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Oof, those are some long posts. I don't know if I'll be able to maintain posts of that size on a regular basis, but I can try.

Are my character and faction accepted? I haven't heard or seen any evidence of the acceptance since editing my faction's territory.
Hamazasp Sulser

Nickname:

He trims his beard regularly. He always carries a smile but never shows his teeth. He throws his shoulders back and walks upright, making him appear taller than he actually is. He wears a plain T-shirt and thick slacks inside his quarters but wouldn't be caught dead outside without his overcoat.

Age: 26 Earth years

Origin: Born and raised in the Taurian Concordat

Personality: An offensive baseliner. In socials, in combat, in romance, he won't engage before calculating a high probability of "success," or his definition of it, then storm forward with full investment. He can wait hours, days, weeks for this opportunity depending on the situation. He's quite patient and observant, though sparingly few friends realize it. He talks so boorishly that acquaintances dismiss him as an irrelevant triviality. Whether this is a front or a genuine aspect of his character, not even he knows himself. He has pondered that occasionally in moments of self reflection. From the perspective of others, the vast majority of interactions are bright, brief, and brash.

Where are the allegiances of such an elusive fellow? They lie with small creatures. After all, he was an outcast once; he sympathizes. He recognizes death and loss; he's seen and caused plenty over his short lifetime. Nonetheless, he'd open up his hatch to release an entrapped dragonfly should the need arise. If he finds a homeless person, he'll divert his routine to keep the vagrant warm and well fed. He'd do his best to reroute his vehicle around buildings, roads, and electric lines, if only because he understands their vitality to the common man's everyday activities. His quest to find purpose will cause no collateral damage.

History: The Sulser's dairy industry, like most on Illiushin, was renowned throughout the known galaxy. The youngest of six siblings, however, Hamazasp was impeded from higher positions of company leadership. He found solace in mech simulations. His older sister fell ill, and he assumed her duties. Misinterpreting his benevolence as a power grab, she demanded his exile when she recovered. Instead, his mother assigned him a role in their newly-established branch within the Draconis Combine, the family's furthest domain: banishment in every way but name, thankfully with honor still intact.

He labored diligently towards his newfound duty for little benefit. Unfortunately, despite his product's quality, brand recognition prevented it from mainstream attraction. Illiushin's gouda advertised and sold itself with its reputation; Shinonoi colby jack felt offbrand and fake. He tried to market through his home network, but they wouldn't return his calls. Finances forced him to downsize, eventually to where he himself operated the machinery. Managing a franchise doomed to fail depressed him, but the levers' and switches' methodical coordination calmed and comforted him. His childhood simulations provided useful advice, but practice was another matter entirely.

He steered the business until its dying day. He personally slaughtered each of the remaining cattle, the last employees long since departed. His hands' work stillborn, he roamed the Inner Sphere for new opportunities. One night, while contracting on Vega VII, he received a quarter life crisis. He wondered how it would feel to handle a metal titan for real. He knew that mechanical operation was different but wanted to know the extent of its difference. Foolhardy? Sure, but he had nothing better to do. Would it kill him? Maybe so, but his parents wouldn't miss him. Very well. He'd sign himself up in Rasalhague.

Skills:
Gunnery: 1
Piloting: 2
Guts: 4
Tactics: 5

Abilities:

Misc: Keeps a pocket harmonica, and plays it as the mood arises. Maintains a physical library of novels and reference material in his cockpit, as space allows. For growing up on a world that specializes in cheeses, is oddly lactose intolerant.
I have edited my application. The only aspect I've improved is the dossier under "Territory."
@tundrafrog1124 It appears that Area 12 is mostly undiscovered and left available for future content. If it’s permissible, I’d like to stake the Pinochle’s claim in that location. If not, Areas 25 and 11 suffice!

Vault 48’s intention is to grow any outpost into a full-fledged settlement, but the current expedition doesn’t have the manpower to make the outpost self-sustainable. They will allocate space for a farmstead, but it will remain fallow. There will be a single erected structure with a brick foundation and a wooden upper half. Largely, it will act as a supply depot. Supplies will arrive from Bishop (or another nearby outpost), to be either stored or traded with locals. I read that there is a nearby cave; the expedition would use at least its entrance to store goods away from the elements.

In short, it will be a farmstead, but for now it’s just a dwelling and a trading post.

Does this suffice? Would you like me to incorporate this information into my application? Currently, I’m at church and away from my computer, but I can insert this later this evening.


Howdy! I'm interested, and hope to apply soon!
Salutations. I figure this would be an interesting roleplay. The only Besthesda games I've played are mobile, so forgive me if my theming is slightly off. Still, I'll try to adhere to lore as best as I'm able.

Please expect an application by the end of the week.
Municipality of Lingayen - 10/11/2022, 18:26 UTC+8

Caffeine this early in the evening would on any other night have been an abysmal idea. Yet tonight, Rear Admiral Adrián Abasolo maintained a full pot of coffee and a large mug beside him. Jasmine had been sweet enough to craft it. He preferred a completely uninventive drink: hot water and Indonesian grounds.

In the twelve hours between dismissal and reconvening, the admiral's civilian staff had shuffled relevant equipment into Sison Auditorium. After this morning's fiasco, he figured that direct communication with his assets would assuage concerns and strengthen trust. Not everything could be repositioned, though, hence the band of wires taped to and running along the bottom of the wooden floor.

