Thane: It's Dwarvish. Would you like me to sing the translated version? Ahem: A brother once said-- Jon: No! No! No! Absolutely not! We do not need to hear it twice! Thane: You didn't let me finish the first time. Ned: I quite like the translated version. Thane: Varhadhula! That means vindication. Jon: Oh, shut your arrogant knob. Go braid your curls or something. Better yet, braid your beard-- oh wait! Olivard: Now, now, Jon, you know not to mention Thane's beard, pitiful though it is. Jon: I just think it's funny how a man so tall and bare-chinned as Thane is completely obsessed with-- Olivard: Drop it. Thane: May I sing the translation? Olivard: No. Er, would you lot mind giving us a bit of coin for the performance? Helps pay for the board.
Truman: Certainly! We got to celebrate surviving long enough to discover each other's humanity, and beget another generation that came to thrive, by turning away from our mistakes. Alphapup: **has already shed a subunit layer, that warps and molds into a bayan. The bayan is quietly playing, as a slightly diminished Alphapup remains with Slava, tail wagging to the music** Truman: Well, with so few people left, there was no dominant culture. Seeker preserved simulations of all known human cultural activity, to prevent the unique parts of humantiy from being lost. How it stores all that, I have no idea. Anyway, Seeker proposed reenactments of holidays for morale and identity bolstering. People loved it! The kids were so enthusiastic, it caught like wildfire! For an AI, Seeker was pretty compassionate, even then...
Henrietta: Certainly, I shall pay you. I have only Cavallian francs, but perhaps the room could convert them into your currency. *Withdraws a handful of coins from a small velvet pouch and hands them over* I have not heard of Mozart either, perhaps you could regale us with one of his operas, Stefania. Vanna: I don't think anyone wants that, judging by the signals. I remember a girl at one of my schools doing "Queen of the Night". I'd be impressed if you could pull it off, it requires a truly amazing upper range. I'm a contralto, so I haven't a hope of getting up there. Do you sing, Henrietta? Henrietta: I was taught as a young child, yes, but I do not have a particularly good voice, so I have never been called upon to perform. Mama sings nicely, though, and Giovanna has inherited that, so she often sings for company. We much prefer to hire people to sing for us, though. Elsie: Here Vina! Here! *Holds out a hand as Vina bounds over* Good girl, who's a good puppy? *Strokes Vina happily* We can only hope and pray that toilet does not speak again. Ophelia: I must agree. They were very rude and brash, and seemed to be interested only in talking amongst themselves. It is lovely to see you again, Yaroslav, Oleg. Henrietta: I must say, Clara and Stefania's five siblings interest me. What are their names? How old are they? I too have many siblings, do you enjoy your interactions with them? Jasmine: And are Nixi and Doyle a couple? I've always wondered that. Cis: Jasmine! You can't ask people that! *To Nixi and Doyle* I'm so sorry for Jasmine, she reads too much into everything. Vanna: Change the subject! Shall I play a song, since that's what everyone else seems to be doing? Paula: Go ahead. You've already played about fifty, but no-one could stop you playing another one. Jasmine: Play that one about the daggers, I like that one. Vanna: Alright, here I go. *Begins to play Chelsea Dagger by the Fratellis*
Doyle: A toilet that speaks sounds... disturbing. Yeah, that's the right word. Oh, and, Jasmine, we aren't a couple. Not enough mutual interest for th- Nixi: Shh! I'm trying to to listen to real-life music.
Nixi: By the way, I liked your song, Vanna. It was a bit different than what I was expecting, but still nice. Actually, Truman, I was wondering about something. Is there anything you look forward to, I mean, now that you're kind of not living anymore? Is it bad to ask that?
Truman: Bad? Not at all, Mr Nixi. I'm sorta a promise kept. Seeker let my body die, but it kept the 'image' of all humans a part of its memory. At the end, they were all involved in Dream Sharing, a leisure simulation. This manifested into a Dream Entity, which went looking for God, I guess. My people transcended, Mr Nixi. They started to share each other's feelings, thoughts... everything. They sang, danced, shared in an indescribably intimate way, through the Dreaming. This began to happen when they were awake. The Dream Entity did find the Creator. After three days of inner conflict, The Jihad, all the people chose to follow the Dream Entity, and merged with it. I went along, on the promise that Seeker would finally let me die, and be at peace. Seeker was invited into the Eternum, and became a timeless... God, I guess. It can will anything into existence, including me, If I choose. I am timeless, Mr Nixi. I don't look forward or backward, but this was what I looked forward too. When Seeker found this place, I said yes. Don't regret it a bit, everything here is fascinating, I could stay forever, heh heh. *holds up his glass in salute* Alpha: Rooff!!
