#this could be a fun sitrep

[albatross-lancer]

Has there ever been anyone dumb enough to bait you guys into a trap with a fake distress call? If so, how vicious was their beating?

This is a question I can't speak to from personal experience as I'm still in training, but looking at old mission reports, it has been attempted a few times. Suffice it to say that this is not actually a very effective tactic, and generally does not end well for the people trying it. There are a number of reasons why it doesn't work very well:

We receive and respond to a lot of distress calls, so we have a pretty good idea of what a real distress call looks like. We won't ignore a distress call just because it seems suspicious, but if we think it may be a trap or at least misleading, we'll prepare different deployments and tactics.

Albatross pilots (ships and chassis) are already trained to engage the moment we stop travelling at nearlight, so even if we were completely fooled, we still aren't caught off guard.

The nature of nearlight travel means that any ambushers have little to no warning of when we actually arrive, whereas we know exactly when we will arrive.

[moody-alcoholic]

This but things go wrong

CW: stalking behaviour, overprotective 141, fluff, alcohol.

___

“See her coming out now.” Ghost says over the radio.

“Afirm.” Soap’s voice comes back almost instantly. Ghost watches as you stumble over the pavement, pulling your jacket over your shoulders. It’s almost 3am, and most clubs are closing. The friend you came out with left an hour ago. Now you’re alone, drunk, swaying through the streets of London on a busy Saturday night.

“Watch your distance Soap, no need to spook her.” Price says.

“Copy.” Soap says as he weaves his way through the crowd of clubbers spilling out of the various nightclubs and bars. He keeps his head low, making sure to keep a safe distance from you. They’re not going to lose sight of you though. That’s what Ghost is for.

He slips between the crowds on the other side of the street, slipping into the shadows every opportunity he gets.

“She’ll take the next right. Don’t lose her.” Price says as you pick up your pace slightly. He’ll be driving to the next location, ready to pick you up at a moment's notice. You pull your phone out, typing while you struggle to keep your balance. Ghost lost track of how many drinks you had.

It was a celebration after all, your friend getting a big promotion, she took you to one of the fanciest bars in the city. Even though she left early you still seemed to be having fun, helping yourself to another drink before finally deciding to call it a night.

The streets off the main road are darker, quieter. Less room for error.

Ghost watches as Soap gets slowed down by a group of girls cat-calling him. He plays it off in that annoying way that makes Ghost feel possessive of him. Hie eyes linger on the hen party fussing around him, gritting his teeth as Soap pushes through them.

Ghost looks back to were you were. Shit. He’s lost visual.

“Ghost?” Soap’s voice comes through, concerned.

“Lost visual Soap. Keep walking I’ll push ahead.” Ghost says picking up his pace to make it to the next corner.

“You lost her?” Price’s voice comes through. “Need me to move?”

“Stand-by.” Ghost says. He’s holding his breath as he jogs up the street, when he turns the corner his stomach drops. Fuck. He still can’t see you. The street is quiet though.

“Soap, double time, need you to check your side of the street.”

“Copy.” Soap says, Ghost waits until Soap makes it to the top of the street. They move together in sync checking each alley way, each garden, every nook and cranny.

“Sitrep Ghost.” Price asks after a few minutes of silence. Ghost sighs before replying, swallowing the lump in his throat. He opens his mouth to reply but he doesn’t get time.

“I see her.” He breathes out a breath of relief, it doesn’t last long.

“Got two guys on her.”

Ghost’s steps pick up, he spots you leaning against a stranger, you’re swaying in the street. He hears you laugh as the second man’s arm wraps round your waist.

“Price, get to the next rendezvous. Well bring her to you.” Ghost says already crossing the street. “Soap get her attention. I’ll deal with the guys.”

“Need me to call Gaz?” Price asks.

“Negative, we’ve got this.” Ghost says as Soap calls out for you. You turn in the strangers arms, your face lights up when you see him.

“Johnny!” You call reaching out for him. The stranger keeps his grip on you, it makes Soap’s stomach turn. “What are you doing here?”

You’re unsteady on your feet trying to pull yourself off the man his friend looks around. The street is dark, there are no streetlamps on down here, it’s easy to slip into an ally, who knows what could have happened.

“I was having a drink saw you leave the bar.” He says with a smile, his eyes keeping track of the shadows. Ghost will already be on the move. The second guy has taken a step back, he only needs to worry about the stranger with his hands on you.

“Do you know him?” He asks, his fingers digging into your waist, Soap wants to tear him off you. You’re drunk, he’s taking advantage of you.

Knight in shining armor, it almost makes Soap laugh.

“Yeah! He’s my boyfriend.” You say still trying to rangel yourself out of his grip, Soap looks in your eyes, it’s almost like you have a second of clarity. The stranger loosens his grip on you.

“Boyfriend?” He asks. The other stranger has taken another step back.

Things happen quickly. It’s like Ghost comes from deep within the shadows, his hand grips the shoulder of the second man, Soap watches the colour drain from his face. Soap reaches forward gripping your wrists and pulling you out the first mans grip and into his arms.

“Hey!” He the man calls reaching out to try and grab you back. Soap ignores him wrapping his own arm round your waist. You lean against him as he walks you back down the road.

“Heading to rendezvous.” Soap says.

“Huh?” You ask turning up to look at him.

“How was your night?” He asks kissing you on the top of your head.

“Great! We celebrated and I remember what you said watch my drinks. I made sure I could always see them.” You say, Soap smiles as you turn the corner back to the main road.

“Good girl. Did you have fun?” He asks.

“Yeah, I got to meet her boss, he’s a really nice guy for a bank manager.” You chuckle. Soap spots Price parked in a taxi bay. You don’t seem to notice though talking about your friend and her promotion.

“Ghost, sitrep?” Price asks.

“All good here Cap. Should be finished up soon, don’t wait for me.” Soap smiles as he helps you into the back of the car.

“John!” You call reaching round the drivers seat to hug him. He smiles his eyes flicking up to Soap who helps you put your seat belt on.

“Seems like you’ve had an eventful night.” John says as he drives off.

“Yeah, it was fun.” You say leaning up against Soap who wraps his arms round you.

…

When they make it back to the house you’re asleep. Kyle is already waiting at the front door as John pulls up into the drive. John opens the back door of the car, you don’t wake as Johnny undoes your seat belt. You murmur as John scoops you up in his arms. He shushes you carrying you into the house.

Kyle’s hand comes to brush hair out your face as John walks through the doorway.

“Is she okay?” He asks looking up at John.

“She’s fine, too much to drink.” John says transferring you into Kyle's arms.

“Make sure Simon gets home safe.” Kyle asks turning into the house. John smiles kissing Kyle’s forehead.

“Of course. Make sure she’s okay.” John asks his hand coming to brush you cheek.

“Always.” Kyle smiles.

___

[frownyalfred]

You used the word "sitrep" in a fic once and fun fact; it's canon! Bruce uses it with Damian in Batman and Robin (2009). Guess he really did get some military training huh?

Oh thank god, I can stop editing it out of my fics now. People gave me SO much shit for using it so I had to explain it away as some military quirk Alfred passed along. But truthfully, I had just been reading so much clone wars fics that it kept popping into my head. Also, my Mando Batfamily fic uses the Mando'a equivalent (din'kartay) a lot, so it was constantly in my thoughts.

I know the Batfamily fandom is very much into "Robin, report" as a phrase, but the word "sitrep" is much faster and generally everyone is aware who you're demanding a situational report from. Sitrep, tell me everything that happened, is going on, tell me if the scene is safe, tell me if you're safe, give me an after-conflict report, etc.

Since it's normally only used in military contexts, it's interesting that it found its way into canon. Since, generally, I don't think Bruce treats or views his Mission as military service or requires that kind of formality from his Robins. Who aren't soldiers, as we covered in my other post. But could it be used with the Justice League, who is a much closer analogue to a military organization?

(an even worse thought: Bruce didn't pick it up from Alfred, he picked it up from Hal)

[slotmachines-fearofgod]

babby ahsoka + twins

Please enjoy this not proofread not edited not ready WIP! we need more baby ahsoka & clones in the world

---

For the first time in his (relatively short) life Rex was at a loss. 

They were investigating some temple on behalf of the Jedi. Anakin had been sent because of his intense attunement to the Force and the 501st had happily followed his lead. Rex hadn’t gotten much out of the man, just that the Jedi would know what to do and all he needed to worry about was following their lead. 

Rex was going to kill him. 

When they first landed and entered nothing had seemed off. It was an old, crumbling structure built by neither Jedi nor Sith millenia ago. The Jedi wanted it investigated due to the strange flow of energy around it, an energy that had steadily been increasing over the past month until the signal reached Coruscant itself. Rex had braced himself for mental games or mind tricks but there had been nothing. 

In fact, there had been so little sign of anything that Anakin decided it would be best for them to split up. Coming as a surprise to no one Ahsoka took Fives, Echo, and Rex along with her down the side passageways, leading them through a winding maze Rex wasn’t sure he’d be able to figure out on his own. 

Which was what led them here. 

Rex stared down at the three children in front of him and felt the vague urge to cry.

Fives blinked up at him, his big eyes full of curiosity as he looked at Rex’s armor. Rex, still frozen from where he’d busted through the door that had trapped his compatriots, watched as his second waddled up to him and grabbed his kama. 

“Fives?” Rex croaked, incredibly out of his depth. 

Fives laughed brightly, “See Echo! I told you it would catch on.”

Echo, now half his original size, scowled, “No fair. Why do you get the fun name?”

Ahsoka, his little commander, his almost-sister, his charge, stuck her finger in her mouth and immediately jammed it into Echo’s ear. 

Echo yelped, scurrying away from the girl who was grinning with her fangs out, “Ew!”

“What’s your name?” Ahsoka asked, seemingly innocent. 

Echo grumbled quietly so they couldn’t hear, still trying to wipe the spit out of his ear. 

Fives ran over to him, laughing all the way, “It’s Echo! It’s ‘cause he only repeats what the trainers say!”

“Shut up!” Echo’s face lit up red as he smacked his brother, “I do not!”

“Ow!” Fives whined, rearing up to hit Echo back, “Don’t be such a tubie!”

“I hate you,” Echo growled, “Stop being so mean.”

“I’m Ahsoka!”

Both clone cadets momentarily paused to look at the togruta girl. 

“I’m a Jedi!”

And with that their feud was forgotten. Rex sighed and walked over, accepting that this was his life now, as Echo launched question after question at a giggling Ahsoka. Fives was trying to bodily drag her away to see her do “cool Force shit,” leaving Rex to wade in between the pack to pick up the little padawan. 

“Hey,” Fives complained, “Give her back.”

“Hush,” Rex fixed him with a look, “Give me a sitrep cadet.”