He was alone at his desk, though a station for each remotely-involved officer took its place along the walls. Security was postitioned at each entrance and egress of the room, because a little paranoia never hurt anyone. To his right, five chairs in two rows greeted him. The blackboard beside them faced the main doors of the facility with the following language:

Irregular Team A:
1st Lt. Noel Alonso
2nd Lt. Indra Larsdottir
Sgt. Nil —
Ms. Callie Lidman
Mr. Nico Makri


The chairs and blackboard to his left were the mirror image, with the exception of the blackboard's scribblings:

Irregular Team B:
Pvt. Kaitlyn Price
Agent Myron Makaraig
Ms. Hannie Cavalet
Mr. Iker Orozco
Ms. Lei Qingshe


The assignments were strictly based upon cohesion between special abilities. Still, Abasolo winced one last time that leadership roles so heavily favored the first team. Nonetheless, it wasn't his first discomfort when arranging this mission. The remaining chairs were positioned across from him, with their blackboard simply declaring, "Reserves." The space between the three sections was a simple square.

Beside him was a speaker, through which Abasolo hoped to broadcast reports from the field and so maintain transparency throughout the chain of command. Soldiers operate best when they understand the current situation. At least, such was his philosophy. He nonetheless maintained headphones, like all his officers. Several paces behind him was a sizable screen which displayed a virtual map of the South China Sea with live updated positions of deployed ASEAN assets.

The Arms Masters shuffled in with varying times and punctualities, yet another discomfort Abasolo bore. Still, he requested 1800 for a reason. The operation was to commence at 1826, which allowed ample delay. Until then, Admiral Abasolo stood up, moved into the empty square, and addressed the crowd at attention. "I haven't heard any complaints, so I'll receive your attendance as a gesture of undivided support. You've heard general outlines of the mission thus far; I figured I should clarify further. If some of this is old news to you, it's because I want to ensure that everyone is up to speed.

"The QRS
[Abasolo presently didn't bother to expand the acronym] is located at Mischief Reef, which is currently under siege. We cannot teleport supplies to the region, and so we attempt to run this blockade. To this end, the Australians have leased us two auxiliary oiler replenishment ships, His Majesty's Australian Ships Supply and Stalwart, under the command of Commodore Heather Munro, to carry what our allies require. We have contributed two frigates and a corvette to escort them. The Indonesians have similarly contributed two frigates and three corvettes.

He stood at ease; formalities could wait until after the engagement. "The PLA would very likely notice this and send its full local fleet to intercept this blockade run. In order to divert their attention, or failing that their resources, we have set up a joint Indonesian-Filipino strike fleet comprised of small, nimble boats and submarines to harass the enemy. Both operations will occur simultaneously, so keep focused for the duration of this engagement.

"I've assigned two teams of five. If either prong of the offensive is under duress, I will provide coordinates and a location to Myron and signal "go" to one team, commencing with "A." When selected, you will step forward, and Myron will teleport you to those coordinates. From there you will manage whatever threat presents itself to your current fleet. If possible, you may return to these headquarters to await further orders once the threat is neutralized. In lieu of that, five additional Masters will reoccupy your seats as a new makeshift assembly, which I will employ as the battle progresses.

"To be abundantly clear: protecting the Supply and Stalwart is our primary objective. If you must choose between sinking Chinese ships or protecting our fleet, choose the latter. If you must choose which ships to save, prioritize the Supply and the Stalwart. The escort will attempt to avoid any confrontation; when operating on the escort, I suggest you do the same."


With that, he turned to his officers, announcing within earshot of the Arms Masters. "You all have your orders. To victory or defeat, let's make this a flawless exercise." He returned to his station and pressed a button. "Milkfish. Come in, Milkfish. We seem to be having problems with our radio. Is everything good on your end?"

Reed Tablemount - 10/11/2022, 18:26 UTC+8

THE DIVERSION


"Milkfish reads you; give us a moment," Commodore Arlene Roxas responded. She collected the Romeo flag and stepped outside the bridge of the BRP Ramon Alcaraz. She knew the general location of her target, but she still needed to readjust her sight in the rapidly approaching twilight. She waved her flag out towards the distance.

The man on the other end would be Commodore Harta Lucas, her Indonesian counterpart. She'd told him to watch for her signal, and, sure enough, she saw the Charlie flag waving from the rear deck of the KRI Alamang. She trotted back inside and resumed her response. "Affirmative, Pearl. Everything's good on our end."

"Excellent. And you, Carabao?"

"Affirmative on our end," replied a third voice.

"Very well. Return to your duties."



Municipality of Lingayen - 10/11/2022, 18:37 UTC+8

"Pearl! Come in, Pearl!"

The admiral nearly leapt at the call. "Milkfish, is that you?"

The sound of an explosion, followed by the blap-blapping of large arms fire replied before Milkfish even got the chance. "Affirmative. Alamang is down, and they just nabbed the Kujang. Commodore Harta is incapacitated. Repeat, Harta is-"

Well, that could kill morale. He turned off the speaker and equipped his headphones. All his soldiers heard would come from him.




The admiral freed an ear from his headphones and pointed at Irregular Team A. "10.868383, 116.630628. Deck of the BRP Ramon Alcaraz. Your target is a PLA corvette about one nautical mile away, at approximately ten o'clock."

He stood up. His baritone voice was calm and resolute. "Go."
Iker planted his feet outside the auditorium grounds. He was an independent actor once again. The lack of obligations rushed through him; he savored the infinite choice. The crisp air invigorated him. He had twelve hours until the operation commenced, and he might not be alive tomorrow. The notion didn't depress him as much as it piqued his curiosity, as did most concepts he couldn't quite conceptualize. He ought to use this time efficiently.