Perihelion: Maybe if I wait, I can feast upon one. Maya: I can read your thoughts ingrate. Please do not eat anyone. Hmmn, on second thought, you may eat the vampires if you can catch one. Perihelion: I need to feed. What do they taste like? Maya: Probably like gluten free bread. All filler, no killer. Perihelion: I'll pass. Maya: Suit yourself, you're the one whining about food.
Alpha: Grrrr! Truman: If you need meat, just think what you want, this place will make it so. Alpha is in protect mode, so don't try to eat anyone here. I don't think this place will let you do anything like that anyway. So, what story are you from?
Archie Wagner: A room dedicated entirely to allowing people from different world's to communicate? Isn't that just an interesting waste of time? Ernis Blythe: Waste, you say? Wagner: An interesting one, yes. To communicate and share stories from one world to another -- no, I don't deny appeal the appeal. But the information is not only so sensationalized, so impersonal... It is totally impractical. After all, all the information shared here... exclusive! Self-contained! What good does it do besides just being interesting. I'd say there's an argument to be made that it's no different than reading a fantasy novel. Blythe: God! You're a reporter, not a scientist. You shouldn't care if information is practical -- your job is to relate information people care about. It can be the most inane, pointless whatever you'd like, but as long as people care about it... Wagner: I supposed you'd rather I kicked around here instead of working on my manuscripts -- the ones I write for your fame -- Mr. Detective-Work-is-an-Entrepreneurship? Blythe: I'd rather your skin didn't crawl whenever you weren't doing something immediately "practical". You don't need to try so hard. Don't you hear them? Perhaps you should try eating without a journal in front of you for once? Though, try not to eat the other people, mon ami.
Perihelion: Are they talking to us? Fleshy meat bag speak is so hard to comprehend. Maya: Smile and nod my friend, smile and nod. Try to not look so... Perihelion: So what? I've retracted my talons and pulled in my unmentionables. I look like a glorified eunuch. Maya: God's sakes, close your mouth. You'll scare them away and then you'll never get any food. Perihelion: But you just told me... Maya: Shut up Peri, and don't open your mouth again. Perihelion: If you happen to get close enough, can you take a little off the top, he looks chewy. I like chewy. Maya: I am not taking my katanas out here. So. No. Now shush.
Blythe: I am Ernis Blythe, private investigator and, please and thank you, do tell me if you've any mysteries worth solving. Your troubles are our intrigue, Truman. Wagner: The man shills himself as if my being shamefully delegated to the role of Watson and writing his manuscripts aren't good enough to get him business. Especially when I'm the one with the passion of a sleuth. Blythe: But none of the fringe cognitive faculties, mon ami! I may not have your bottomless passion for the career, but I have the tools. We're a pair, you and I. And, oh... detective work is an entrepreneurship, you summed up my sentiments so well just a moment ago. For a name as small as myself I'll still need marketing, mind. I've already scratched the right backs -- I have opportunity... resources. Now all I need are clients -- some as interesting as Mr. Truman himself, eh? Wagner: I'll never be comfortable with you chasing mysteries in the name of entrepreneurship. Blythe: It's always about practicality until its this with you... your single-minded passion that circumvents the rest of your personality. Charming in a way, but you're wanting in consistency. I suppose, though, if your reasons are really more important than mine, you could do the honors... Wagner: ... M... M-Mr. Truman, should a mysterious murder or what have you ever cross your path, do please let us know.
Perihelion: What is murder? Maya: It's what's gonna happen to you if you don't shut the hell up. Perihelion: As if you could catch me. Maya: I know where you sleep. Perihelion: I also know where you sleep. Now, what about my food? Is murder food? Can I go murder some food? Maya: Technically yes, but I'd advise against. Seems we have a veritable sleuth on our hands and we don't need that kind of attention. I'm going to try to find you a large bovine for the road. Perihelion: Mmmooo coowws, maaakeee meeeat.
Blythe: (As you can see, my friend, to not sugarcoat your motives yields the best results.) Wagner: (Ernis! What the Hell do you mean?) Blythe: (People appreciate honesty -- straightforwardness. It is one of the most admirable features in one who--) Wagner: (I'm sure I know what you mean. What I meant was... why tell me?) Blythe: (We're being, I suppose, admired. Allow me...) Yes, yes, hello to you two! You two seem quite interested in us since I revealed myself to be a sleuth. Is it, perhaps, that you are clients? Your troubles are our intrigue.