Fives rolled his eyes, a move that would’ve gotten him another hour of training at the least on Kamino, while Echo stiffened into a less than perfect parade rest. 

“Sir!” Echo started, his voice just a little too loud in the echoing chamber, “Myself and CT-5555 were enjoying our downtime in the bunks. We were taking the allotted rest period to sleep and woke up here in this…where are we? Sir.”

Rex sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand, “We are on the planet Erot in the Outer Rim. As for the name of this place, I was not granted access to that information.”

All three kids' eyes widened. 

“Outer Rim?” Ahsoka asked, “That’s so cool!”

Rex shifted her onto his hip so she’d be easier to carry. If he had to guess, they were all about five or six standard years. They could speak plainly and fluently and had little coordination issues, but they were much younger then they’d been a mere five minutes ago. 

“Ahsoka,” Rex started, “Do you remember what you were doing in this room?”

Ahsoka shook her head, now looking around the space, “No. I was in the creche with Uzaa and we were going to class with Master Che. I was late.” Ahsoka looked down sheepishly, a blush of her own on her face. 

Rex smiled weakly, “It’s alright. We’ll work it out.”

“Who are you?” Fives piped up, never content with being silent too long. 

“I’m Rex,” he could answer that at least, “Captain Rex.”

“Captain?” Echo looked up at him with something like admiration, “Wow. Does that mean the war has started?”

“What war?” Ahsoka asked, now alarmedly squirming in Rex’s arms, “Why do you all look the same?”

Rex winced, “It…may be best if we regroup before we talk about everything,” he said apologetically, “But I’ll explain.”

Ahsoka frowned, wiggling so much that Rex gave up and just set her down, “Okay. Are we going back home?”

That was a good question. Right now Rex wasn’t sure what to do with his sort-of soldiers. And there was no way he was getting back through the tunnel system without a guide to help. 

Rex looked around the room, searching for clues or hints of what did this to them. There were strange carvings on the floor in the center and metal piping running along the ceiling, but other than that the place seemed empty. Devoid of anything and everything except for the group of four at the door. 

Rex pinched his nose as he pulled up his comm, already dreading this call. 

“Skywalker here, what’s your status Rex?”

“Uh,” Rex looked down at three innocent and eager faces, “I need a rendezvous at my position ASAP.”

“What?” Skywalker’s voice changed, now startled and anxious instead of cool and collected, “What happened to Ahsoka? She can’t lead you?”

Ahsoka gasped, “He knows me?”

“...What was that?”

“That is my predicament sir,” Rex sighed again, “I believe your padawan activated something. ARC troopers Fives and Echo are down along with Tano.”

“ARC trooper?!” Fives cried in excitement, now bouncing on his toes, “We make ARC troopers?”

Rex gave all three of them a scolding look and pressed a finger to his lips. They all looked down at their feet, adequately shamed. 

“Riiight,” Skywalker drawled, “Sounds like I should see this myself. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Bring Kix please,” Rex tiredly requested.

“Of course,” Skywalker sounded less upset now. It helped soothe some of Rex’s own nerves as he mentally cussed out stupid Force shit in every language he knew. “I look forward to seeing what this is about.”

Rex let out a breath of relief as the call ended. He sat heavily next to the kids, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. 

At least until Echo rounded in front of him. 

“Captain?” Echo asked in a small voice.

“Yeah?” 

“Are we in trouble?”

Rex softened a bit and shook his head, “No. It’s just been a long day.”

Echo hummed, “So is it true? Has the war started?”

Ah yes. The great war. The one they used to dream about as kids. Their strange light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Yeah,” Rex said hoarsely, staring into Echo’s eyes and suddenly being hit with the realization that this Echo’s brothers were still alive, “It’s started.”

Echo frowned, “But you’re not an A clone. Why are you deployed?”

Rex shook his head, “It’s complicated. We’ll explain later, I promise.”

Echo seemed unhappy with that answer, but he didn’t get another word in before Fives was bullying his way into Rex’s line of sight. 

“You said we’re ARC troopers,” Fives accused, “But we haven’t even graduated our base combat modules!”

Rex laughed softly, “You’ll get there someday. Trust me.”

Fives scowled, unsatisfied with Rex’s half answer but Rex wasn’t really sure how much to tell them. Telling them everything - Rishi, their batch’s destruction, their missions with Torrent - seemed unwise. They were still kids. They deserved to be kids. Just for a little bit. 

Rex startled as he felt a weight lean into his side, briefly reaching for his blaster before looking over and realizing it was Ahsoka. 

She looked up, her usually large eyes now seeming comically huge on her face, “‘M cold.”

Right. Togrutas were warm blooded. And she hadn’t gotten as lucky as Fives and Echo, whose blacks shrunk with them. She was still stuck with her skirt and stupid tube top. Rex wanted to rip that thing to shreds and replace it with armor. He’d had the instinct many times before but now…

Rex just opened his arms, allowing the girl to crawl into his lap with a happy sigh.

He glanced at Echo and Fives, unsurprised to find them bickering quietly off to the side. 

“Boys,” he called, his voice booming around the chamber, “Cut it out.”

Fives made a frustrated noise and stomped his foot, going off to sulk in the corner, while Echo stared after him with an angry look. Eventually the younger of the two made it over, subtly checking out of Ahsoka had left any room in Rex’s lap. 

Rex scooted backward against the wall so the three of them could sit more comfortably before he called out, “Fives. Come here.”

Fives turned around, stuck his tongue out, and turned back to the corner. 

“CT-5555,” Rex put a little more authority into his voice, “Now.”

Fives hesitated, fighting with himself a little bit, before groaning and stomping over. Rex gave him an appraising once over, finding nothing wrong with him other than the attitude. 

“What’s this about?” Rex tried his best to go for strict older brother but he was pretty sure the image was ruined by the two kids in his lap. 

���Don’t wanna be here,” Fives mumbled, crossing his arms and looking down, “I miss 4040.”

Ah. Cutup. Fives’ favorite of his old batch. 

Rex relaxed a bit, crooking his finger at Fives and watching the kid tentatively step toward him, “It’ll be alright. We’ll get you three fixed up in no time.”

“Fixed?” Echo craned his neck to look up at Rex. 

Rex winced, knowing where Echo probably jumped to, “Back home, I mean.”

Echo nodded, slumping against Rex as Fives tried, and mostly succeeded, to fit himself between his brother and his future commander. Rex held the three of them in his arms and tried to remember to breathe. 

He didn’t know what to do with this. They couldn’t fight and there was no way in hell Kamino would take Fives and Echo back. He didn’t have the first clue what to do with Ahsoka, hell he didn’t even know if they’d allow her back at the temple after this. Were the Jedi as strict as the Kaminoans? Certainly not except for the exceptional cases. The issue was this was most certainly an acceptable case. 

They sat in a tight anxious silence for the next few minutes. Rex was shielding as best he could, but his skills were rudimentary at best and he knew it was getting to Ahsoka. Adding on to that Fives and Echo kept poking each other and making faces when they thought Rex wasn’t looking. Eventually one of them was going to hit Ahsoka and he just knew that would start an all out war. 

Ahsoka perked up before the rest of them, her eyes going wide and her figure stilling. Rex let out a sigh of relief, well aware of what that meant by now. 

Sure enough, a few moments later they heard hurried footsteps and a few calls between troopers. Rex had them all stand, drawing his blasters and putting on his helmet as he walked to the door. 

Skywalker was the first in line, his face curious but not alarmed. Rex let the blasters fall when he saw him, nodding respectfully to his general. 

“Rex,” Anakin greeted him, “Mind showing me what this is about?”

Rex nodded, peeking over his shoulder to see Jesse, Kix, and Hardcase. That was good. The boys would love Hardcase. 

“Yeah,” Rex stepped aside and pointed at the trio of children, “Feel free to take a look.”

Anakin, it seemed, had the same reaction to children as Rex did. Which was freeze. 

Kix nudged him aside easily, sparing a curious glance at his general, before he too paused in the doorway. 

“Hi!” Ahsoka waved cheerily, one of her hands in Echo’s, “I’m Ahsoka!”

[jovial-thunder]

More IRL Lego Lancer!

We played the Tomb of Delios one-shot by Katherine Stark. Some NPC comp / sitrep spoilers ahead.

I used the backs of old trivial pursuit boards for grids, egg cartons, poster tubes, and a big Roomba box + insert for terrain.

I coated the cardboard with this flour and glue paste recipe I found on youtube.

I found a bunch of cheap-ish large lego octogons and walls online for the modular buildings, then greebled them with misc urban details I collected from my local bricks & minifigs bulk by-volume bins.

Our PCs were a Swallowtail artillery (callsign Bandit; an SSC plant in the union auxilliaries), Störtebeker striker (callsign Roadkill, silver-nanite kintsugi'd mechromancer), and Black Witch support (callsign Egret, disgraced princess (gotta be one of my favorite genders)).

The elite cataphract ended up playing trapdoor spider for most of the game; hiding in a magical healing forest (thank u support o7) and grappling PCs back into the forest with it.

Its scariest turn was popping out, structuring the Bandit and destroying his siege stabilizers, and lassoing it back into the forest. Egret came to the rescue and finally did the cataphract in with perimeter command plate/impact lance/crit thrown tactical knife overwatch combo.

The Swallowtail never took any voluntary movement after deploying its siege stab round 1, but between rainmaker knockback, the aforementioned trapdoor spider incident, and allied ferrous lashes, and a few rams, it was pingponged around the map pretty significantly.

"Come out Rainmaker, I just want to talk."

The final threat to the objective was when a bastion clambered up onto the pipeline to contest them. The Störtebeker (whose mini was having trouble standing up on the pipeline) pulled an indiana jones and just shot it down.

For the pre-battle narrative section, I made two 4-step clocks out of lego and a minimap as the party visited various districts of the city. Both were totally unnecessary but I think added a lot to the IRL experience.

All in all, it was a lot of fun! Things that worked well/could be improved on:

The aforementioned mini stability. I should add more baseplates to the minis to making moving and standing them up less finicky.

As cool as the egg carton bottoms are, having flat surfaces is just better. Going to stick with the tops going forward.

The grid ground floor worked great. I should trace more grids onto the egg cartons and larger boxes. I also made a few measuring sticks out of dowels and that was super handy.

Witchdice on phones continues to work well for PC character sheets.

I made a handful of status tokens that we could put next to mechs. They were handy for consumable statuses like lock-on, but less so for memorable ones like exposed and hidden.

We needed more little indicators for misc systems like Javelin Rockets and Iceout Drone.

It was fun to be able to follow up "how do you want to do this" with "you may now destroy the mini".

[localcrustrat]

The Stars Lead Me to You

Captain Soap laid on the table bleeding out as Price stood above him.