He peered down the road, both ways. Doubtless morning prayer had concluded, but maybe the great cathedrals remained open. They were not only monuments to Christ but also testaments to ages past. "The church of all times and places" was a phrase for a reason.

His first destination, then, was the Epiphany of Our Lord Parish, a sixteenth-century construction of the colonial Spanish. It was situated across the street from a supermarket and beside a drugstore. It had fortunately showed no scars from the Chinese invasion, perhaps by the grace of God. Thankfully, its doors were unlocked; Iker entered with silence and reverence. The walls were plain, as best he could describe it. He claimed the back pew and seated himself. The room was calm; the worship finished an hour or two ago. The Mexican smiled. He enjoyed the peace presented to him, brief as it was.

A priest noticed and hailed him. "Naparito ka ba para ipagtapat ang iyong mga kasalanan, ginoo?"

Iker knew no Tagalog, and it had been a century since his native language was relevant in these lands. English must suffice. "I have sinned, if you'd like my trespasses confessed. For now, I simply wanted to bask in God's glory."

The father gave him a strange look but settled his countenance. "Your accent... you're not from around here, are you?"

"Is that a concern?"

The man paused, then shook his head. "No, not in the slightest. You're a volunteer soldier, then?"

"That I am."

"Better to end your life forgiven, with a clean slate."

"I understand. I'm prepared to die." The Arms Master got up. "Thank you, sir. Blessings upon you and your house." The quiet was fleeting but precious nonetheless.

Iker crossed the local park, enjoying the greenery en route to the Banaan Museum, a beautiful blocky yellow building. His suffered a tad as he craned his neck to admire the ceiling intricacies between digesting the pieces of artwork on display. Beauty was truly timeless.

After a small bout of walking, he approached the wide Basing River. A lengthy bridge greeted him, but Iker was hesitant to cross it. This landmark was a mite too distant from his lodgings. His eyes surveyed the brown river before him. He retraced his steps and walked along its banks as the pavement would allow, then reached a pier amid a plot of grass and potted plants. He stood on its edge, embracing the wind that blew by him. It would be a good spot for fishing, had he traveled with his pole. Such a quaint garden, wayward from common traffic. What a gem he found. Satisfied, he resolved to return, and embarked on his half-hour journey home.

As he passed by a shop called "Sweet Cravings by Joyce," a frenzied woman with shockingly light hair whisked by, followed by a timid child. He knew those passing faces only in passing. The only ones he knew in this country were those of government employees and those of Arms Masters, and the two were very apparently no clerks.

Among the city ruins were many faces of people with broken lives, blending in the broken city in dull colors, like slowly marching shadows. This one however was the exact opposite, jovially running around in a stroll that almost looked like she was jumping, Nil went shop by shop, visiting each bakery and eating every type of cake or candy she could set her eyes on, with an ice cream in the mix for good measure. Unfortunately there were few shops, between bakeries turned to rubble and people who understandably took the day off. So Nil had to run all over the city in her brisk pace and not at all inconspicuous figure.

Right behind her was Hannie, trying to keep pace with the adult.

The 14-year-old adult of this relationship had expected this to be a better experience. In fairness, last time, Nil didn't know how to buy anything to begin with. Hannie probably shouldn't have told this creature what money was. Right now, all she could do was try to keep up. Nil blazed through every bakery and stall she found and then immediately rushed off with her stupid long legs, leaving Hannie to eat dust, taunted by the thought of tasting anything her babysitter caused to vanish in the past minutes. The question arose: why did she agree to this? Why did Kaitlyn want this? Would it ever end?

She considered using Kirvella. Keeping pace with the adult would be a lot easier if she didn't need to breathe or cool down.

"Walking, walking, walking, an open bakery!" Nil thought. This one she didn't visit before, for certain. While it probably didn't have the lemon-flavoured Potchi she missed, it would probably have something else, maybe better. She slipped in, Hannie turning right behind.

Individuals with such powers, with such... restlessness, should be at least identified. Iker, short as he was, filled the doorway as best he could. "Aren't you folks supposed to be winding down for slumber soon? I'm not certain how sugary delicacies help with that." He bowed gently to the baker. "Good morning. I hope your day's going well."

As Nil approached the entrance, a bearded man blocked her. What's worse, he addressed her with fancy words. Was this what they meant by being cryptic? As Nil tried to decipher what the man said he spoke again, this time with something easier "Yes, day is well," she responded, only after realizing he was talking with the baker.

Getting Nil into a corner at last, Hannie started to think of what she'd say to make this stop when someone else spoke up first. It happened a lot, but it never got easier. Pensive. She had no idea who this man was, but he seemed to have the right idea. "Yeah- Nil, maybe..." she paused for breath, "m-maybe we can go slower?" She'd been running around Lingayen in her coat and all, and now - even worse - she immersed herself in bakery-smell on top of all the rest of the moment's torments. Hannie looked like she might die.

When a voice called from behind, it took a couple seconds for Nil to realize that Hannie was there too. Nil somewhat panicked; she forgot to check if Hannie was okay and now had to speak with this man at the same time. She needed to say something to end one of the two conversations, something smart. "Aa..."

Far from Iker to disrupt a peer from making a mistake; it was simply his duty to inform her of her mistake. The... Scandinavian woman? (oddly, the second he'd encountered this morning) was hopefully competent enough to provide him with reasonable support when the nature of war demanded it. Then again, she seemed so puerile (puellaile?). Perhaps it would always have been the other way around, regardless of fatigue.

