multiversallogs | The City at Large & Mission Alpha

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The City at Large & Mission Alpha

Who: OPEN to all residents.
What: The ant-situation is changing!
Where: Throughout the city.
When: NOW. This thread will likely cover a few days.
Warnings: To be updated.

Dear Mission Alpha,

It is your undeniable privilege to bring back as many of the so-called 'crow pearls' as possible to the Temple. Any temple. No one important cares how you do it, just get it done. Try to be substantial about it, let's say more than 50, hmm? The actual task here is to deprive our deranged ant-friends of as many pearls as possible, but no one is going to be rewarded for stories like 'oh we absolutely threw two tons of pearls down the whirlpool, we swear on our broodmother's grave', okay? Okay. Peachy. Bring me the pearls, chop chop.

Your totally sweet gods have decided to lend you some ...boons I guess, however that goes, to aid you in your quest. Useful objects. For you, my gifted pilferers and negotiators:

A Skeleton Key - it will open any unwarded lock. It will not open warded locks. That means magical locks. No magical locks will be opened with this key. Unless the magic is broken first. Good luck with that.

Get-Out-of-Jail-Free Card - I realize no one has bothered to build proper jail cells in Our City yet so it's more of a Fend-off-The-Local-Authorities-Free Card but that's not as catchy. Think of it as An Official Voucher From the Gods that says you're on Official Twelve Point Business and can't be arrested right now. Keep it for the Sheriffs as it might not have the desired effect the Militia.

Privacy Ward or App For Your CiD - Well you don't want to get caught leaking signals and communication everywhere, do you.

It is a week and some change after the ants first noticeably began their labour and it seems they have finished rebuilding their houses. It's hard to see exactly what is going on from the ground, but the brave few who have ventured into and up the hives or climbed neighbouring buildings get a good enough view. The rooftops are now crowned with organic spires, much like malformed and undernourished termite nests reaching for the heavens. They are not the best constructs, some of them have broken off or imploded, but the majority of the spires stand.

Then one morning, individual ants are seen climbing to the very top of their towers. They then sit still, mandibles locked and antennae arched. It's hours before any change becomes noticeable, and by then it's too late. The ants have sprouted strange fleshy fungal tentacles, all filled to the bursting with spores.

Soon there after, reports come in from all across the city about people acting out of character; some have become catatonic or violent after brief a period of sickness. Individuals have been seen entering the ant-occupied buildings to help defend the ants against intruders, others have attempted to climb high points in the city or thrown themselves in the rivers.

Once again the City is under siege, but this time the enemy is invisible.

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No, it wasn't better. But Cassandra didn't want to hurt his feelings. What a horrible way to part with someone. Then again, she had never been known for her tact. Or her kindness.

That was a regret.

"Apollo," she said quietly, "a lot of people don't like me. It's my fault. Promise that you'll say kind things about me. Make something up. Something nice."

"You're not dying," he said from between his teeth. Picked up the cloth, began dabbing at her again. If she kept acting like this, he was going to have to kick her in the head.

"And people like you. I like you. I'm sure lots of other people do too," he added as an after thought. He didn't mean it, but it seemed like the thing to say.

"Hmph."

It was a tired noise, too exhausted to be defiant. But she was still Cassandra. And that was her way. Maybe she wasn't going to die. Maybe she was. But as she felt sleep coming on her, she decided to go out on that particular note.

Just for consistency's sake.

"We think so." Nothing had been confirmed yet, but it seemed very likely. "Spores, we suspect. Groups of them have taken over certain structures - they're building something as well."

Well, then, Bellatrix is all but doing a public service. (This is the sort of interesting perspective that perhaps you have to be a Black to have.)

"What's being done about it? What are you doing here, for that matter?" The latter is frankly of more immediate concern to her, but if they're stuck here (again-) then she'd like to know a bit more about the structure of the place.

"Really?" It's not mocking, his question. He seems genuinely interested. And yes, it's terribly disingenuous of him to pretend he's not one of the people he's been talking about, but that's just his way. He swears it's for good reasons these days, but it's still who he is.

"Yeah. People can say they can do anything. I'd want to go meet them in person and find out for myself." He does follow, falling into step beside Eddie. "I can understand people wanting to hide it, though. It's hard to be different."

Jim can't argue with that reasoning. It's good tactics.