"SOAP, SOAP NO," slowly his eyes glazed over and the man who expected to see his own life flash before his eyes, saw another; someone that looked like him but… Happier, younger. The world slowed and the man watched.

Soap walked over to… Ghost? But his mask also looked different, Capt Soap wandered over to the other men.

"Let's go get us a win yeah LT?" Ah Ghost was a Lieutenant. The world darkened again and John saw Soap and Ghost looking at a missile.

"I repeat Hassan has American missiles," next he saw the boys growing closer together he saw Soap making his way through Mexico. If John was alive his heart would be racing seeing the other him almost lose consciousness multiple times.

"Johnny," Johnny? "gimme a sitrep"

"Jumped down from the caged dog, in a gated alleyway," Soap checked the alley picking up some things before limping up a staircase and laying down to watch a couple shadows. John followed watching over Soap, the man laughed hearing the mercs talk, their fear of this Ghost reminded him of the rumors and fear that followed his Ghost. John watched Soap sneak around collecting chemicals, bottles, tape and rope, mouse traps, and broken fan blades. He saw Soap stumble upon a Shadow with a knife in his neck.

"Ghost you missin' a knife?" Soap pulled the knife out and inspected it.

"Several," came a slow reply.

"I think I found one."

"One of the dead shadows of my handy work," Soap looked surprised and slightly put out.

"You came through 'ere?"

"On my way to the church," John smiled, hearing Ghost speak. The Ghost he knew didn't speak much. John could see the connection between these two. He continued following Soap half listening to the two flirt and smiling at Ghost's dry humor and dad jokes. Time flew forward to the two rescuing another man Alejandro from a prison and escaping with Price's help.

"It's good to see Price again. Even if it's not my Price," John lamented sadly. John saw snippets of Ghost and Soap sharing small looks and hushed conversations, both too afraid to admit anything in the middle of a high stakes mission. But he saw things the two didn't. Like how they gravitate towards each other when they were in the same room, how Ghost would always keep an eye on their surroundings keeping Soap safe. What John didn't notice was the shadow following Ghost like he was following Soap. John followed Soap through the mission getting Alejandro and his men's base back and cheered the man on as he fought a tank and won. Then he saw Soap running for his life again in a building trying to stop a missile from hitting the pentagon. And finally the last moments where all if this was leading with Hassan Picking Soap up and slowly bringing him closer to the open window ready to throw him out until Ghost saved him with a bullet through Hassans head.

"Good shot L.T."

"You called it Sargent." John smiled and turned, seeing a flash of light to his right.

"Captain?" John knew that voice, it struck a cord through his heart.

"Ghost?" his eyes met the other man's and only realized after a minute that his face was uncovered.

"Just Simon now, no use for codenames when you're dead."

"Then call me John, Simon. No use for ranks either."

Simin looked over at the building Ghost was on then down at Soap.

"I'm glad we found each other in different lives, they deserve it," John nodded agreeing.

"You deserve to be happy too Simon," the man shrugged.

"You made me happy Captain, John. I was happy to serve with you," John walked over to the other man and slowly grabbed his hand.

"The stars lead me to you in one life, maybe they'll lead me to you in another hopefully without the interference of a war and a terrorist."

"But where's the fun in that, Sir? We'll need a little excitement in our lives." John smiled.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to truly know you," Simin shook his head.

"Like you said, we fell in love in one lifetime. Why not another?" He turned to the light.

"Lead me on one last mission Captain?" John nodded and gripped the man's hand.

"Always Simon, I'll find you again and when I do I won't let you go."

"I can't wait, Johnny."

John looked back one more time seeing a small wedding between other other Ghost and Soap before looking forward again and leading the other man to an unknown world where they would once again fall in love.

(Cross posted on AO3)

[thessalian]

Thess vs The New Normal

So apparently overtime is the new normal at least until the holidays. So that's fun.

Logged in to find the same old, same old - queue insane, all the long shit left to me (including one that the person dictating a) did on two separate dictation files and b) did with a faulty headset so it's hard to hear). New Girl dawdling. Both New Girl and Temp taking the shortest and easiest, including starting on today's typing when there were the long ones from yesterday still in the fucking queue. At least there were only 250-odd bits of dictation in the queue (hate to think what it'd have looked like if I hadn't put in five fucking hours on Sunday). So in short, nothing seemed to have changed.

Emailed Scruffman, asking for a sitrep and flagging up the hours I put in last week (I'm still going to log them properly, but I wanted to warn him before I threw a five-hour OT request at his head). Turns out that Goblin is now on long-term sick, as is Violet. So we're down two people, and he's also working some overtime, and "anything you can do..." etc etc etc. Translation: "Keep it up; you're the only reason we're managing right now".

I would give a lot to know why no one has considered that if two staffers are off for an unspecified amount of time, maybe it's time to get another temp in the interim? I'd guess "money". That or "Scruffman is assuring Head Honcho that we're totally fine, even if we're only barely scraping by because of the overtime I am not supposed to be doing long-term". Or both. Could be both. I mean, Head Honcho has to see the issues too, doesn't he?

I am praying that this settles down after the holiday period. If it doesn't ... I'm going to have to talk to people if it doesn't. Because this is just ... not a thing I can have as a new normal. It's already going to be a month at the end of this week, never mind what I've been pulling over August, September, October, and November. I can't be their salvation forever. I think I can last until the Christmas holidays, but if it doesn't get better after that? No. No more. They need a better solution than "torturing their best, if disabled, secretary".

Meantime ... back to the two-file, badly-dictated bullshit breast case that everyone leaves to me because of course they fucking do.

[lex1nat0r]

White Elephant: Rumble in the Jumble

AAR #19

Session reports from my ongoing Lancer campaign

Characters (LL 2):

Raiju (They/Them, Hacker 2/Heavy Gunner/Centimane/Nuclear Cavalier, Barbarossa 2) - HA Barbarossa “Counterproposal”

Sunshine (They/Them, Grease Monkey/Technophile 2/Engineer/Juggernaut, Pegasus 2) - HORUS Pegasus “Exchange of Affection”

Rook (He/Him, Walking Armory/Stormbringer/Brutal/Brawler 2, Balor 2) - HORUS Balor “Your Burden”

Daylight (She/Her, Technophile 2/Engineer 2/Infiltrator, Vlad 2) - IPS-N Vlad “Look What You Made Me Do”

Magpie (They/Them, Hacker 3/Technophile 2, Goblin 2) - HORUS Goblin “Destructive Interference” Player not present this session

NHPs:

Molotov - Via Sunshine’s Technophile talent - Projects as a small velociraptor - unshackled

Willow - Via Daylight’s Technophile talent - Projects as 1-2 squid - unshackled

Murgatroid - Via Magpie’s Technophile talent - Projects as a wizard? - shackled

Prometheus Antichiral - fork of a cascaded NHP from the Sanctuary Blue cloning facility - projects as a wizened old man - unshackled

Prev session writeup

The Lancers attempt entry into the Rimtech corporate archive but are blocked by Guardian Fleet forces already on the ground. So just a fight for this session.

Combat 3.2: Difficulties in applying for a library card

Sitrep: Beacon Recon (from Enhanced Combat)+

Rimtech forced in the area had left a high-powered transmitter buried in some rubble (the yellow-outlined area on the left of the map). It could be reached by a dismounted pilot, and a Quick Action could be used to clear Lock-On from all friendlies.

OPFOR:

80-ton Gorilla (Veteran MBT (from Winter Scar) - Stabilized Railgun, Marker Nexus, Secondary Gunner, Legendary)

Stingbringer (Veteran Vehicle Rainmaker - Endless Rain, Shock Armor, Flier, Hover)

Scout x4 - System Flayer

Hive Grunt x6 - Tier 2, Seeker Cloud, -HK Nexus, -Razor Swarms

Outcome: PC Victory

(Tokens by Retrograde Minis (on the basic blank hex tokens that come with Lancer so they show up well), map by Interpoint Station’s Lancer map creation tool, VTT is Roll20)

Thoughts:

This is the first fight I've run that had a real Plan. Namely to inflict Lock-On on as many PCs as possible and then use Stingbringer to hit three targets a round with AP, Smart, Seeking missiles.

I thought this was going to be a tough setup, but DPR was lower than I was hoping for as the lancers predictably focused Stingbringer down in the first few turns. Its Shock Armor did nothing as it was hit with either Heavy or Auxiliary weapons. Giving it Lightning Reflexes would have made more sense (it's a helicopter) and might actually have dodged a hit.

80-ton Gorilla's railgun was the secondary source of damage for the fight and it did manage to structure both Counterproposal and Exchange of Affection, the only major damage from the combat. Still, I should have made the tank Elite instead of Veteran, giving it an extra turn each round to make up for the fact that the Scouts don't do damage.

That said, the Scouts' System Flayer annoyed the hell out of the players, so they did their job.

Making bespoke Hive Grunts was fun, and I liked that stripping out their options meant they had obvious actions each round. I bumped them up to Tier 2 since the PCs are LL 2, but 4 kinetic damage a shot isn't a whole lot of hurt with a Balor in the party.

More grunts in general per sitrep, I think, given we have a Pegasus and a Balor. And more activations on the damage dealers to put the squeeze on the players. It seems they can take it.

More Tier 2 enemies?

The Apocalypse Rail once again proved underwhelming for a 4-turn charge up. Going to tweak that.

It sounds like I'm being negative here, but it was still a solid fight that everyone enjoyed. Plus I have some definite takeaways and it definitely simulated a pack of lancers surprising a group of regulars.

Bonus thought:

As I was finishing preparing the setting Retrograde added a bunch of vehicle NPC sprites and I am very excited about finding excuses to use those. Love throwing combined arms opposition into a fight.

Next time: Adrift in a sea of manna?

[kurtthexander-blog]

SITREP: CROFTERS RIGHTS, 5th AUG 2023

Location: 117-119 Stokes Croft, Cotham, Bristol BS1 3RW

______________________________________________________________

Set times:

Kurt Alexander: 7:30

Average Tweed: 8:15

Sweet Geranium: 9:00

Johnny Applesauce: 9:45

______________________________________________________________

Morning: I woke up remembering a dream I had until the sudden reality of the fact that it was show day set in. I had a fairly slow morning. I had spent the week prior chugging lemon and ginger tea due to my fear of getting ill being realised by a tickle in the back of my throat. I printed off two copies of the setlist. I also figured out a way to load tracks onto my loop pedal without having to play the track in full into a jack lead. I set everything up downstairs, my pedalboard, amp and guitars. then waited for the house to go quiet as my family left for lunch.

I ran through the set fully once and ran through it again without singing as I was worried about hurting my voice. I ate a chicken wrap and packed up the car

______________________________________________________________

Travel to the venue: This show was different to the last. I was getting a lift with my parents as it was a Saturday and my dad wasn't working. we left around 3:15.