Iker swallowed, trying to calculate another approach given the situation. He scanned the foyer. A table and chairs: excellent. "If your day goes well, perhaps we should have a seat, then. Converse about life over some drinks. That's how I prefer to spend my morning." Should give the girl some respite, and he could put anyone to sleep on a good day. He approached the baker. "Something non-alcoholic, please. Three of them."

Fortunately the bearded man saved the situation in time, by offering life and drinks? He was saying a lot of things and Nil's brain was too frozen with too many things to fully comprehend what was going on. Realizing she wasn't saying anything. she decided to follow the man and walk in.

Nil's lack of response was fair; English wasn't Iker's first language, either. He learned it through exposure in Texas, and honed it through study. He couldn't expect such dedication of everyone. Iker searched his pocket for change, catching the baker heading to the coffee machine from his vision's periphery in time. "Non-caffeinated, please. Do you have fruit juice? Smoothie, perhaps?"

The currency set down on the counter at the same time as the drinks. Iker wiped off undesired debris from their would-be eating place. He then took napkins and set the table, not that much regalia was required for a few drinks. He claimed a seat and stood straight in it. He closed his eyes and smiled. Whether he assembled a brief prayer or immersed himself in his personal zen mode was anyone's guess. He opened them and motioned to the drinks he setup. "Two smoothies and a decaf coffee. Pick your preference, please. My treat. Let's participate in life together."

Wow! This situation remained completely outside of Hannie's control! She looked from Nil to Iker and back, then to the three beverages that he ordered them, then to Nil who was head-emptying at a smoothie, and well. They were sitting down for drinks with a strange bearded man now, she guessed.

She waddled over to the table and claimed the window seat on Nil's side. Hannie slouched and tried to assess her smoothie's flavor by eye. Blue and dark. Could this be a metaphor?

The deflated girl looked up at the strange man, cooling her hands on the cup. She said nothing.

Sitting down with a smoothie in front of her, who would expect Nil not to drink it? Nil took a few moments to look at Hannie and make sure she's there. She knew was supposed to do that before and now didn't know if it was a good idea to bring it up with the child.

One thing at a time, strange man first.

Smoothie.

Two things at a time.

Nil had never seen this man: not on the beach, not in the barracks, and not in the briefing. Maybe she should say her name early and he wouldn't walk away like the Vietnamese man. Maybe he would. It was fine either way.

"Me is Nil, this is Stang." she announced, evoking her NA for a few second, then recalling it back. Maybe he also doesn't want to see it, stupid, she thought.

Iker appropriated the remaining coffee and gazed down upon it. Oddly considering his old haunches, he didn't like the taste of it; he'd only ordered coffee for variety's sake. He took a small sip during the introductions and set it down. His obligations were complete; he wouldn't drink it again. "Greetings, Nil. Salutations, Stang. I am Iker Orozco, a volunteer for the current conflict recently arrived from Latin America. I wanted to familiarize myself with the locality. Have either of you been here long?"

"A week," "Stang" offers. She neglected to mention that she'd explored a fair amount in that time. Saying less was easier.

Nil thought for a moment. Iker... Orozco... no, it didn't ring a bell. A volunteer from America? So that's why he was so good with English. "Two, three weeks." Nil stated, remembering the early deployment while setting up defenses. All that and it lasted a few hours.

Iker clasped his hands together. "Very well! So, what are your favorite..." He was going to say "haunches," but Nil might not understand a word that long. He hadn't quite gauged Hannie's full language abilities, but he respected her appreciation of silence. "...places to go? I recently visited the church over yonder. Plain but pretty, and there's a lovely park nearby."

"Candy shop and bakery is good." Nil said, thinking of other good places she had been. Not the auditorium, everyone knew it, not the library, she barely read half a book in there, if they asked about it she would have nothing to really say about it. "The beach was..." she stopped to slurp for a moment, yeah was is correct. "...Good..." Nil returned to drinking the smoothie, hopefully she didn't say anything too out of line there.

"Stang" twiddled with her straw for a bit. If he was on their team, it was probably okay to tell him where she spent her time, but... she should've seen him... talking to strangers... nnnng... "I've... been around the college across the street," she mumbled. If it weren't for the war she'd definitely not be allowed in. She wasn't sure if she was now, either, but it was so pretty... Well, it was prettier before the volcano. (edited)

"College" was an English word that eluded Iker's memory. College. "Colegio"? Made sense; she did look like she was in high school. Nil's diction was expansive as always, though she earned commendations for grammatical improvement. Still, it was ever clearer that neither were conversationalists. Discomfort wasn't his aim, but Arms Masters needed accountability partners, at least a couple, lest they snap and never return. Iker disliked children, but largely for their immaturity and their arrogance. "Stang" possessed neither, so he'd tolerate a conversation with her. He locked eyes with the Australian. "What educational subjects interest you?"

Directly addressed all of a sudden, Stang Hannie had a brief deer-in-headlights look, and hesitated to respond. It looked like this could have been a difficult question. It wasn't. The answer came to her quickly when she remembered how to think. "Mm- math." She took her first sip of the smoothie, with faltering eye contact. Blue raspberry...