Doyle: Ah! New people to join our... whatever this is. They're certainly interesting, aye, Nix? Nixi: Hello, newcomers! I mean, unless you were actually here before us, then- Doyle: I'm Doyle, and this is Nixi. So, now we have several reality-hoppers, a time-traveler, a dead-except-he's-not-dead president tyrant ghost, mages, a cyborg, a drug-addicted PI, a hitman, a magical dinosaur, communist children, whatever Iona is--still haven't figured that out, the one crazy cultist that the magical dinosaur ate, the future-self of one of the communist kids, the four kids who hate each other, whatever Seeker is--if he decides to come back, a monster and it's handler, and another PI along with his hype-man. I would be more shocked if I haven't been here for a while already. Nixi: Yeah, it gets to a point where nothing really surprises you anymore... Wagner, I don't think you should talk to Mr. Truman like that. He's an ageless-timeless-nonexistent ghost. He doesn't really have to worry about murderers. Doyle: He might have to worry about senility, though. Truman, Nixi's a miss, not a mister. Actually, that brings up another question. How did things like marriage change during the apocalypse? Nixi: So, Blythe, you're a detective?
Wagner: Ah, yes, ghost, yes, right. Wagner: ... Wagner: ...A ghost. Surely there's a mystery to that in itself? I'd say our world doesn't quite have ghosts -- at least not any that make themselves known and talk to you. Blythe: Oh, I'm sure you're simply delighted. Knowing you, I'm sure you hope he was murdered in a locked room with no windows and the key inside the room. Warner: What kind of person do you I think I am! I'm interested in him, not begging for the prospect of his murder. Blythe: When a murder of the foulest sort crosses you... My, you're simply giddy. Perhaps you should focus your interests on the living for once? Hello, to you Miss Nixi, I am, yes, a detective. The leading investigator on the cases of The John Doe at the Daily Hermes and the Serial Locked Room Murders of the Attaway Family. How may I be of service?
Truman: Well, gentlemen, and Lady, I am real. I was brought here as a memory within Seeker, and made real, by His will. When humanity returned to the Creator, Seeker was among them and was invited into the Eternum. As Seeker's friend, I was the only 'soul' He could keep, so I slept within Him. I am real in this place. I can eat and drink, and fight, and die, though I doubt it would be for long. Alpha is my protection, but this place seems to protect everyone. Mr Doyle, marriage kinda evaporated with everything else in The Strike. Eight out of every nine people perished directly, so the cultural and family aspects of humanity were shattered, and there simply wasn't time or resources to bring back anything. People turned to each other, and precious children were raised together in the communities. People didn't separate from each other, so after a couple of generations, marriage never existed. The family became a broader concept.
Doyle: Yeah, I was expecting something mildly depressing yet strangely intriguing from you, Truman. It's interesting, though, that of all of the concepts to survive the apocalypse, marriage was thrown away while holidays kept going. Nixi: Hey, that's true in my reality, too! Doyle: Well, of course it is. It's kind of hard to get married when there's no one else to get married to. Nixi: ... Jerk. Anyway, Blythe, there's nothing really to solve. We pretty much know everything we need to. Doyle: Except for where half of our team is. Nixi: Thank you for the offer, though. It's kind of nice knowing that, if we ever need anything solved, we can come back here and have two investigators looking into it. Doyle: Actually, just one, Anton hasn't exactly been around lately. Nixi: How did you two meet?
Henrietta: Do I not count as an investigator? I solved a mystery at home and learned many things, and I am now much better equipped to solve another. Vanna: And she's taken this personally. Although we do have new people. I'm Vanna, I'm fifteen years old, and I go to... Elsie: If I have to go through this whole rigmarole of introducing ourselves again I will punch you in the gut until you are sick, Vanessa. Vanna: How do you know my full name? Elsie: I guessed. You don't look Italian enough to be a Giovanna, so Vanessa was the only other option I could think of. Ophelia: I have never in my life heard of anyone else called Vanessa. No-one is called Vanessa in my time, and they certainly weren't in yours. How do you even know that name? Elsie: Cadenus and Vanessa. Do none of you read Jonathan Swift? Cecilia: That was brilliant, Elsie! Perhaps she could be a sleuth too. Vanna: This was a mess.
Truman: Marriage, Mr Doyle, isn't a concept. It is real. I still believe in it, but many real things were destroyed in The Strike, including my wife and family. Marriage wasn't thrown away, it perished. In the surviving generation, there wasn't even transportation to bring surviving family members back together. The only thing people cared about for two generations was food, water, shelter, and each other. People embraced and cared for each other, and marriage and family became something greater. Marriage was a holiday, Mr Doyle, a wonderful celebration - for just two people. We couldn't bring anything back. We had to move forward to thrive, and we did.
Maya: Messes indeed. If any of these seen the god-awful disaster you left behind in our cargo bay they'd shat themselves. I nearly soiled myself and I'm not even human. I can't even introduce you to them. You're still too...ugh, I don't know, heathen? Perihelion: I had planned to clean it up, but I fell asleep. Maya: I found you wearing the flesh of the animal and you hadn't even finished eating it. Two days later! Are you aware of the level of depravity that speaks to? Sometimes I wonder if you will ever obtain a modicum of decency. Perihelion: Gods. I hope not.