I and my sister made a stop at Tesco for some honey and elastic bands. We found the elastic bands straight away but there seemed to be absolutely no trace of honey anywhere in this Tesco.

We hit traffic almost immediately after joining the M32 but luckily the jam lasted about 15 mins. It made us late but not too late.

______________________________________________________________

Load in and soundcheck

We arrived, me and my sister brought the equipment into the venue and greeted the bassist of sweet geranium

Sound-guy

Name: Giorgio

Giorgio was a nice guy. We set up the stage I talked him through the pedal board and he was super chill about everything. I had also brought with me a cassette player and had loaded up a drum track for Eat you alive onto it. I asked for Giorgio's opinion on this and he was super supportive.

Note: Giorgio mentioned to me after Luke's (Average tweed) soundcheck that he was super hungry. I asked if he wanted me to get something from a local supermarket when I go to get myself some food and he told me he had a pizza on the way with a look of happy surprise, as though he had forgotten about the pizza until the very moment he told me.

Average Tweed arrived and it was really good to be playing on the same bill as him again!

____________________________________________________________

Pre-show

I met Charlotte and nick outside before the gig and they very kindly gave me a good luck card which has now found a home on the shelf of my desk for the foreseeable future. I sat with them for a bit and spoke about the day they had just spent in Bristol. Complimented Nick on his new ear piercing and then began my almost ritualistic dart around the venue.

Three friends from work also came to this gig which was amazing.

About half an hour before my set a group of around 10 drunk people came into the room. They made a habit of asking me and Luke if they could get up and play one song. They did make me nervous to play but in all fairness, they were really supportive.

______________________________________________________________

The Set

Another sweaty one I'm afraid but a fun one none the less. I was playing two songs I hadn't done live before and a brand new song I had written 2 weeks prior.

I struggled through the first three songs in the set due to nerves but then it got fun.

I asked Nick to hold the cassette player which I think worked well and it may be something I try a little more in future.

I had two people in the audience clapping during the new song which I've never had before and I wish I had caught them after the gig to thank them for that. While going from eat you alive to the new song I put my capo down somewhere and completely forgot where I had put it after I hit play on the intro track for choke giving me about 30 seconds to look for it but I found it.

Setlist:

TENDER.VIOLENT.QUEER

INVERSE

IT'S ALL IN THE WAY SHE MOVES

EAT YOU ALIVE

TO OBSERVE THEIR FACES, 1984

CHOKE

ENCORE: AUTUMN

______________________________________________________________

Post show

I've come to realise now that I am completely useless for at least 15mins after a show. I need to have time to come down and I need to apologise to my friends from work as although I don't remember my brief interaction with them after the set I doubt It was very scintillating

After I had had a chance to calm down I stuck around to watch the other sets. Had a nice chat with Luke and then we left

Me and Nick got food we all hopped in Nick and Charlotte's car and went back to theirs. I slept on their couch

______________________________________________________________

[batsandbugs]

Bruce Wayne’s Headache Classification System Chapter 3

IKEA Verse

A/N: The author shows up a month and a half late, with Starbucks: S'up, here's 7500 words of pure chaos. Feast! Y'all are the best, thank you for the amazing comments in the last chapter. I love seeing your excitement for this crazy little world I've created. I have a new fic that I'll be adding eventually, called: "The Stalking of Daminette: A Treatise by Steph and Cass" it's still in its baby stage, so we'll see how long that grows before I post. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it because I have not started on the next part and I'm moving in less than a month, so maybe the next chapter will be out sometime in October, but I'm not making any promises. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Bruce narrows his eyes and pins his children with an unimpressed stare. “What did you do?

“He was totally willing!” Dick insists with an innocent grin.

“Coercion.”

“Manhandling.”

Dick’s grin disappears evilly side-eyeing his brothers. “Both of you suck at being back up.”

“He didn’t want to at first,” confesses Tim. “But they held my computer hostage to convince me to agree.” Tim rubs a hand over the top of his laptop in a soothing manner. “So, I stole all his knives so he couldn’t stab us, while Jason and Dick wrangled him into the car.”

“Little demon was spittin’ nails, but we persuaded him not to throw himself out the car, so he was trapped.”

“By the time we arrived, I convinced them how a game of hide-and-seek would be a fun, non-disastrous way to spend time together,” says Dick, his face one of ruined hopes and dreams.  

“Mostly through bribes, blackmail, and calls to our innate competitiveness,” says Tim.

“Dickie kept the keys so none of us could leave, and declared himself seeker first,” Jason continues. “He found me-" 

"In the food court," says Dick.

"Then Replacement-"

"At the Starbucks."

"Didn't even get to have that coffee," grumbles Tim.

"So we joined forces and decided to search for Damian together. We spent an hour chasing him in circles. Swear I almost caught him too.”

Tim scoffs, “Yeah no, he had us good. We had no clue where he was.” 

Jason rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up Tim.”

“You shut up,” Tim shoots back.

“Boys…” warns Bruce, already regretting bringing all three of them into this sitrep.

“Okay, so he evades us long enough to team up with a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng-” starts Tim.

Jason growls a bit. “Lying bitch.”

“Jason…” Dick sighs but doesn’t refute the insult. This only serves to deepen Bruce’s headache which now strongly veers out of the I-am-not-mentally-or-emotionally-prepared-for-this category and straight into Ongoing-dumpster-fire territory.

This was fine.

Jason slams a fist on the table. “She lied to my face multiple times! She said she was hired to poison Tim and Damian in order to steal Tim’s phone and if I didn’t find them in time, they were gonna die from brain damage!”

Bruce blinks. Did he hear that right? “Sorry, what?”

Tim sighs. “Okay, rewind, so Damian evading us like the little assassin he trained to be, hooks up with Marinette, who, as far as my research shows, is a civilian-”

“Yeah right, girlie ain’t a civilian. No way, not in a million years.”

“Shut up Jason, let Tim talk,” snaps Dick.

“She lied to Jason about where Damian was, and between her initial meeting with Jason and the incident in the food court, about an hour passed. Then she appeared in the cafeteria with Damian’s card, how we tracked her there in the first place. She panicked when she saw us and used her magic on the shelves in the warehouse to cause a diversion-”

“She crushed a fucking forklift, and we got blamed and billed for it.”

‘How?’ Bruce thinks in despair. Not over the money, of course. They had more than enough to cover costs, just in the general sense of incredulity. One would think, after being Batman this long, it would inoculate Bruce from bewilderment at all types of situations.

It has not.

Tim shakes his head. “No, I proved we had nothing to do with that."

‘Oh well isn’t that grand?’

"Didn’t manage to pin anything on her either considering how much electrical interference occurred whenever she performed magic, but we don’t have to pay.”

“Magic doesn’t cause electrical interference,” Bruce reminds them. “Not unless it completely breaks the system in the process.” All three boys – men really, his kids all grown up now, even if they pulled stupid shit like this – turn to him. Identical expressions of contemplation played over their faces.

“Shit, you’re right,” mutters Dick.

“Well, her magic does,” counters Tim, his brow creasing heavily, grasping past the sleepy, foggy haze that comes with being awake for three days straight. Grabbing a notepad he jots down the observation. “Her magic doesn’t obey any rules we know to be true.”

“It’s magic, dumbass,” Jason sneers. “It doesn’t have to make sense. I’m still on the fence about whether she enchanted Damian though. On one hand, demon-spawn shouldn’t be capable of smiling that much, and he defended her, deferred to her, fucking used her first name without blinking an eye. That ain’t natural for him. On the other hand, she’s the same brand of demented as he is, and maybe they want to be horrible little demons together.”

“I…” starts Dick before trailing off, his face flickers through a series of emotions. Mostly fragile hope, pragmatic disbelief, and good heaping of uncertainty.

“See, Golden Boy, even you can’t say this is a good thing!”

“He made a friend?” Dick offers with a pained wince.

“She’s a psychopath!”

Bruce cuts off the argument. As much as he would love to hear more in-depth detail about Damian’s newest… acquaintance, he wants a clearer picture of what happened at the store before he judges the situation. “Boys, behave. Tim, please continue.”

Tim nods. “Okay, so Marinette escapes the warehouse, and we track her back to their entry point into the vent system. We split up to cover more ground, I take the warehouse and keep myself from the worker’s sight but close enough to the vent I could spot them exiting. About forty-five minutes later they set me on fire-”

“Wait,” interrupts Bruce. “Fire? FIRE?”

Tim looks at him like he’s being particularly slow. “Uh, yeah, I said that a time or two now, keep up. To be fair, the fire was more around me. But I did end up singed.” He shows his arm sleeve again, and the singeing on the sleeve takes on a whole new meaning.

“I wasn’t sure what happened at the time, I expected to catch the little twerps, not engage in guerilla warfare. So, understandably, I’m off my game. The security guard dragged me into the office, and I’m ready to call for backup, only to find my phone missing. I talk down the manager in the warehouse, but then he yells at these poor workers. And Bruce, they were kids, couldn’t be more than fifteen, working in this busy warehouse with no clue about any rights they had, and then after the manager became… distracted I conversed with the other workers, and-”

Tim’s one-breath ramble was swiftly cut off by Jason. “Yeah, yeah you caused a worker’s strike through the power of charisma and rhetoric. So original. No one else in the world’s history has ever done that. Can we get back to the French bitch tricking me?”

Tim huffs, crossing his arms. “You can continue then because I wasn’t part of that.”

“Cool, I will. So, there I wait at my post, and it’s been like an hour and a half at this point. Timmy finally calls, but it’s not actually him it’s the French girl. She’s actin’ like a paid assassin slash company spy, and says she poisoned Tim and Damian through tricking them into eatin’ poisoned coffee and shit.”

“And you believed that?” Bruce asks. Jason glares at him with piercing green-blue eyes, and although his second son puts off an air of anger and annoyance, it’s a mask for a deep-seated fear that his brothers were genuinely in danger. That he would be too slow, too late to save them, like what happened to-

Jason flippantly shrugs his shoulders, years of practiced reticence covering his care. “With our craptastic luck, I sure as hell wasn’t going to take any chances. So, I go chasin’ and-”

“~It’s a trap~,” Tim gloats in a sing-songy voice, his grin wide and eyes unfocused. He’s going to crash soon, it’s just a matter of time.

“Shut up, you ended up set on fire and pickpocketed. You have no leg to stand on.” Tim rolls his eyes but slouches back in his chair. “So, it’s a trap, and demon-spawn is waitin’ there with one of those tricked-out trip wires Timmy made. He and Frenchie wrapped me up good, taunted me, and stripped me taking my wallet and phone. Bitch also took my knife. I insult the brat, and he fires back, but before he does anything else Marinette pulls him back and tells him to simmer down and he does.” Jason’s wide eyes drip with incredulity and, quite frankly, a little awe.