...If Spock were here he'd maybe declare Martel's logic sound. Jim has a pang of missing his First Officer, just for a moment, but then the moment's passed and his focus is back on the plan.

"At the very least it's worth kicking the front door in to see what's inside. I'm with you. Let's do this."

Preternatural Horrors. The wording was curious, given his own past and the story which surrounded it. However, he had a good idea of what he would classify under that category and for now, would give Hellsing the benefit of the doubt. That was a risky bet, but given the current situation, he was willing to take a chance.

"And I would not doubt it," he replied, referring to Nuala. "She's shown me a kindness that not many have made the effort to try." There was an note of implication in his voice, but he didn't elaborate.

"The door's been kicked and the information's been taken," Martel says, matter of fact, "all that's left now is to bring down the building."

He isn't, notably, explaining how he intends to do that; that's not accidental. They don't have time for Kirk to decide he's a madman and argue the reality of sorcery - god only knows the man's context, but even in Martel's own world the believers are few and far between outside of the knighthoods and Styricum - so he's not going to bother with it. He'll see it for himself soon enough.

"Then it's coming down. I'll cover you, just show me where."

He assumes Martel has a plan. It hasn't occurred to him to ask what the plan is, exactly. So much is happening at once, and Martel seems like a guy who knows what he's doing. Get things done now, sort it all out later.

Martel wheels in close to the hive-house - ants and infected civilians alike mill around it, and as he'd suggested earlier, the citizens in evidence weren't all human. They seemed disinclined to engage anyone, but it was clear enough that the hive was their priority, and that they wouldn't care for intervention.

"Here," he says, tersely, vaulting down smoothly and resisting the urge to draw his sword; he's going to need both hands for what he plans to do, and it's not a weapon terribly useful in a non-lethal capacity. When Kirk is down, too, he sends Kalten charging through to scatter them as an initial distraction before he starts moving toward the hive itself.

Jim jumps down right after Martel, taking a moment to assess the situation. The hive is this way, and for the moment, thanks to Kalten, the people and ants are tearing in about twenty different directions, all away from the hive.

"Go, go, go," he urges, waving. "I've got you."

He moves toward the hive, too, but backpedaling slowly, watching for the shift back he knows must be coming if what Martel tells him about the protectors is right. The activity dies down and there's a momentary lull as all parties involved stop and think about what happens next.

And then they begin to converge, coming back from all those directions in which they'd scattered. Kirk steals a glance back over his shoulder; Martel has moved closer and so far hasn't been blocked or bothered.

He braces, watching the ants and people move closer and closer.

The hum of Martel's power building as he works is like a bell tolling to the magically sensitive - he's still refining the finesse he had before, handling his own power in his own hands without the assistance of a god moving in tandem with him, but in this case, the brute force of his power and his skill is precisely what he needs. If he miscalculates and it comes down harder-

Well, so much the damn better.

(His mastery improves every day; this will be just one more.)

"Ladies and gentlemen-- and ants. I need everyone to take three steps back right now."

He's sure the request will get him nowhere, no matter how authoritative he sounds. But it's the rules of engagement--give the civilians a warning before you go in, fists flying.

They don't listen. It's creepy, the way they all advance toward the hive as one. Arms and hands start flailing as they approach striking distance, trying to scare him off, clear him out, knock him down. Jim uses those to his advantage, grabbing, twisting, casting bodies aside.

The ants... he wishes he had a phaser now. He grabs a long piece of wood, a scrap from something overrun to make this hive, and he swings it in a wide arc, batting a pair of them to one side and forcing the others to stop. They hang back and he's sure they're merely recalculating their advance.

The people regroup. His wooden weapon gets turned on them too, carefully-aimed blows meant to take people off their feet and knock the wind out of them without permanent damage.

Kirk's on his own with them, with Martel unable to afford to split his attention; he's aware enough of his surroundings to make sure his movements around the hive itself keep him out of easy reach, but his mind is necessarily elsewhere, following the smooth and practised motions of his hands, dipping into his well of power and feeling it moving through him, out into the world, changing and shifting-

The moment he releases the spell, nobody in the vicinity needs to be sensitive to realize. The change comes suddenly but in segments, bringing the hive down from beneath as the supports of the structure begin consecutively turning into sand, rushing out-

Martel, in the midst of this, is doing his best to bolt through the rushing sand before the whole damn thing comes down his head, but it's fast and forceful and he's stumbling, sweating with the exertion that was the spell itself in the first place.