Iker nodded. "Math? Wonderful. It'd be interesting to meet an alternate self who'd completed his education." He shrugged. "I suppose it's an impractical thought, though. No sense worrying over it. Regardless, I hope you get as much of a math education as you can manage, with all the success it can bring!" He turned to Nil, hesitant to unleash whatever sent her careening into this bakery. "So what are your thoughts on... the beach?" he guessed.

Nil simply drank the smoothie and stared at the table, she'd rather not elaborate on the topic. Honestly, she had nothing to say anyway.

Despite his generous efforts, his two compatriots were fiercely resisting conversation. His last two queries had produced one word between them. That was satisfactory, perhaps; the right to remain silent was theirs to exercise. Even so, Iker's concern was not yet assuaged. They weren't ready for sleep yet, and would likely resume activity when Iker no longer maintained their attention. Two Arms Masters hurriedly bouncing between locations within war-torn Lingayen was cause for alarm, if only for public nuisance, even absent malicious intent.

Certain places in Lingayen were very obviously off limits, due to damage or simply from common sense. Iker wasn't going to take the recently-energetic Scandinavian to an ice cream parlor, as if she needed any additional sugar before bedtime. Still, a few options remained. "In amenable, um, in good weather such like this, I find a sturdy park bench to be quite relaxing. I can double back to the little park by the cathedral. Shall we head over there, then? I want to make sure you appreciate your last few waking hours." Of course, if he found an intact book store on the way over, poetry might be a useful weapon of slumber.

Nil thoughtlessly finished her smoothie, multiple long conversations in a day wasn't her strong suit. Still, Iker wanted to get out already but had barely touched his drink. That wasn't good, did he forget? "Okay," she said without thinking much, then grabbed Iker's coffee and took a sip. Sour. Now she knew why Iker wasn't drinking it, it was even more disgusting right after drinking the smoothie. With a disgusted face Nil considered chewing on the plastic straw, but didn't as it would take too long to chew.

Hannie relinquished the taste of very cold blue raspberry. She looked from one to the other, quietly prepared to be dragged somewhere new again. Should she have an issue with a random stranger so easily taking command of both of their days? Probably? Not really. It was him or Nil. "I wouldn't mind." That might or might not have been true. She didn't spend long questioning it. Him or Nil.

The phrase "I wouldn't mind," the lesser known sister of "It's fine," had potentially disastrous potential. Iker recalled Hannie's "maybe we can go slower" and factored in the possibility of fatigue. Hannie's facial expressions didn't indicate anything, so Iker chose to, horror of horrors, trust this child. He certainly wouldn't carry her on his shoulders, if she was even light enough for practicality. "Very well. There's a wonderful riverside park, complete with a quaint pier!" Iker made hand motions. "It's ten minutes' walk; you head down that road and turn right before the city supermarket." He stood himself up. "Shall we commence?"

So they followed Iker. They walked on the street, then across a bridge, then beside a small area where buildings alternated with trees. The walk took them by ramshackle construction and through heavy traffic on a busy road. An odd mismatch of modern corporate facilities and local shops, it was quite a pleasant experience for Iker, though he occasionally checked his acquaintances' countenances for any particular reactions. He particularly looked forward to the off-road travel. Here great buildings loomed above him, but past the gas station they'd give way to beautiful greenery alongside the Basing River.

Iker began to worry as he approached an intersection. As if by some cruel joke from the universe, a dozen bakeries lay by the wayside. Cafes. Cake places. Supply stores. This wasn't even to mention the giant supermarket building up ahead. He glanced back at Nil to make sure that she still followed, that he hadn't lost her amidst overwhelming distraction. Who knew how he'd recover them should they pass out of sight.

Nil could usually handle one long conversation, but not now after a mix of yesterday's actions, conversations with Cuong, then Kaitlyn, now Iker, and a run around the city on top of that. Nil slowly reverted to silence; if she was going to be active again, she would need more sugar, or at least the promise of it. (Un)Fortunately for the other two, Nil didn't notice Hannie's still half-full smoothie.

Hannie was no longer a deflated child. She didn't look happy, but neither did she seem like she might die. She followed along, quietly per her usual, paying much more attention to her surroundings than to her leaders.

After a while, they turned into a large street full of cafes and bakeries. As Nil slowly grew aware of her surroundings, she also regained some energy.

Then, turning to her left, she saw them: the lemon-flavoured Potchi.

And there she went. Back in her brisk pace Nil approached the shop owner and simply pointed her finger on the pack of candies right behind the stall.

Hannie didn't immediately notice Nil's detour, instead absorbed in - apparently - one of the handful of cars still parked on the roadside. The city had been getting emptier pretty fast. Precious seconds passed before Hannie looked forward again and noticed a lot less white in front of her. More precious time passed before she recognized the much blander Iker was still there. So she wasn't the one who wandered off. "Um," she said, very softly, stopping to search around. With hindsight, she would probably have told Iker what she noticed.

Had Iker more stress, an expletive would have been appropriate. He was at least perceptive enough to hear the small pip from the child behind him. "Yes, I understand, Stang. Thanks for the heads-up, though!"

Iker parsed the buildings for the Scandinavian Arms Master. His initial search proved unfruitful amidst the colorful scenery and buildings. Iker tapped his foot in thought before directing Hannie. "Stay here, beside the big 'Lingayen' sign. I'll run and check the stores." He could remember the sign; it was a proper landmark. Iker jogged to a building, threw open its entrance, and scanned the area for Nil's presence. Unsuccessful in the attempt, he waved a brief salute to the confused manager.

"Can I help you, sir?"