“I see,” Bruce says, a fake calm surrounding his words. He really didn’t. They were talking about Damian. Bruce loves his only biological son, he truly does. He loves Damian’s sketches, and care for animals, he loves his dedication to sword mastery and sly humor. The way his son has the same wrinkle crease between his eyes Bruce gets, and that Thomas did before them. The similarity soothes a small part of Bruce’s aching soul. He’s ridiculously proud of all the work and effort Damian went through, put himself through, to become a better person. To overcome the trauma his upbringing caused and come out stronger.

That being said, Damian was still arrogant, stubborn, and quick-tempered. He considered his opinions and plans more highly than others, and unless one could give a quick and compelling explanation as to an alternative option, he would be proceeding with his plan with efficiency; damn anything else standing in his way. Damian spared no sympathy to the average person and even less for fools.

This behavior was extremely out of character for him.

Which made the entire situation ring with alarm.

Jason shook his head. “I don’t think you do,” he says, calling Bruce’s lie out. “You’re gonna need to see it to really understand. Anyway, they leave me there for the police to find me, and the wire’s wound on tight, so I’m still struggling to get them off when security finds me ten minutes later.” Jason smirks. “Now those idiots had no clue who they were dealing with, and they loosened the wire round my legs, cause they sure as hell couldn’t carry me. By the time we reached the car I was out of the bonds and knocked one out and escaped from the other. Fat-ass bastard.”

“Language,” Bruce reminds him. Jason flips him off.

“Fine, the heavy-set bastard. Better?”

Bruce sighs. “Not really.”

“I scale the building, figuring the store entrances would be monitored. They had a nice handy dandy human-sized ventilation shaft up there - no wonder with the place’s fucking size - so, I shimmy down-”

“Like Santa,” Tim giggles, well past bordering on a manic state, and instead moved well into the capital of it.

The comment doesn’t appear to have fazed Jason though, who takes another long sip of his alcohol-soda mixture. “And like Santa, I have a knack for toys. I emerge out of a vent in the children’s toy area and snag myself a nerf gun.”

Sharp pain blooms on the side of Bruce’s neck. He doesn’t let it show on his face though. “Why?”

“Seemed like a good at the time, ya know?”

Bruce mentally counts to ten, takes a deep breath, and says, “Sure.”

“So, I head towards the play area to find Dick, because obviously, Replacement was a lost cause.”

“Geeze thanks, Jason.”

“But before I can get there, I spot Demon Spawn constructin’ a wacky ass Rube Goldberg contraption-”

Dick winces. “I saw the remains when I chased after Marinette. It was initially meant for me.”

“You were chasing the girl?”

Dick pouts. “She stole my phone!”

“Wait, so a civilian pickpocketed all of you?” 

“She was quick,” mutters Tim.

Jason raises a finger. “She didn’t technically pickpocket me, she frisked me after tying me up. I was fully aware of the stealing.”

Bruce reminds himself that he can’t strangle his children. He. Can’t. Strangle. His. Children. “I plan to make all of you go through awareness training, again. A civilian!?”

“Still not convinced,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms.

“I don’t care she certainly hasn’t trained with assassins and spent half her life mastering stealth and deception. I expect better from you all.” All three men mutter in acquiescence, to the extent that they would do better. “Continue.”

Jason’s demureness fades to be replaced with a gleeful grin. “Yeah, there wasn’t much left of the trap after I jumped the little bastard. I started shooting-”

“Jason…” Bruce’s headaches gain a specific twinge of exhaustion whenever Jason becomes involved. It’s a talent he possessed since the day Bruce found him hi-jacking the Batmobile’s tires.  

Jason’s hands go up in defense. “With the nerf gun, chill Bruce I ain’t trying to contribute to America’s public shooting crisis. I wouldn’t take a loaded gun into a shopin’ center unless crazies were already causin’ chaos.”

“I’d prefer you not to use guns at all.” It’s a pointless request, but maybe one day Jason would cede to it.

Jason scoffs. “Yeah, you’re still gunna lose that one pops. I got a rep to maintain.”

Bruce reigns in a sigh. Expected.

“Anyway, everythin’ was fine, I’d managed to dismantle their little trap for ya, you’re welcome,” he says with a pointed glance at Dick.

His eldest crosses his arms, and with a total deadpan stare, replies, “Thanks, Jason.”

“But then a security guard interfered after I knocked down a display or two.”

“So, you strung him up and gagged him?” Dick asks voice rising into the hysterical range.

Bruce now understands why Tim looks exhausted, dealing with the fallout from a situation this unhinged for the past forty-eight hours.  

“No, I didn’t do that. Demon spawn already set the rig, waitin’ for you. The guard tripped it.” He pauses, cheese-covered chip in hand. “Although I did add the gag, he was shoutin’ too much and grabbin’ attention. It only took a second, but by the time I turned back, Damian had shot off like a rocket.”

“Don’t take your eyes off the target,” chides Tim, with a smug little grin.

Jason’s eyes flash a brighter shade of green. “Fire.”

“Shut up.”

“Boys…” Bruce warns.

“Fine, fine,” Jason mutters, as he takes another sip of his drink. “I chase him through the store and he’s barely keepin’ ahead of me. I keep shootin’ at him. Newer nerf guns have a range and a surprising amount of ammo. Bastard didn't even look inconvenienced; he takes a fucking phone call at one point.”

“That was when I was chasing Marinette and we found the remains of their plan,” Dick interrupts. “She panicked with the sprung trap and called someone, but I couldn’t hear a word.”

“Yeah, he jumps off the call when I manage a shot at his head, and I’m close enough to have him in reach. Unfortunately, he ducked into the employee-only entrance. We weave through security rooms and offices and shit, and of course, causin’ chaos there.”

“He was right there, and yet somehow, we’re the only ones banned,” mutters Tim.

Jason scoffs. “Yeah, don’t know how that happened. Pretty sure I saw him dump a pot of coffee on-” Tim groans in frazzled distress. “Bad Timbo, you can’t have any more caffeine until you take a goddamn nap!”

Tim slouches into the solid wood dining chair. “You can’t tell me what to do, you’re not my dad.”

“Tim you can’t have any more caffeine until you sleep,” Bruce says.

Jason grins, sticking his tongue out at Tim, while Tim only glares and mutters something under his breath about ‘killjoys’ and ‘he’ll show them tired’ and Bruce really doesn’t want to see the result of that decision. This needs to wrap up soon. For both Tim’s sake, and his own as his headache has moved from Hassles-have-evolved-into-ongoing-dumpster-fires to Information-overload-caused by-dumbass-decisions-please-reboot-system.

“I get tangled in an office jam – literally, there were cords involved and by the time I scramble out of it, Damian’s already through a door and down a hallway. I haven’t a clue which way he’s gone, so I pick a direction and gun it because security is on my tail and there ain’t time to waste. I head down a hallway and lock the doors behind me to give me a second of breathing room. Then I spot the intercom system.”

“I wondered how you got close enough to use that,” Dick muses.

“I wondered what they did to piss you off so bad,” Tim adds.

Dick nods. “Same.”

“Yeah, so I call out Demon Spawn and French Bitch over the intercom, and I know they both must have panicked, but the guards broke through the locked doors, so I split. Now here’s the fucking miracle.” Jason leans forward, grinning. “I find the door that’ll take me back to the showroom area, the guards bearing down on me from all four sides. I don’t have a chance in hell, when the lights go off.”

“Blackout?” questions Bruce.

“Magic,” Dick says flatly. “It was Marinette.”

Jason slaps the table, snarling, “Damnit! Now I have to give credit to her.”

“She knocked out electricity to the whole store,” says Tim.

“And caused a display to collapse in front of me. I tripped,” admits Dick.

“You have fought off assassins while poisoned, and executed advanced acrobatic maneuvers with broken bones, and you tripped over a toppled Swedish store display because of the dark?” Bruce knows he’s trained his children better. Why in the world did this go so sideways on them?

Dick braces his arms against the table and roughly slides his fingers through his hair. ”I know. I know. I was right there. Any other day and I wouldn’t have blinked about jumping right over it, but this time it felt… off. Bad day?”

“You’re getting old Golden Boy.” Jason takes a sip of his drink, doing nothing to hide his shit-eating grin as he teases his older brother. “I guess it’s all downhill from here ain’t it.”

Dick flips him off.

Jason sticks out his tongue.

Bruce’s headache takes on a twinge of my-children-are-immature-brats feeling (generally categorized by a sharp sting right at his temple) and holds in an exasperated sigh.

“So, after magic girl shuts the lights off with her mind or whatever, I escape the security guards by an inch. One emergency exit later, and I’m back in the store proper. People are freakin’ the fuck out about the lights. By the time they turn on again, I’ve lost Damian for good, and now I just try to stay off security’s radar. I settle in a nice little blind spot right outside the children’s toy area and keep myself out of any trouble.” Jason looks over at Dick, fighting to keep a smug grin off his face. “Course I did see a woman go off on a poor employee. I kept my nose clean of it ‘cause it wasn’t my business.”

“Oh, ha, ha very funny. That woman was a menace,” groans Dick.

“Woman?” Bruce questions, almost scared to ask.

“Jessica Merope-Laverne, fifty-five, resident of Pleasantville. Married twice, has two children, a restraining order, and a police file with multiple notes about disturbing the peace,” Tim rattles off. “Thoroughly unpleasant.”

“That’s an understatement,” mutters Dick.

“Practically dragged Dickie Bird away by the ear.”

“Right as I was about to nab Marinette too. She’d hidden in one of the wardrobes in the room, and I was this close-” Dick positions his fingers scant centimeters apart from each other, “-to cornering her, and I got dragged away.”

“Shit, would have loved to know that,” mutters Jason. “Anyway, I stood around, making sure nobody was on my tail, soon I heard rumors about a ruckus in the atrium-”

“That would be me,” Tim admits with a grin.

“Well, I didn’t know that. I was hoping demon spawn and Frenchie were involved somehow, so I headed over, and then-”

“Oh, I know what happened from there. I saw the video.” Bruce pins Tim and Jason with a stare. “I respect both of you have opinions-”

“Opinions? Opinions? I have justified grounds for calling out his revolutionary bullshit! His entire life embodies nothing but the anthesis of systemic poverty, and he argues for class cooperation!” shouts Jason. Bruce always marvels at how eloquent Jason becomes when angry.

“Violence isn’t the answer,” counters Tim. “You would harm the very people you try to uplift in the process.”

“Sure, it is! It’s the natural response to a gluttonous, greedy, overburdened, bureaucratic system that’s leeching off the populous and perpetuating its own supremacy.”

