Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current You did good, McGregor. Made us proud.
1 yr ago
No offense intended. But there's a sweet spot on the sliding scale of realism, and most of the interest checks I usually see skew too far to the realism end for me.
1 yr ago
Can't describe how quickly I go from excited to sad when a mecha premise turns out to be realism wankery.


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Yes!" The Kanamin chirped, bounding up to the front of the line. Her color-coordinated companion was dragged along with her by his wrist, held in the hand not clutching her painstakingly replicated staff. Before the costume addressed them she had clearly been lecturing him about something, though the only bit that drifted to the costume's ears was a snippet of linguistic semantics about the link between Kanamin's name and her color scheme. The two were very much a bridge between two of her biggest interests, you see, and she had been really disappointed when there wasn't a Zeta reference of some kind in Integral.

It was enough to make you feel for the Irishman.

Still she refocused, once the costume spoke in a passable imitation of Kanamiin's voice. The voice was spot on, the voice changer was amazing. But the intonation was all wrong. That was on the speaker. She hoped whoever was inside the costume had studied the intonations of the right catch phrases at least as well as she had, or that would just be embarrassing.

"Two, please. And a pint for home." She silenced her companion's complaint before it ever really got started with a firm; "It's limited, Brennan, it must come home with us too. Justice demands it."

"Do you know any of her catch phrases?"
She inquired of the costume, cocking her head. "How do they sound with the voice changer? Does it get hot in there? I bet it's roasting."

"You couldn't lose me if you tried. I'm distinctive."

The girl herself beamed, surveying her surroundings with great interest. Some of the other cosplayers caught her eye, a well done costume here, an excellent prop there. Hers were better, of course. She'd been preparing for ages. But it was fun seeing what everyone else did, especially takes on other characters. There were rivals, spinoff stars, minor characters; a vibrant range of enthusiastic cosplayers spread amongst the un-costumed. And then there was the merch. Official convention exclusives, original animation cells, replicas, figures, memorabilia. So much to look at. And decide what was coming home with her.

Eventually she re-centered on Brennan, though it didn't take long. Her grin didn't diminish. He looked grumpy. He'd perk up soon. Aaaaand, she wouldn't make him stay long. Just a couple panels. A little merch. Then home.

"We can go find it together. No panels for a couple hours, and the dealer room doesn't open for another half hour. We'll have to spend some time in line."

The Japanese girl closed her right eye with practiced precision, and brought her left hand up to her left eye with the first two fingers extended in a V.

"It's Kanacon, Brennan." She answered, still stretching out the syllable, as though the lone sentence answered everything. It should. She had been waiting all week. "We need to get ready to go."

She took his hand and pulled him into a seated position, before the stunned Irishman had a chance to say anything else. There was no time for it. She still needed to make sure her hair was right, get her staff assembled, and herd him out the door. There was much to do, and very little time to prepare. Umeko had overslept. She had meant to brush up on her catch phrases, but there was no time for that now.

"Up. You have to get ready."

There was something important this morning.

Exactly what was kind of escaping her. It was earlier than she usually wanted to get up, and her brain wasn't quite firing on all cylinders yet. Boot-up-sequence hadn't proceeded. Still waiting on the go from the bridge bunny. But it was Saturday, and there was definitely something important going on that morning. So Umeko started to push through the haze. First, she stirred. One limb at a time. Stretch a little. Yawn. At some point she'd actually gotten from the table where her half assembled Exia waited to the bed. She wasn't sure when. Didn't matter much.

Yawning quietly, so she didn't disturb the still-sleeping-Irishman, she scooted to the edge and the bed and pulled on her slippers. It was just late enough in the year that the floor would feel too cold without them. The Japanese girl padded silently towards the kitchen, pausing long enough to give a critical once-over to her work on the Perfect Grade from the night before. Nothing stood out, so she continued. She was growing more aware by the second, but it was still eluding her what was so important. It didn't have to do with that journalist. They hadn't turned up much of anything yet, which meant she didn't get to go after the A-LAW. It wasn't about the probe.

