Departure.

[azumods]

INCIDENT. The weekend starts off...loudly. The commotion is coming from the direction of the Galactic Warehouse on the northern side of town, fairly late into the morning; given how quiet and peaceful (for better or worse) the city tends to be, it's unbelievably noticeable when something is going awry. Even more so when it sounds like something may have quite simply exploded. You might want to see what's going on there, in other words. Arriving to the scene to check it out will reveal a standoff occurring between the buildings and warehouses of the compound; on one side of the lot stands Cynthia, proud and tall, long blonde hair flowing down her back and a large, rather intimidating Pokémon at her side; it's worth noting that the Pokémon, too, doesn't seem to be suffering from the same sense of apathy as everyone and everything else that you've seen - its gaze is alert, and the sound it offers is loud and harsh, a bellowing roar from an aggressive, hunched-forward stance, aimed at anyone who might consider coming near its trainer. And there are a fair amount of people to consider potential threats, standing near the building. Most of them seem to be dressed the same way you were when you first arrived; there's a decent number of them, maybe ten or so, all just as blank-eyed as ever. However, there's someone else with them, a young man who can't be much older than his early twenties standing in front of them with his arm out to the side as though instructing them to stay back, one of those red-and-white capsules (Pokéball, those of you who have done your research should know what it's called by now, he's got a Pokéball with him) clutched firmly in his other hand. There are two things that are likely immediately obvious about this man - one being that he looks completely different from the other members of Team Galactic that you've seen, which probably means something important. The other is that judging from his actions and the intense look in his eyes, he's just as alert and emotionally intact as Cynthia is. She doesn't seem fazed by him, however; if anything, her voice sounds bright when she addresses him, reaching out to pat her Garchomp's neck affectionately as she does so. "Commander Saturn!" She sounds downright cheerful, really. "Have we reached an agreement or not?" The more astute among you will likely notice that the area around them is looking...rough, covered in scorch marks and still-unsettled dust. The man - Saturn, apparently - just glares at her for a long moment before he responds, though his gaze isn't steady; he pauses for a moment to make direct eye contact with the lot of you, obviously acknowledging your presence, before he glances back at the grunts as though to make sure they're staying back and away from the conflict. Eventually he'll speak, though, and his voice is surprisingly low in pitch and smooth in timbre; outwardly it seems calm enough, but it's difficult to ignore the way it's brimming with something somewhere between anger and contempt, especially given how blank the others are by contrast. "Just the one warehouse, isn't it?" "That's right," Cynthia replies, offering him a smile that's edged with something sharp. "Just the one." Saturn pauses. Glances back again. It's clear that the grunts behind him are his charges, in one way or another; he keeps checking on them. After a moment, though, he'll throw a key card across the way, sending it clattering to her feet; she bends down gracefully and picks it up, toying with it between her fingers. "Thanks, sweetheart," she says evenly; Saturn just clicks his tongue agitatedly and turns to leave, issuing orders to his grunts as he goes. Oddly enough, despite the tension, he seems to have no qualms about giving her his back, and she doesn't move to attack him. "Fall back, and defend the main building if necessary. If there's trouble, report directly to me. Immediately." Cynthia watches them go, still toying with the key card between her fingers; it's then that she notices the rest of you. "Oh, this is wonderful, I was just about to come get you." When she smiles at you, the expression is far more genuine, far less hard. "I've got something for you." The warehouse the key card opens up is comparatively sparsely-used; there are boxes and the like scattered everywhere, but perhaps more important is what's inside them - namely, an outfit you'll notice as belonging specifically to you, as well as a personal item you'll recognize. "You shouldn't stay here," Cynthia says. "I'll stay in town long enough to ensure that he doesn't decide to give you any trouble, but it's in your best interests to leave. Take the southern exit out onto the route, and make your way toward Lake Valor; if you run into him or anyone like him, don't engage. He folded easily enough today, but chances are he won't go lightly on you. As much as I hate to say it, as you are now, he will defeat you. "So stay out of his way, and try to stay out of trouble, all right? Take care of yourselves, and stay safe." [OOC: Welcome to the end of Week 1! In the boxes you've been granted access to, you'll find one canon outfit belonging to your character, as well as one of your submitted material regains, whichever you decide that one regain to be! The one stipulation is that it's probably something small this time. If your character is the sort to ignore the commotion going on, Cynthia will find them and tell them to get their stuff, and give the same general advice before leaving them be - get your stuff and get out of town, it isn't safe to stay here. No NPC response will be given to this post, though you can thread here amongst yourselves if you wish; we'll see you tomorrow at noon with a new log for your further adventures!]

Comments

[heritrix]

[Rin winces a bit, and not even with humor. It's reflexive, and uncomfortable.]

Sounds a lot like the Greek pantheon. Actually, the Christian God isn't so different, either. "Impossibly high standards" is one way to put it, but "petty" works even better.

[eudaimonikos]

It’s both. Did you know all French people are automatically doomed? And all Floridians, buuuut...

[He makes a sort of hand-wavy gesture that seems to imply that maybe Florida deserves it.]

[heritrix]

[I mean, who could argue with that.]

No, that's news to me. What about Germany? If it's barred too, heaven might be a serious letdown when it comes to baked goods. Bread is a staple.

[eudaimonikos]

Oh, no, Germany's alright. No worse off than any other country, at least, I imagine there's a few Germans up there. Although I doubt they need to make their own bread.

Honestly, I have no idea what those people do with their time.

[heritrix]

[Her voice is sing-song.]

Then you don't know they aren't making bread.

[eudaimonikos]

Who makes bread when you can just ask a Janet to create bread from nothingness?

[heritrix]

[> looks at Michael
> looks at his (back then) Purrloin]

I'm not even going to ask.

[eudaimonikos]

That's Cat Janet. Completely different from a Good or Bad Janet, they're artificial assistants that help maintain afterlife environments. Can create whatever you want, and also contain all the knowledge in the universe.

[...]

Cat Janet's a cat.