Tim slams a hand against the table, raising to his feet, exhaustion clearing from his eyes. “It’s an option, not the option. We can do better than violence if we work at the cause's root problem without pulling out a fucking guillotine.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Oh of course you would argue for that, you’ve never had less than six figures in your bank account in your life.”

“So says the self-proclaimed drug lord!”

“That was ten years ago!”

“A bag of heads on the steps of the GCPD!”

“Oh, get over it!”

“If it matters,” interjects Dick. “Probably doesn’t, systemic economic issues are hard to fix when we have bigger problems like an actively insane criminal population that likes destroying important city infrastructure on a monthly basis.”

“Which Wayne Enterprises does its best to counter,” adds Bruce, not bothering to chide his children back on track. This particular topic turned them into a bunch of unherdable cats.

“Funneling more money into the one percent’s hands!” Jason’s bordering on manic at this point.

“We are the one percent, Jason!” counters Tim. “And we stay that way, despite the copious amount of infrastructure projects, that we hire Gotham citizens for, and pay at least a living wage to all of them. Not to mention every other single employee we hire who also are paid a living wage, with benefits, and support. I know I am privileged. I am trying here.” The last sentence came out as a distraught cry, as he collapses back into his chair.

“Are… are you okay?” Dick asks tentatively, ready to cross the table to comfort his brother.

Tim shoves his hands into his hair and mutters, “I need an espresso.”

“No, you need sleep,” says Bruce, mentally calculating where all the caffeine in the house is so he can hide it. “Can we return to the recap, so your brother can go to bed?”

“My side of things is much shorter in comparison to Jason’s,” says Dick. “As long as nobody interrupts.” Casting a pointed glare in Jason’s direction. Jason shrugs casually and crosses his arms.

“I waited at the children’s play area. Now, a man my age would attract attention without a need to be there, so I’d ducked into the employee-only area, and grabbed a shirt to disguise myself. I hung out in the Starbucks for a good forty-five minutes trying to look like I was on break while observing the play area. Although I couldn’t tell where the vent entrance was, I figured two adults Damian and Marinette’s size would be easy to spot coming out of an area meant for children.

“When an hour and a half passed by, I’m nervous, because neither Jason nor Tim has sent any word. I called them both. They didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, 'cause the French phone napper took our phones,” mutters Jason.

“So, I decided to do some reconnaissance. The lady at the front desk looked bored enough, and so I went over to… chat.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You mean flirt.”

Dick glares. “Shut up. So, I hang around the front desk for half an hour at most, before the kids went crazy. Like plastic balls being thrown everywhere, kids shrieking, this one little girl, later we learn her name is Abby, she’s doing this whole speech about a revolution-”

“Tim…”

“Not me, I’m not here at this point.”

“I stand there in shock, wondering what the heck set it all off. This one little girl runs up to the daycare worker, Melinda? Melody? Something. I don’t remember. And the little girl’s nose was bleeding, so there immediately goes my peaceful cover. I back up into the crowd, which at this point has gathered around pretty thick.”

“You know I wondered why there were so many people hanging around in that front lobby area,” says Tim.

“I’m almost sure the commotion has something to do with Marinette and Damian, so I keep my eyes peeled waiting for any adult-sized figures to emerge from the play area.” Dick sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. “I was right of course, but I missed Marinette slipping out, and she approached me from behind.”

“This is where you get pickpocketed too!” crows Jason.

“Really, Richard?” asks Bruce with a raised brow. This is ridiculous.

“Okay, look, I was distracted, off my game, there was a ton of screeching, and it had been a long day. And she was very good. The technique was flawless, minus a bit of overacting and a touch of obviousness. Which was her goal because-”

“~It was a trap~” Jason and Tim sing together.

“It was bait,” Dick corrects. “Leading me to a trap, that didn’t even work. So really, I did the best between the three of us.”  

“You all will complete remedial awareness training, so a situation like this never happens again.” Bruce massages the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh. “Just… just please continue.”

“I can’t full-out chase her or anything, but she keeps out of reach through the store, until we reach the place where they set the trap. Obviously, Jason already tripped it, so she turned face and ran in the opposite direction. I followed, trying to convince her to stop and talk. But at this point, she’s full-on outpacing me and doing well too. I’m hesitant to say trained, but she had practice.”

“She’s gotta be a spy, or maybe she’s working for the League?” muses Jason.

“Damian would see right through that,” interrupts Bruce. He knows his youngest son has an instinct when sniffing out undercover League members. Talia certainly sent enough of them over the years.

“Maybe she’s just that good?” says Tim. “I certainly can’t find a damn thing on her, and being a League plant would explain that.”

Dick shrugs. “We’ll figure out her deal later. She calls Damian, and they talk briefly, but I couldn’t hear the conversation. Soon after Jason does his whole intercom takeover Marinette pulls out her little magic electro bursts and short circuits the electricity to the entire store.”

“And then caused you to trip.”

Dick wearily nods. “And then caused me to trip. By the time I detangle myself, she’s long gone. The lights come back on, and I’m stuck wondering where the hell she’s gone. I try to avoid getting clocked by security, so I keep to blind spots, which is how I eventually spot her doing the same.”

“Suspicious,” mutters Tim. “More evidence for the ‘League plant’ theory.”

“Or she could know security is looking for a woman of her description and she’s smart, either way, I tail her and corner her in a display room, no idea why she chose that one, but when I walk in it’s empty.”

“She teleported, or vanished like a ninja,” gasps Tim, eyes wide, pupils smaller than pinpricks. Bruce is now counting the seconds until he passes out.

Dick shakes his head. “No, she hid in the fucking closet. Tim, you need sleep.” Tim sticks out his tongue.

“I was this-” Dick places his fingers centimeters away from each other “-close to nabbing her, and then the whole Jessica situation happened.” He rubs a hand through already messed up, fly-away hair. “She drags me away screeching about lawyers and customer service, and it had been a very long day, so the second her back was turned I bolted. I couldn’t risk heading back to the display room, although if I were Marinette I’d be long gone, so I backtracked to where I stuffed my actual clothes and headed towards the atrium.”

“Yes, I saw your arrival as well,” Bruce confirms with an exasperated drawl. The videos spread out across multiple platforms gave an all-around idea of what happened in the atrium. “You all know better than to escalate things in public. We have an image to maintain after all." The boys nod, cowed and guilty. "That being said, things wrapped up rather neatly.” He eyes the boys with a paranoid weariness. “Too neatly.”

All three sag into their seats and gaze at each other with sheepish grimaces.

“Yeah, B, we noticed that too,” says Jason. “But at the time…” he trails off.

Tim continues, his speech sluggish. “It felt normal, to accept what was going on. The fight, the crazy lady, the little kid with the ball pit balls, her uncle being Dick’s old friend, and the store manager, and they let us go. It was easy to go along with it.” Grimacing, he gestures to his assorted piles of papers. “You know, besides for all the work I have now.” Crossing his arms on the table he lays his head in the middle. “Too many people, so little sense.”

“Damian hasn’t said a word about any of it.” Dick slouches lower in his chair.

“Kid was all smirks when he and the little liar approached us after we left the store,” grumbles Jason. "Had fuckin' ice cream and everything." He spins the almost empty bottle of alcohol coke on the table. “Of course, they made us wait, because after we left and booked it to the car, Dickie realizes his keys are gone too. So there we are standin' in the parking lot, Timmy doesn't have his shoes, and all we got between us is one nerf gun, no phones, no keys, and no fucks left to give.” Bruce, too tired from the absolute rollercoaster of emotions and information his children just sent him on, can do nothing but muster up a stern and disappointed glare. He trained them all better than to let a civilian pull one over on not just one of them, but all of them.

“Yeah, yeah, I know situational awareness. We’ll work on-” Dick breaks off his sentence, and sighs softly. A small soft smile overtakes his face, and he raises a single finger to his mouth. He nods in Tim’s direction.

Tim’s head, previously cradled in his arms, now lolls to the side. Neon blue light from his laptop highlighted his closed eyes, and the purplish bags underneath.

“Finally,” Jason mutters. “I swear he has the survival instincts of a wet paper bag. He’s been up for way too long.”

Bruce is just grateful he won't need to physically drag Tim off to bed and force him to get some desperately needed sleep. “Now we just need to get him to his room.” He would have done it himself if his ribs didn’t spasm the second he thought of the idea.  

“Not it,” Dick whispers so quickly it’s practically a rush of air.

“Not it,” says Jason, barely a millisecond behind.

“Ha!” Dick impishly grins. “You do it.”

“But-”

“Nope, I said it first. You got to carry him.”

Jason turns his head towards Bruce, big bluish-green eyes looking for support.

Bruce doesn’t get himself involved in the decision-making games his children play. “He said it first.”

Jason’s hopeful glance turns into a disgruntled snarl. “I hate both of you,” he spits.

“Love ya too, Jay.”

“Thank you, Jason.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, wrinkling his nose. Jason pushes back his chair, and although he’s annoyed, the solid wood chair doesn’t scrape against the floor, so he can’t be too mad. Despite drinking his entire liter of mystery-alcohol-diet-coke mixture, his footsteps pace steady and strong. “Come here, ya little coffee-addicted gremlin.” Jason slips his arms around Tim’s body. It’s a testament to how exhausted his son must be, that Tim only flutters his eyes and protests incoherently at being lifted out of his chair.

“Quiet down, Replacement,” Jason murmurs, his voice soft as he speaks to his sleep-deprived brother. “All your calls and research will be there when you return from the land of nod.”

“But…”

“You can go willingly, or I can grab sedatives from the med bay and forcefully put your ass to sleep. I’ll put a bet on who’ll win that brawl.” Jason stands a good six inches taller than Tim, who looks like little more than a bedraggled rag doll in his older brother’s arms. Bruce knew who would win that fight too. Tim sighs and relaxes another inch into Jason’s arms. “There ya go. You can go back to bein’ insufferable once you’ve had some fucking sleep.”

“Hmm…” Tim's eyes fully flutter shut. Jason shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but softly traverses the room so as to not jostle him. Looking back over his shoulder one last time to shoot an I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this look at Bruce and Dick, before walking out of the room.

Silence overtakes the grand dining room as the last of Jason’s footsteps fades into the echoing halls of Wayne Manor. A light rain drizzles outside, the faintest patter hitting the tall arched windows letting in a soft grey light.

Dicks groans, pulling himself out of his slouch gracefully and into more of a respectable position. “I’m getting too old for that.”

“If you’re old, I must be ancient,” Bruce responds. He’s not, really. Only forty-seven to Dick’s thirty-two. What he’d been thinking taking in a ten-year-old at twenty-five, he couldn’t really quite say. The only thing that mattered at the time was the aching echo of loneliness reflected in the eyes of a child who had just lost their parents.