[color=fff200]"Oh, nothing, merely looking for a [s[child[/s] mild acquaintance. If you see a woman with white hair, send her over to the Lingayen sign, please."[/color] Iker left the door to close on his own as he rushed to the next facility.

Cut to a frightened shop owner trying to appease a silent bright white girl with the equivalent power of a walking tank. Two minutes of weird looks, a failed attempt at verbal communication and a couple nods later. Nil now walked around the market, scouting for her next target. There it lay, 'Sweets from Jor'. Of course she immediately walked in; it was in the name!

Miraculously, on his way to his third establishment, he was able to glimpse Nil at the edge of his periphery, entering a two-story conglomerate building. He glanced back to check if Hannie was still situated at the Lingayen sign, then looked around the establishment. Dentist, drugstore - bakery. Found it. He charged in, tripping on a small ledge at the entrance and landing hands-first on the cement pavement. This was apparently not his day. He rose back to his feet, shook himself off, and brushed his hands off on his pants. He turned the corner to see Nil at the vendor. Though he was too delayed to stop whatever she attempted, he would catch her red-handed in her acts of immaturity.

Hannie sat cross-legged on the ground at her assigned spot, watching the proceedings with vague interest.

Inside the bakery the usual small scene happened. The Scandinavian girl strolled right to the table where cakes were, cutting a few people in line, then looking intensely at the options available and finally pointing to one of them with strawberries on top. "Cake," she managed to say with her recovered forces, expecting the person on the other side to understand and comply, then looking at them with a motionless face.

Cutting in line: a truly reprehensible violation of the moral code. Iker marched up to Nil, raised his hand, and let it fall onto her shoulder. "You ought to wait your turn, you know."

The woman on the other side was lightly confused by the utterance but at least understood the verbiage. "So, do you want a slice, or the full thing?"

Iker interceded. "A sli- wait, give us a moment, please." He looked at Nil's motionless face. "Hey, you can't go barking orders at folks. It's not polite. Why are you getting the cake, anyways?"

Nil considered the last things he said, now with a confused face. Better not ask what exactly he meant by 'barking orders', not in this moment at least. "I... want cake," she murmured, unsure what else needed to be said.

Iker didn't believe that he was going to have to reward an adult with massive cake slice simply for uttering the word "please." Of course, that word wasn't yet guaranteed. He looked at the line, took his hand off Nil's shoulder, and situated himself at the end of the line. It took a minute, but he soon approached the baker again. "May I please have a slice of the strawberry cake, please?" He thought for a moment. "You know, make that two, please."

"You may; that will be 50 pesos," replied the lady, passing awkward glances at Nil.

Iker doled out the proper currency as the woman cut her cake, and the goods were exchanged for cash. Iker obtained two forks (half assuming that Nil wouldn't use it) and brought one slice to Nil. "Repeat after me, please: 'May I please have a slice of cake?'"

Confused and sluggish, Nil stood in place, turning to see Iker's weird behavior. He approached her, went a few steps behind, then slowly approached her back to only then ask for the cake... very weird. Nil found a place to sit down, thinking about what Iker was trying to do. He then asked for her to repeat something... still very weird. "I... please... cake?" she tried to repeat, confused more than before.

Iker would facepalm, or at least pinch the bridge of his nose, had he not held a slice of cake in each hand. "We will discuss matters of manners at a less urgent time." The two ladies must return to barracks and obtain their long-elusive rest. He turned to the baker woman and bowed gently, balancing his purchases as his face fell. "Thank you for the pastries, madam. I hope you have a wonderful morning."

"Thanks, you too!" came the response.

Iker kept the cake in hand. He wasn't one for grudges, but he'd bamboozled himself into buying cake for an Arms Master who neither needed nor deserved it. At the very least, the first bite would go to one more decent. "Come, Nil, let's depart."

Hannie obediently waited by the "Lingayen" sign. What propriety. Iker crossed the street, approached Hannie, and presented her with a plate of strawberry cake. "Thank you for your patience. Please enjoy this token of apology."

And now he had one slice left. He was tempted to eat it himself, leaving Nil to watch dejectedly. No, he had neither the interest, the spite, nor the waistline to perform such a cruel act, even in consequence to discourtesy. He held out his remaining plate to the Scandinavian. "Treat others with decency, Nil."

Hannie took the plate, and looked kind of lost. "Thanks," she said. She looked between the adults, trying to determine what happened between them by sight. There wasn't much to gather while they were inside, either. Hmm. Well, that's enough thinking - she has cake. The people here spoil her. She manifested Kirvella, and ran the softly hissing blade over her slice, visibly frosting it up. She dismissed it before it could say anything to her, and set to work at the cake.

Nil meanwhile was too drowsy and too confused to properly compute what was happening. She followed along and returned to silence, having lost words some time ago and in the recent exchange since.

When offered the slice of cake, Nil took a good two seconds to realize it was actually cake that Iker was carrying, and promptly ate it in two full bites.

Iker took note of Hannie's freezing dagger. It inspired him to consider the use of his own Noble Arm. It wouldn't have any long-lasting repercussions to direct someone to behave, but it might serve as an example. Then again, the healing properties would probably reverse the memory, if the events could be stored in memory. This isn't even to mention the implications of hacking away at a human body in public, even at his own. Its application deemed useless, Iker set the notion aside for later musings.

He peered over the "Lingayen" sign. Here was a secondary park around Lingayen's older constructions. He had been here recently as part of his walk and honestly preferred the more open riverside grounds. Even so: "You know, this establishment is also perfectly serviceable. Would either of you care for a stroll around this facility in lieu of our current destination?"

