let alone advanced life like you or I. A vast proportion are not unlike deserts, inhabited only by microbes—the smallest and most basic of living things—if even that."

The girl's proposition regarding space travel warrants a somewhat firmer rebuttal, though, if only for her own safety. "Water contains oxygen, that is to say, air..." she explains, going on to make an educated guess as to the mechanics of these 'potions'. "If your potions function by extracting oxygen from the water, I'm afraid that alone might not work. Biology is somewhat outside of my forte, but I do know hard vacuum is quite deleterious to life in general, no matter what elixirs one drinks." she warns, recalling countless emergency training videos back on Cherry Tree, fed to her and all of the children who grew up on the station to the point they could recite every point by heart.

...and now she finds herself thinking back on the detailed breakdowns of the effects of oxygen deprivation, severe ebullism, and internal rupturing from mistakenly holding one's breath in a depressurization event as presented by colorful cartoon characters, and does her best to turn her attention back to the ritual. She hasn't had to think about these things for a long while, having spent her recent time entirely planetside. Some just aren't cut out for space.

Gabe: Inn, outdoor dining area

Gabe, for her part, keeps her attention on the sparring match. Both participants hold their guard while simultaneously looking for openings to exploit, having reached something of a stalemate as a result, with the whole spectacle reminding her somewhat of space combat—which tends to be at far greater range and with far more advanced weaponry than sticks, but the principles at play aren't so different; maintain your defenses and contingencies, but don't hesitate to take advantage of gaps in your enemy's own. Lengthy stalemates aren't unusual either, 'long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror', as she'd heard it put once.

She glances over at 'Wolf' when addressed, but doesn't say anything at first. When she finally does after a moment, her words are slow and measured, and with a noticeable stutter around certain syllables. "Gabe, human d-ddivergent, some nowhere farming colony." she shrugs. 'One of them'? Does he mean a colony?

"P-pprivate security." the lemuroid adds simply to head off any potential questions about her occupation, before making an effort to steer the smalltalk in a more pleasant direction. "What about you? You look like the blue collar t-ttype," she indicates the two sockets above her own brow. "but I d-ddon't see any piloting ports."

Edited by Chortleous on Dec 25th 2022 at 2:37:32 PM

Sorry for the late reply on the question! The thread totally slipped my mind.

Cam nodded, opening his notebook and writing down what Caroline had said, word for word. He thought for a moment, scribbling down some math, before answering Selene’s question. “About 9 thousand unique ones,” he said casually. “It’s fewer by far than most Jumpers, although I suppose the average person has only seen one or perhaps two.” Cam shrugged, taking a bite of the food that had just arrived, writing with his left hand while he ate. He was using his right hand before, but his handwriting had not gotten visibly worse. He looked around, taking more careful notes of the inn’s architecture. As a few minutes ticked by, Cam’s focus turned exclusively to the journal, leaving his half-eaten food on the table. He occasionally said aloud a particularly interesting point, revealing that he was describing the others he had met and names he had overheard. He made a note to ask them later about their home universes.

Edited by KitkatKK2 on Dec 26th 2022 at 3:09:44 AM