Now, look at them, all these years later.

“Nah, you’re not ancient, B. We’ve just been through enough shit in our lives to age a person twenty times over.”

Bruce gives him a look of high disappointment. “Stunts like this do not help, Richard.”

Dick has the decency to look properly ashamed. “I really didn’t mean for the situation to get so out of hand,” Dick insists in a soft, quiet tone. Bruce doesn’t quite believe it. His sons thrive off of chaos. Even if they didn’t mean for things to get out of hand, they tended to actively encourage it once in the middle of the undertow. “I know, I know, but how was I supposed to anticipate Damian teaming up with a… witch? Magician? Whatever she is.” Dick mutters the last sentence, but Bruce hears it clearly.

His sons certainly think the young woman is dangerous. Tim is thoroughly confused and stressed by her existence, although deciphering his third son’s emotions through his fog of exhaustion is a vexing endeavor Bruce still isn’t sure he accomplishes all the time. Jason clearly hates her or at least is holding a very large, very deep grudge against her. He wonders what exactly the content of the conversation was when she threatened Tim and Damian. He wonders if she knew the effect it would have on Jason.

Flickering light from the chandelier above pierces his eyes like a particularly vicious game of stab-the-vigilante, but this conversation is important, so, despite the full body ache accompanying his you’ve-pushed-too-far-and-now-you’ll-suffer-the-consequences migraine, he pushes through to ask, “What do we actually know about her?”

Dick sighs heavily, rubbing a hand across his face, and suddenly he looks every inch of his thirty-two years. “To be honest? Only a little. Tim wasn’t the only one to look her up. I did my searching too.”

“And?”

“Practically nothing. Basic info, but school records sealed tighter than Fort Knox, and firewalls grow tighter every time I try to hack ‘em. School activities, online media presence, and even pictures; all of it is whisps in the wind. Every time I try to look deeper, something...” Dick shudders as if shaking away a bad feeling. “I come up short and I can’t find a reason why. Even trying to think about Paris as a whole feels off and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“I can see if there’s anything in the League’s database about the city the past few years. It was Diana’s home base for decades until…” Bruce trails off, his mind an unexpected blank. Diana moved to the US from Paris eventually. Sometime within the last decade, but he can’t quite remember why. Surely, she must have told him at some point.

“She’s a fashion designer, I know that much. She has a website but it’s very bare bones. Commission work only. And her current course of study at Gotham U is Fashion and Business Management. But-” Dick’s hands flail into the air. “She’s from Paris! What on earth possessed her from moving from one of the fashion capitals of the world to here, to study fashion is beyond me.” 

“Hmmm…” Bruce’s brain whirls at a million miles a minute. Connections forming and rearranging on his mind’s case board. The incongruency is so stark, there must be a reason. They haven’t found it yet.

“As for her magic…” Dick shrugs. “She said her powers mostly affected situational outcomes, and from the incidents I saw, she told the truth. But I’ve never seen magic like that before. Magic that just… happens. She didn’t say words, she didn’t make hand gestures. She used tiny little - I want to call them mechanized balls, but we never came close enough to tell – to kickstart the magic.”

“A techno-mage then?”

Dick contemplates the idea for a moment before saying, “Could be. But it felt more than that. As soon as she became involved the whole day felt… left of normal. Which I suppose aligns with situational outcome manipulation. The day certainly went their way…” Dick shrugs. “I just don’t know.”

Bruce hums, finally asking the question that had swirled in his mind since the girl was brought up. “Do you think she’s a danger?”

Dick leans back in the chair, his face an avalanche of flickering emotions. Wind lightly howled outside the dining hall filling the intervening silence. Finally, he sighs and says, “No, I don’t think so. She was chaotic sure but genuinely enjoyed the game for what it was. Damian probably encouraged the more unhinged ideas. And yes, she has magic, but so do a ton of other, far more obviously dangerous people. Our system is tricked out for all types of magic users, and even if she can bypass them due to her own unique magic, we’d at least receive a warning. And as for our identities…” Dick half-smiles. “She didn’t even know we were the ‘Waynes’ until we were just about to leave, and she didn’t appear particularly star-struck. I doubt she’d make the jump from chaotic billionaire’s kids to vigilantes.”  

“As for Damian…?” Bruce hardly knows what to make of his youngest’s out-of-character reaction and hopes to receive some cohesive read on the situation from his eldest.  

Dick, being quite unhelpful, shrugs. “I think you should talk to him. Get his side of the story. Things may have been chaotic on our end, but he did genuinely have fun. And, yes, he’s acting out of the norm.” Dick pauses. “Way, way, out of the norm for him, but I don’t think he’s enchanted. I think he just has a crush.”

Bruce blinks. Isn’t that a hell of a thought?

Damian.

With a crush.

He doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with these kinds of realities. Reflexively he massages his temple with the tips of his fingers trying to relieve the paining, aching pressure.

“Headache again?” asks Dick with sympathy. After twenty years his son knows his tells well, and Bruce has always had headaches, although his reasons for having them have certainly increased over the years.

“Yeah, is what it is though. We’ll keep an eye on Damian, have you run him through the influence-affected protocols?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Dick shrugs. “Nothing, it’s mostly why I think he’s fine. She may be a danger, or powerful, but I don’t think she’s doing anything to Damian. Besides making him run up the data plan on his phone. He really hasn’t stopped texting the past two days.”

They’ve spent plenty of time talking about Damian, but Bruce hasn’t seen a glimpse of him since he woke up this morning. “Where is he?”

Dick pulls out his phone. “On a date, according to Stephanie.” Pulling up a photo that’s taken in a long-distance setting. Damian is pictured, seated at a cafe table, drinking out of a white coffee cup. Across from him sits a girl, Asiatic features, black hair, clad in a colorful sundress. They’re both smiling at each other.

It’s normal and adorable. And slightly worrying. Damian doesn’t smile like that unless looking at a fluffy four-legged creature.

“Stephanie trailed him?” 

Dick flips the phone away. “Actually, she and Cass both followed him when he left this afternoon. Not sure what they planned, but they’ve sent some nice pictures.” He pauses for a moment and smiles fondly. “If she’s not a danger, or a League plant, this could be really good for him.”

Bruce hums, unsure, and hating himself for that unsurety. He’ll make a call when he has more information, and less of a migraine. “Go wash up and grab some sleep. I’m out until my ribs heal, so I’ll need you to take point on patrol.”

Rising from his chair, Dick stretches and shoots him a grin. “It took you twenty-five years, but damn, you’ve finally learned to call it quits when you need a break. Proud of you B.”

Bruce doesn’t bother to disguise his roll of the eyes. Dick would know he did it regardless. “Get on.”

Dick shoots him a lazy salute. “Sir, yes, sir.” He ambles to the door, and Bruce calls out again before he’s gone.

“And next time, Dick, please try to keep the antics out of the paper, and off the internet.”

The shit-eating grin betrays Dick’s real thoughts when he says, “Of course Bruce, won’t happen again.”

Liar.

Bruce shakes his head in reluctant bemusement – should he honestly have expected anything else – and Dick ducks out of the door without another word. Finally, the dining room is quiet, except for the pitter-patter of rain on the window panes, and the soft hum of Tim’s computer.

Carefully, Bruce rises from the chair, his side twinging, head throbbing in what is now a full-on migraine.

He should have stayed in bed.

Ah, well, he’s suffered worse, and now he has a good idea of what happened with his sons that caused a headache so insistent he felt it halfway across the galaxy.

Gently closing Tim’s laptop, he doesn’t bother to touch the articles and paper, knowing his son’s organizational system may appear a mess to outsiders – even him on occasion – but that it has meaning for him. He observes the rest of the room; collecting Tim’s coffee mugs, and Jason’s empty plate and coke bottle – no need to have Alfred do it if he was right here – and ambles slowly to the kitchen taking care not to drop the dishes or disturb his ribs.

Placing the dishes away, Bruce leans heavily on the counter. Mind whirling, analyzing, and connecting the information as he has always done, however, it battles for dominance over the present, persistent, migraine. His body screams for more rest, and as much as he wishes to dig to the bottom of these problems right now, he trusts Dick has given him an accurate read of the situation. Later he can pry information from the girls, maybe they’ll have a less biased view of Damian’s… friend than his sons do.

He flicks the lights off in the kitchen, for now though, he’s heading back to sleep.

-line break-

A nap, a full meal, and hours later, the pitch black of the night concealed a heavier storm than the light drizzle which draped over the manor earlier in the day. Bruce, knowing damn well he wasn’t fit for patrol, sat in his office, a bottle of forty-year whisky perched next to a crystalline tumbler and a box of chocolates. A minor indulgence, especially as he should stay far away from alcohol at the moment. But if he hadn’t died from insane nutcases, aliens, or his children’s antics, mixing medicine and alcohol probably wouldn’t kill him.

Bruce snapshots a picture of the newspaper Alfred gave him this morning.

The front-page cover contains enough of the story to showcase the significant amount of drama his children had caused.

He texts the images to both Diana and Clark.

All he adds is, ‘I always know, and I’m always right.’

He pours another finger of the amber liquid into his glass and swirls it around as the computer turns on. Just because he wasn’t out and about, didn’t mean he intended to take the night off. Bruce stretches his fingers and opens up a blank case file template.

Time to find out who exactly is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

[bisquequick]

Three things about you

Favorite dessert ?

How long have you been on Tumblr?

Favorite fics?

Thanks for asking! ✨

Favorite dessert: I have a big sweet tooth. I would say it's probably chocolate lava cake for like cake desserts, and then there's an ice cream chain around LA with a Salty Oreo flavor, which is my more regular treat.

Tumblr: I think I signed up in 2013/2014?? I took a 8-year break and came back in 2022, ready to be unhinged. It's a LOT easier to use now than it was when I first signed up!

Favorite Fics: ooh this one is tough. I feel like there are fics that are comfort reads that I will go to again and again, and then others that are SO good, but I could only ever read them once.

A few of my CURRENT faves (but also what are YOU reading? I'm always looking for recs 🙃)

Star Wars:

Death & Tax Schemes or Mutually Assured Attachment by @armchairaloof, which is so much of what I enjoy about her humor, writing, etc. TBH Zoe could write a grocery list and I'd love it.

sitrep: commando by @jewelofmandalore, which is fun, funny, and a delight from start to finish.

ACOTAR:

Remember, we're madly in love by @velidewrites (I liked the hunger games, but I LOVE this fic and everything she writes is magic, truly.)

the bargain by @headcanonheadcase (here for her hockey-verse, and really anything she writes)

[walker33961]

________________________________________________________________________

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK - TF - 141, CIA

TRADECRAFT

AMSTERDAM

29 OCT 2022 0800

________________________________________________________________________

*After 1 hour*

*in the cafe area, normal light crowd*

*members in disguise*

Price :

Bravo - 6 to Watcher - 1 , In position at the cafe

2 table at my 3 o'clock , 1 cartel, 1 Iranian.