She poured a glass of milk and sipped at it, mulling over the issue. Maybe that would help.

A glance back towards the bedroom, at what was hanging on her closet door, finally flicked the switch.

Kanacon. I have to wake Brennan.
Benjamin Armbruster


"Only place they could put me that could deal with the explosions," The German commented cheerfully, waving for Matsuo to follow and double-timing it to the Vernichten's bay. The caution markings were a dead giveaway that the blue-and-gunmetal Walker wasn't quite meant to be a frontline unit, but all hands on deck meant all hands on deck. It was mostly ready, anyway, aside from the open panels where the relay in question waited to be corrected. He waved another hand at the work bench. "Careful. I think everything there's grounded out, but I haven't checked."

"Anyway, they tossed me here because the things I like to work on have a nonzero chance of blowing up. And I'm irreverent. That was the word, I think. The boss keeps me in line."
A shrug, while Ben grabbed the replacement conduit off the workbench. "The girl's relays are a little different. But I assume you can hold a flashlight, right?"

Inoue Ayane



The Japanese pilot frowned thoughtfully. Her Walker had been sent out ahead of her, by a few days. It should be there, somewhere. It was just a question of where. It wasn't an active unit, so it wouldn't be right near the entrance. It wasn't slated for use until it was relocated again onto the ship. Which also meant it wouldn't be completely prepared. But if she could find it, warm up the reactor...

Ayane nonchalantly grabbed an inventory pad off the wall, easy to do surreptitiously in all the confusion, and checked the logs. She knew the shipment date, she knew the contents, and she knew where her machine was slated to end up. All told, it took just a few moments of searching to find its present berth. She replaced the pad and took off at a brisk walk, duffel still thrown over her shoulder. Her course took her unerringly through the chaos, away from the hub of all the activity and around towards the back of the hangar. Her only words to the Luna native were a "this way", assuming that the other pilot would follow. The noise abated immediately once they circled around to the storage area, settling to a dull roar. There were fewer people back here, among the crate-laden pallets. There were plenty of forklifts around, a flat-bed truck or two for moving fully assembled Walkers, but the layout was almost arcane to anyone that didn't actually work there. The stored materials were all labeled with abbreviations, jargon if you didn't know what you were looking for.

Fortunately, Shipment #606-6 out of the Far East Brigade had only come in that morning. It was a holiday, no one had even had time to move it off the flatbed. It was covered with a tarp, secured quite thoroughly with a series of straps. It was impossible to make out anything more than the barest shape underneath, but she recognized the itemized shipment number attached to it.

"Ms. Marcus, I could use a hand removing the tarpaulin."

Character is fine, but the Federation doesn't presently have the technology to manufacture armor for Walkers like Tarasconium. Setting aside the lore issues of such an expensive technology being put into use at this stage, it's just not something the Federation can manage.

And from an OOC perspective, defensive capabilities like that aren't something I'm comfortable permitting on PCs at this time.

"I didn't say I did," Umeko said mildly with a smile that said that was exactly what she meant. She wasn't worried. The Irishman always insisted she didn't need any more, but he was also always the first to ask about whatever one she was eyeing in the shop. Or 'begrudgingly' offer to go to the shop in the first place. She'd let him pretend she didn't notice. "I just said you'd make it up to me. Which you will."

"How do you even know what 'chuunibyou' means?"
Dave Rogerson


The chagrined look returned.

"That's a can a'worms." The Aussie magus walked out of the kitchen and towards his bed, pulling a pair of old leather-bound journals out of his bag. He rapped a knuckle on the cover of one, looking back towards Archer. "This is what I got. These, and easily a dozen more back home. That I've gotten around to reading. We're supposed to get a Crest passed down, an accumulation of our family's magic. I didn't. Dad didn't, either."