Hannie replayed that question a few times. This... establishment... uh... serviceable... lieu... um... she swallowed a tiny piece of mostly-frozen strawberry cake and furrowed her brow. "Are we going somewhere else now?" It occurred to her suddenly that Iker called her "Stang" a bit ago. She frowned.

"Why, yes, I suppose," Iker replied. He took three steps into the entrance of Lingayen Park and threw out his arms, smiling. "I am now somewhere else! Let's find a nice bench to seat ourselves, shall we?"

The facility was largely cement and monuments, disrupted occasionally by trees, other greenery, and even a couple ponds. There were a few choice benches available, and Iker chose the furthest seat on the nearest one. He beckoned the both of them to join him. "It's a lovely day today, is it not?"

"Mm..." Hannie looked around, failing to spot anything burned down in the immediate area. "I guess."

She stopped and stared in front of the bench, contemplating how close to the man she wanted to sit for a long time. Eventually, she took a spot immediately next to him, like it wasn't a big deal that she spent multiple seconds thinking about.

Behind them was Nil, who slowly followed. She had no idea where they were going or why, but she knew she had to be near Hannie so she physically followed the other two, but was clearly mentally absent from the conversation. Finally they reached... this place. There wasn't much to this place that Nil considered that special: an open space with a few patches of green and statues dotting the place. Nothing to catch her attention. Nil arrived last at the bench and sat at the end that was still free.

Iker's hands were folded on his lap as he closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh outside air. Honestly, he preferred being alone, and he felt uncomfortable on such a packed bench. Still, he was glad to share his philosophy and worldview with others, to bring rest to weary travelers. On the path he trod, he'd likely never have children of his own. A positive impact on others, however slight, gave his life, his bloodline until now, purpose and meaning. Who knows? Perhaps, some day in the far future, Nil would learn to say "please."

Nonetheless, he was curious to survey his acquaintances. He allocated a few minutes for silence: to hear the birds chirping, the leaves rustling, and the passersby earning their daily bread. He then prompted the question: "Has life treated you well today? Did you enjoy your morning?"

"Mm-hmm," Hannie mumbled, still pecking away at her slice. It was hard to imagine that it lasted this long.

Nil meanwhile remained silent, partly because she was over speaking for day and partly because she was starting to doze off. She at least turned her head while Iker was talking, but whether she actually heard what he said was unclear.

"Good talk, then." Iker returned to silence for a few additional minutes. He did notice that Nil's state was dramatically less energetic than that of her introduction. In fact, she might not make it back to her quarters. Iker pinched his chin in thought. "Stang, when you've concluded with your cake, would you mind if you take one side of Nil, and I take the other? We'll walk her homeward. She ought to sleep in a more comfortable location than this, given tonight's events. You deserve some as well."

Hannie was quiet for a while. She set down her fork and frowned at Iker. "My name is Hannie." She looked to Nil, tapping her on the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

As soon as Nil got calm for a minute her tiredness, both physical and mental, hit her like a truck. She managed to follow Hannie and Iker as they talked, but her mind was not there to be part of the conversation. At one moment she battled to not close her eyes. At the next she was being tapped by Hannie, turning her head to the small child. Nil interpreted that Hannie was asking her something which ends with "okay." She slowly nodded.

Iker smiled gently. "Then let's find our way back home, Hannie." He nodded towards Nil. "And let's bring Nil with us." He took Hannie's word at face value, only later putting two and two together that Nil fed him false information.

He stood up and repositioned to the other side of the bench. He squatted, wrapped one arm around Nil's back, and stood upright, bringing Nil to her feet. He still maintained enough energy and strength for this final act. "Come along, now. It's thirty minutes' walk back to our quarters."

Hannie hupped. Travel commenced.

And the gang found its way home.

FIN
The printer made rhythmic humming as it painted ink onto the newborn document. A female ripped it off the tray as soon as it completed, trotting it over to her superior. "The Royal Thai Navy reports, sir."

He was fixated on a monitor. He twitched as his secretary announced the incoming item. His left hand waited patiently to receive it. His right acquired spectacles from his shirt pocket. He crossed his legs and skimmed the report like he would the dailies at the grocery store. The product for sale was hours on the clock, and a slight distraction. The cost was four destroyers, seven frigates, and twelve corvettes. Outrageous prices, but not unusual in this economy.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. The office light focused through the lenses of his glasses, and he squinted. He stowed his spectacles and returned to analyzing the screen, where a teenager took questions and doled answers beside a projector in front of an audience. The man spoke in a low, calm voice. "Have we finalized preparations with the Air Force yet?"

"They authorized the releases. We are go for 1800."

"Excellent." The Hukbong Himpapawid dragged their feet so flippantly that he could promise only Lotus Squadron for support as late as yesterday. Understandable, of course; jet fighters were a valuable resource. Still, Noel had tact for a teenager in keeping some cards close to the chest. He wished some of that tact was displayed here:

Nevertheless, as he looked towards the back of the stage, theatrically gesturing in their newcomer, he would not mince words as he spoke, "Members of Task Force Obsidian, let me introduce to you Special Agent Myron Makaraig, former normal person, former normal person terrorist, and murderer of Arms Masters through backstabs, poison, and overall treachery before growing a Noble Arm himself and applying for amnesty."