Jim feels the hive start to fall, senses it, before he sees it. He's aware of movement behind him, shifting, the sense of something coming down. He glances back to see it start to crumble, then his attention returns to the still-advancing people and ants.

...And then he has to hazard a second look because in the instant it took him to look away he processes that he saw Martel in the thick of it. In the falling, crashing sand, not at a safe distance.

Jim flings his makeshift weapon at the crowd, knocking a few back. He whirls and dives into the shifting sands, hunting for his comrade. "Martel!" There's sand coming down all around him and the would-be protectors of the hive are incensed by this development, clambering after him.

The internal monologue of one Martel of Damerel is presently not anything he'd repeat in mixed company, a litany of curses intermingled with the inevitable satisfaction of his own brilliance (...look). Mixing with the sand is the debris of the structure that was above, and it's that that strikes him in the back, driving him down to his knees as he drags himself through the sand on the ground. His hands scrape against the sand and the stone beneath, his shirt is torn and bloody at the back, and he's familiar enough with broken ribs to know he's going to be feeling today for a long while.

Down the street, Kalten's muscles bunch as he clears a second blockade to charge back towards his master and his master's new friend, through the hive's guardians.

The giant ants and the enchanted people giving chase to Jim stop short of where the sand is rushing down from on high, survival instinct kicking in for just a moment. That's enough time for Kalten to rush in and scatter them again.

Jim very nearly reaches Martel before he's knocked down, vanishing momentarily under a flow of sand. Everything is still for one second, two, three, and then there's a small explosion of sand, Jim popping up from below.

"Martel!" He clears the sand from his face, coughing to clear a bit of grit from his airway, and then he's dragging himself through the sand, feeling this way and that.

"Really," Eddie repeats, without any hint of reluctance in his tone, neither on account of shame nor thinking he won't be believed. Oh no, this is great stuff. "I've made no secret of it, here. The game is different, and I'm on my best behavior, with my inconsequential job and all that.". He snrks, shakes his head, and keeps walking.

"Yes, and it would also be completely understandable for them to keep that secret, seeing as how that is a strong advantage, in and of itself.". He says this with a slight smile, instead of pressing this further, to indicate that if the man is lying, the possibility has occured to him. He's sure he'll figure it out, either way.

"I came much the same as the other time, though this is... marginally better." In some ways, at least. "You remember Hellsing? They're here as well, and I've continued cultivating those connections. I was helping set wards against the things."

As she fell asleep, Apollo carefully lifted the cloth and dropped it into the bowl. Quietly, slowly, he put the bowl down on the night stand and stretched out beside her, slipping an arm around her waist.

"Please be okay," he whispered softly, watching her sleep with a furrowed brow. "I don't want you to go again."

He rested his head against hers, too worried to sleep himself, and too concerned to leave her. Uncertain of how long it would take to find a healer. "I'll be here when you wake up," he murmured against her hair. "Promise."

Moving away from the alarm is a very good idea, and Alec is joining her in that. He shrugs at the statement. He can take a little criticism, but he's trying that whole standing up for himself thing.

It's new. He's still testing it out.

"I think thievery is different in every world. Every world has different trap doors to get around."

"I suppose it is."

The statement is harmless, noncommittal. Maybe he honestly means it that way.

Maybe he's playing his advantage.

"What do you do? Your 'inconsequential job'."

With that kind of ambiguity, he'd prefer that the fellow is lying. Wouldn't that be funny? At any rate, there's no telling, right now.

"They have me doing organizational work for the newspaper. And puzzles. Clearly, these things are in high demand during fungal epidemics."

The clatter of hooves, the rush of bodies and his name all sound irrelevant as all the nerves in his body scream a protest at their treatment - sand streams into the open wounds on his back, his ribs jostled painfully as he struggles to get from his knees to his feet. Kalten is wheeling around for a second approach, and through the ache and the sand and the rush of his own blood in his ears, Martel is relatively sure he can catch the reins this time.

He grasps Jim's arm when they reach each other, and his voice is rough and low when he says, "You'd damned well better be able to steer," because they need to get away from here and his head is still ringing where stone rolled down his back and left a bloody lump before it hit the ground and drove dust up into his eyes.

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The City at Large & Mission Alpha

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[[oh god, itallics everywhere. Sorry ><]]

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