"I can make a bounded field, with a little prep time. Managed some small, small works. I can work my Mystic Code." Dave made a frustrated noise, half under his breath. "I've got the horsepower, I think. Never met another magus to compare. I've got a lot of the theory. But reality, that's a different story. I studied the summoning ritual for hours to get it right."

"I ain't a halfwit, though." The frustration went as quickly as it came, replaced with a certain surety. For all he didn't know about magecraft, he knew a thing or two about strategy. "Me Dad trained dogs. I trained Maxie here with all I know, he's not just here 'cause he'd give a sitter hell. Can't bring much for weapons into this place, but I got a handgun in. I know how to use it, and something bigger if we lay hands on it. Been in the outdoors pretty much my whole life, I know my way around."

"Not much of a magus," He reiterated, shrugging slightly. "But I'm probably the best damn man in this war. And with this many magi running around, maybe I can learn somethin' new."
Benjamin Armbruster


Matsuo, wasn't it? That was her name. Ben'd seen her around, but judging by her reaction they'd never really met before. Wasn't the time for formalities, he needed to get Vernichten ready.

"Matsuo!" He called after her, jerking a thumb back towards the direction of Test Team's Walker bays. "If yours is good to go, I could use a hand. My girl's in the middle of a power relay replacement, two sets of hands'll make it go a lot quicker than one."

Inoue Ayane


Ayane seemed to be back in her element, by the time they were back on the base. It took a second to explain her situation, officially she didn't report for a few more days, but no one was really turning down another set of hands as long as her ID checked out. Which it did, it just wasn't updated to reflect her present posting yet. They let the duo pass pretty quickly, entering into the hectic frenzy of the Walker Corp's hangar.

The Japanese girl was off the back of the moped almost before it stopped, her duffel slung over her back like a weapon. Eyes scanned the hangar, rapidly but efficiently, taking in all the relevant details. Identifying people of authority. Evaluating combat strength. A certain coiled grace had entered her stride, a martial bearing that had been at least somewhat suppressed before. The Far East Brigade pilot was ready, she was just looking for something to do about it.

"Ms. Marcus, do you have a machine to prep?"
Dave Rogerson


Oh fuck.

An old adage in fictional circles that Dave always imagined a magus would appreciate sprang to mind. Do not call up that which you cannot put down. Archer was definitely something he could not put down. It was a thought that occurred as, quick as lightning, the Servant yanked him in close. For a heartbeat he thought he'd misjudged. Rather than paralyse him, the fear galvanized him; his left hand shot up to grab Archer's wrist, interposing his watch between their chests. The timepiece's gears ground audibly, spinning up to do their job. If he could free his hand, he could draw his weapon. He was still dead, but Archer would work for-

Then the Servant spoke.

His heartbeat would need another minute to settle, but the defiance went out of his eyes. It came into focus. Who he had summoned. Why the sudden movements. The symmetry, whether he realized or not, in using Maxie's bark to cover his name. He nodded, a short, sharp motion. He let go of the Servant's wrist, too; he could've freed it easily, beyond a doubt. But confrontation was unnecessary.

He gave Archer another nod, silently signaling both his respect and his returning calm. Dave wasn't one to grow speechless, but Archer had managed it. If his intentions had really been hostile, there wouldn't have been a damned thing he could do. And every Servant out there would be just as strong. The moment was sobering, to be sure, but not fearful; it was clarity. The older man would never truly raise a hand against him, not as long as they were allied. But his strength was something to be respected. The Servant showed him that respect, too. By shaking, by revealing his True Name, by referring to Dave as such; Archer had acknowledged him as his Master.

While Dave mulled that over, Maxie was thinking something similar.

The canine regarded Archer cautiously, cocking his head a little and glancing towards Dave. The Aussie inclined his head, a little color returning to his face. Maxwell got a faint grin with the nod, and the German Shepherd considered that his answer. The dog looked back to Archer, and solemnly offered his paw.
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