"Greetings. My name is Myron Makaraig, a former member of the Disablers; we claimed to stand for normal people against Arms Master supremacy, and I used my cute looks to lure Arms Masters in all protective so that they can be shot, stabbed, or even blown up - I can resume doing so at any time as long as I stay handsome."


He closed his eyes. He didn't think he'd have to prep the new recruits and introductions himself, but he stood corrected. The ex-Disabler was increasingly essential to the operation; the discomfort he instilled throughout the ranks would need to be ironed out. Apparently total war was perfectly within the boundaries of sanity but a defected terrorist was not. No matter; everything remained reasonably calm.

And then Noel snapped.

He visibly cringed and said, "Listen, we know when we can afford to be loose-lipped with valuable information and when we can't. With all due respect, I don't think you know the same - What happens if I order you to accept the Seven Virtues' offer? I'm not going to do so, but have you ever thought what would happen if I was the sort of person to do that?! And please don't reveal the name of the one who invented the Occult Programming Language, which is the source of Noble Arms and other forms of Magitech, to us all - Not that it isn't too late now!"

He sighed, "Change of plans. Myron, convert as many of us as you can into data - We're going to the Spratlys now before any spies realize they got a larger windfall than they already expected to have..."


He stood up in tandem with the audience. Noel had singlehandedly instigated both an insubordination and a full-on revolt among children with superpowers. While they were stunned by their own shock, his propelled him to action. He fetched his Glock 17, tied its holster around his waist, and only partially concealed it with his suit coat. Of course, a firearm was perfectly useless against (he counted on the screen) two, three, roughly a third of the Masters there. The handgun didn't need to be dangerous; it simply had to feel dangerous. Most folks are taught to fear guns and ammunition; it carried authority's weight. He planned to leverage that weight deftly.

Meanwhile, the man addressed his counterpart. "Jasmine, I'm interceding. Watch that screen. If something should happen to me, signal the President. Tell him that I want a perimeter around this facility and, that failing, an air strike. Understood?"

"Yessir."

He collected his hat and egressed without an additional word, carefully organizing his thoughts into words and sentences. He couldn't tell what chaotic questions and challenges currently flung across that room, but he needed to prepare for anything.

------------

Iker blinked a couple times after his specific assistance was requested for theorizing contingencies. It was unusual to ascend to central planning so quickly after volunteering. Then again, his company was young, to the point of childhood. Maybe it was natural to consider outside help. He specifically wondered whether the Chinese would employ submarine wolf packs. If that was the case, their most deadly threat came not from above but from below. He was about to address this possibility, but a number of dissidents voiced their concerns first. He remained seated and silent. He wouldn't let his volunteerism be confused for solidarity, and his opinion would otherwise fall on deaf ears. On the subject matter, he personally could jump into action immediately, but it was the right of the weary to desire rest.

Once everyone had spoken their piece, he ascended and began to talk. "From my experience, a straight shot is difficult in a rough wind unless you fire into it." He pressed his fist into his palm. "Upon encountering Chinese resistance, are we expected to fight them head-on, or get out of there as expediently as possible? Do we-"

The entrance swung open; Iker sat down. A gentleman marched in, wearing a bright white uniform that appeared to shine in such a dimly lit environment. He bore a wide nose and slightly wider lips. His dark brown eyes were hidden by his cap. Perhaps that was for the best, given how much fire a single glance spewed. He smiled briefly at his presenters. "I'll take it from here for the moment. Thank you."

He about-faced and addressed the crowd. "Good morning. I am Rear Admiral Adrián Abasolo. Among other things, this operation is my responsibility.

"We work a tight schedule, but twelve hours' respite is reserved for you presently. When this meeting is concluded, please use it accordingly. You will not have this luxury once the mission commences. I recommend eight hours of sleep.

"Even if that was not the case, the vocal dissent will be kept to a minimum. It is a tenet of war that we cannot choose the time and manner of our engagements, or our allies. Our key to winning the naval battle in the South China Sea has placed itself under severe threat. We make do. We have just received word from the Thai fleet. If you'd like to see how well we'd fare without this key, I can show you the numbers.

"Our window allows a day before Mischief Reef's blockade will be completely impenetrable. My fleet and the aircraft that protect it are on standby as we speak, delayed exclusively for your chance to rest.

"This opportunity will not present itself again. If we elect not to take it, we will be playing defense for a decade until China loses interest and this conflict concludes. And so, I am willing to send Masters into battle, whatever their state of readiness may be. I will work with this reformed terrorist, as untrustworthy and unsightly as he appears to you. We are not NATO; we don't have the luxury of extra options and resources to spare. We are ASEAN. If we are to withstand the PLA, full support is mandatory. I have chosen your coordinator. If he cannot bring you in line, I will fetch someone who will. If you will not abide Myron's teleportation powers, then the last scouts cast off in an hour.

"If you have issues with the current situation, send it to me, privately, in writing. I will handle it. If you stage an insurrection, you will be escorted off the premises. Powers or no, you stand in defense of our coalition. Which means you are under my command. I expect you to behave accordingly."


He exhaled out his nose and scanned the room. Iker raised his hand. "I'd be willing to join the scout ships, if you desire me there."

The admiral nodded. "Let's discuss later. Everyone else: spend an hour to fraternize. Then get yourselves sleep. I'll see you at 1800. Dismissed."

The admiral pulled Noel aside while the others were distracted and spoke quietly, with a firm hand on Noel's shoulder. "You especially. You have potential, but you cannot lose your nerve in an active combat situation. I can't replace you with the operation so nearly underway. You're going to have to tough it out. Can you do that for me?"

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