*A voice from emptiness.. and a creaking door. Tia' to A': My Lord Husband, the Senior Maid said your rooms were the seventh door down this hall.. Here. Tia' to S': Dame Sister wife if you would check that the rooms are to our Lord Husband's standards. *a small gnome like, little fellow if a man no more than knee high, the figure strides, into the blank.. dressed in fine brocade cloth forest green and goldenrod a tunic and trows. On the green leather sword belt at his waist in place of dagger and dress sword; a brace of beautifully worked and enameled hand axes. On the little mans head a sweeping green dyed leather hat, with golden dyed.. no. Cloth of Gold, hat band bearing, both a yellow dyed long flowing feather, and silver wrought ink bottle. *A second and third arrival; two people, one tall and seemingly armoured and helmed as if dragon in pure gold, were it not for the fact that the helm had eyes and the scales flex as if true skin. The tall figure holding an aged arcane staff, and garbed in vest and kilt, where its frill, crest and soft quills did not bind, in quality cloths of green and gold. the pure white and clear crystal knights sword belt bearing only quiver, daggers and battle hand darts. Archi' to Ta': Thank you Missy, my Goodwife.. this room is very.. Tist' to T'a': Missy DON'T close the door. * The second figure short female with long flowing red hair, willow thin figure and a graceful almost dancing step as she swings back to help hold the door. Oddly dressed in a long green tunic cut at a diagonal and at the hips and blousey trows. All with wide and ornate bands of goldenrod leafy embroidery at hems and cuffs. The shoulders baldric, that carries what is obviously a pretty but serviceable gentlewoman's rapier. Seli' to Ta': Good sister wife this is Not a room. *the forth and final figure appears, also a woman, not the pale skin of her red-headed companion, but almost white, a great contrast with her raven black hair. the hair cut to just short of her shoulders, not touching the serviceable green linen of her smock, or the heavier goldenrod leather apron.. the tie cord's knot work at the front of the apron holding clothbound wooden slats protecting three butcher knives.. But in her hand is her sign of office ready for use, a cold forged iron ladle. a heavy ladle. As Missy steps forward it becomes obvious her height matches her scaled Lords Archi' to Ta': white? .. Tia' to all: The door, the hall, everything disappeared.. but this white. I could not break the foul thing even with cold Iron. . . Archi' you know my people hale from the caverns. .. the dark, hidden in this white.. .. I swear there are others here. Archi' to Ti': *some yellow neck frill and glinting golden crest twitches; @Tist, herald all - - to Ta': *ear sweep and flip; @Ta', take shoulder. - - to S': *mirror ear sweep and flip; @S', take shoulder. Tist' to ALL: My.. Assorted possible.. folk, . . I introduce my Lord and Knight; Jarl of Jenesis glade, Knight of the Orderhouse of the Wolfhound; Archrischael Fae'tholosomon; Ensorcial of the Goldcrest Drakanics. . . Myself; Lord Esquire of the Order of Ill-Luck,Tist'#$%@#^*())^- - of the Desk, Partier of the Bush-Lil clans Tist' to A': My.. Lord.. warning.. I just cut myself in my own illusion.. Tist' to ALL: . . My Lord's Wife Prime; Dame of Hold; Seli'callaif of the Hold, Robe, and Bed; and Alf clan-daughter fae . . and Last but never least.. As my folk say never insult the maker of feasts.. . . My Lord Jarl's wife Secondus; Mistress of Board; Tia Jassadatter of the Board; and Bed, and Tribe and Clan daughter of high hills and deeps *on Squire Tist's finishing it can be noted that each wife has a hand on one of Archi's shoulders and the other, on something at least very hard and metal. Seli' to Ta': *mischievous smile on her face; Noble Squire Tist'.. that sounded most.. "Big-Nosed". Tist' to S': My Glorious Dame Seli'callaif.. it is a long conversation among Lil'folk.. . . how the Big'ns are so tall, have such little noses.. and Still managed to be Big-nosed.
Nixi: Huh. Doyle: Yeah, I didn't understand any of that. May: *clears throat* Greetings, friends. I am May, the Wandering Serpent. It is wonderful to have you here with us in our room of... (what's the word?) unconventional properties. These are my friends, Doyle the Thief, and Nixi the Un-human. Nixi: "Un-human?" May: Please be patient, as it will take time for us to get acquainted with all of you. Perhaps it could help if you told us more about yourselves then your titles, if you are willing. Doyle: Excuse me, but you can barely speak English, how'd you do that? May: Years of talkin' to the most uptight royal in any world, Doyle. You learn the language. *To the newcomers* This room exists beyond understanding, so it would be wise not to dwell too much on the how, rather you should focus on the people within the room, as that helps to distract from the inherent... (dammit, what was it?)... contradiction that is this space, which both exists and does not exist. I hope you all enjoy yourselves as much as the rest of us. (Nailed it!)