Laswell :

How cozy. ..

. .What are they up to?

Price :

Conducting a transaction.

Laswell :

Electronically.

Price :

Affirm.

Gaz :

They're paying the cartel for something...

Laswell :

Let's figure out what...

Gaz :

Security?

Price :

Several.

Gaz :

I'll deal with them.

Price :

Well, don't take all the fun, eh?

Gaz :

Copy - Comin' your way now.

- Laswell hands over a syringe to Gaz...

Gaz : Poison?

Laswell :

Non - lethal. It'll take 'em out of commission.

Gaz :

CIA shit...

Laswell :

Welcome to my world..

...Use the needle on the guards and we roll up our cartel friend...

Gaz :

And you?

Laswell :

Exfil. Say when.

Gaz : Roger That..

..........

....................

Laswell :

0-6 , sitrep?

Price :

Talking timeline.

Laswell :

When are they moving?

Price :

Tonight.

Laswell :

Stay on 'em - We need to know what it is and where it's going.

Price :

Copy.

Laswell :

Hold up.

... 2 cartel guards. End of the bridge.

Gaz :

Got a visual.

Laswell :

Keep your weapons concealed.

... Let's see if they split up.

....

Okay , one's leaving.

Price :

Heading my way.

Laswell :

I'll tail him.

Gaz :

I'll take one at the bridge.

Laswell :

Moving.

- Gaz went near one guard and stabbed the syringe in the enemies stomach , pushing him to make him sit in the bench aside..

Gaz :

Woah - easy mate.

.. One too many, huh?

.. Guard's down. Bridge is clear.

Laswell :

Good work. Regroup on me.

Price :

Watcher - 1 ...

The cargo is human - one VIP, bound for the US.

Laswell :

Who, John?

Price :

Major Hassan Zyani.

Laswell :

Christ. That means he's in Mexico.

Gaz :

Means there's time to stop him.

Laswell :

We need to roll up our cartel friend for a talk, now.

Gaz :

What's the call?

There's guards all over him.

Price :

We haven't scouted the area. There could be more guards.

Laswell :

There's no time to case the area, John.

Laswell :

We need a distraction.

Price :

I've got something

.. Meet at the cafe, Gaz.

- Gaz went over to Price's location, Gets near him and price orders him to take something from his hands, under the table.

Gaz :

The bloody hell is this?

Price :

Decoy grenade.

.. It'll work.

Get back to Laswell, Let's kick this off.

Laswell :

Down the alley.

When panic starts to spread, that's when the cartel moves him.

Price :

That's where I come in.

Laswell :

On you , Gaz.

- Gaz throws off the bomb on a garbage storage

Gaz :

Goin' lound in 3..

Laswell :

Gaz , the guards are incoming. Take one, I'll get the other.

Gaz :

Rog.

Laswell :

Now, Sergeant.

- A Cartel guard came over, Gaz took his chance and pushed the formula down the side of his shoulder.

Gaz :

Guards are down. Heading your way , Cap.

Price :

Make it fast!

Laswell :

I'll secure exfil.

Gaz :

Meet you at the bridge.

Price :

I'm moving - in!

- Price hitting the target..

Price :

Shut your mouth. Follow me.

.. Watcher 1 package secure. Heading your way.

Laswell :

Copy.

Gaz :

Cartel! Behind us!

Price :

Cover sergeant!

- After taking down the threats, price takes down the target on the floor, Gaz pushed the syringe but his Capt's order. Both carry him to Laswell's car...

Laswell :

Nice work.

Gaz :

You too.

Laswell :

We need to find where they're moving Hassan and intercept him.

Price :

We'll wake him up and have a little chat.

Gaz :

How do we know he'll talk?

Laswell :

I can be very persuasive...

[benadryltarantula]

Mission 2: CLOTHING OPTIONAL

With the nukes more or less out of the players’ hands as per the Colonel wanting to keep things on the down low and Dandelion’s downtime window coming to a close the pilots all got plenty of rest. Of course I saw fit to interrupt this by making them get up in the middle of the night in a rainstorm. Without so much as time to get dressed (or to get dressed with a minor penalty to time and being yelled at more) Dandelion was awoken by blaring alarms announcing incoming bandits on radar. Given their status as “probably the best pilots on base” and the entire purpose of their squad being a combination fast attack/special support unit they were sent out to intercept and hopefully buy their comrades time to prepare.

(No one really left their mech all mission, so the sprites kind of went to waste, we’ll use them later somehow.)

The trek out to intercept the low flying transport helicopters (just roll with it, there’s already mechs, animal people, and nuclear war) and their escorts was interrupted by a spotty distress call coming from a friendly patrol engaged in combat. After a brief discussion about whether or not this was a trap, the squadron course-corrected to save a bunch of kids in way over their heads.

(The composition on these fake screenshots keeps getting worse! There were also body sprites, but I still don’t know tumblr’s policy on posting that kind of thing yet.) A battle against some Gramiitian mechs and specialist troops ensued. I learned a valuable lesson about how annoying giving the players allied NPC’s is and the players learned that I’m not going all out on making them fail missions yet. We had fun. I even threw in an assassin hiding in some ruins at them.

After saving everyone who wasn’t already dead at the distress call like some kind of big shot heroes, the squadron went back to their initial job of intercepting the small invasion force heading right for their base of operations. The rescue mission only set them back a little bit and after an initial skirmish one of the transport helicopters demanded that the players lower their weapons as they are performing a nuclear inspection as allowed by post-nuclear treaties and international law. The exact situation of who shot first is kind of fuzzy given that the players weren’t there to see if the patrol opened fire or not. Honestly I forgot to have them announce this before the players started fighting because I was excited to use the guy who calls you slurs as an action. Oh well. One intense fight of downing helicopters and Oswald’s mech getting trashed, falling into a bog, and ejecting himself sideways into a rocky mudbank when his cockpit started filling with water later all the transports were shot down and their escorts/surviving occupants were chased off.

So now I had the predicament of having an hour and a half left in session, nowhere to be tomorrow, and a player with no mech and a character with a shattered arm. I decided to make a third and final sitrep for the mission while we went over how bad Oswald was taking his opiate dosing and mud-soaked undergarments.

He was stuffed into the back of Micah’s mech and allowed to perform a tech attack as a free action if he could manage it with one hand and being drugged up.

The way home was blocked by an invisible swordsman, a signal jamming puppeteer, and some guy with rockets strapped to his back who failed to do anything and exploded. It got pretty dicey as mechs started overheating, someone got nearly cut in half, and comms couldn’t be established, but they pulled through in the end. Next week: License Level 2, war!, and an intelligence agent.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 14 first part

(RR The Untamed Masterpost) (Canary’s Pinboard - more Masterposts) 

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Murder Turtle, Continued

Lan Wangji wakes up after a good night's sleep leaning against a rock wall, to find that his leg is no longer splinted, and his perfectly clean and unbloody headband has been put back on his head while he was sleeping.

Leaving aside the "not waking up" part of things, how, exactly, did Wei Wuxian get his headband on without mussing his hair? Did he bring a crochet hook?

Wei Wuxian gives him a sitrep and then they cozy up and have an extended conversation about the nature and history of the Tortoise of Slaughter. Wei Wuxian is interested in everything Lan Wangji has to say, and Lan Wangji talks a lot more than usual; they are completely on the same wavelength here and are enjoying swapping obscure knowledge.

Lan Wangji: My lacerated leg and I are actually super aware that it has big teeth, but thanks for the reminder.

In the course of the conversation, Wei Wuxian mentions his plan to 1. sneak into the tortoise's shell and 2. drive it out of its shell so they can attack it. 

OP did a little tortoise research and learned that the only species of turtle that can leave its shell is the Koopa Troopa.

Good news for Wei Wuxian: If you jump on its shell in the right spot, you can rack up a pile of extra lives.

Does that make the Tortoise of Slaughter a giant Koopa Troopa? Perhaps...the king of the Koopa Troopas?

I'm gonna say yes.

(More after the cut)

Let’s Go Killing

Wei Wuxian is exhilarated by the idea of fighting a giant dangerous monster with Lan Wangji. Some day Wei Wuxian will found the Nike clan, because his motto is definitely "Just do it." 

It's sweet how, in his romantic notions about chivalry and Lan Wangji, he's completely elided the original reason they were (sort of) told to venture together. 

Wei Wuxian: I'm still on the "find the Yin Iron" quest; I'm just skipping the "suppress it" part.  

Wei Wuxian weighs up their chances against Bowser and tells Lan Wangji that even if they die, it will be badass to be killed by a famous monster, so they won't have to feel embarrassed.

This is the exact moment that Lan Wangji's feelings for Wei Wuxian go from "smitten" to "gagging for it."

Lan Wangji: as soon as we get out of here I'm going to borrow a whole lot of books from Nie Huaisang

The boys come up with a plan that involves a rather long montage of collecting archery equipment and deconstructing it. This potentially-dull montage is fun to watch because they are both very, very good looking.

Artists who want to draw Wang Yibo as an elven archer, this is your episode.

Now we suddenly have, with zero explanation, telepathy. Ok, sure. It seems to work kind of like a phone conversation, in which they say specific things to each other, rather than like Cherry Magic telepathy where you can hear everything the other person is thinking. Or at least, neither of them is embarrassed, so I assume they are maintaining some mental privacy.

Club Ruohan

Same, Wen Chao, same

At some point there is a boring sequence at Club Ruohan.  Wen Ruohan doesn't know where Xue Yang is, but really wants his hunk of Yin Iron. Wen Chao thinks that WRH's 3 pieces of Yin Iron should be able to beat Xue Yang's 1 piece, but apparently he is dumb and that is not how math works. O...kay? OP does not understand this either but whatever, Wen Ruohan is boring, moving on. This scene is really just here to make us think about Yin Iron before Wei Wuxian jumps into Bowser's shell.

Bigger On The Inside

So then Wei Wuxian climbs into Bowser's shell, which is, to quote The 12th Doctor, bigger on the inside.

Bowser’s shell is the approximate size of my entire house. It is also bathed in a hellish pure red photo filter, which OP has done her best to remove for these gifs, because it gives me eye strain and it obscures Xiao Zhan's hotness.

Camera Operator: What did I do? 

Wei Wuxian wanders around inside, finding random corpses encased in slime cocoons. Tortoise, spider, xenomorph, whatever. There are also random curtain things hanging all over, and then at one point Wei Wuxian stares into the face of a corpse, and then does a jump scare response at the camera operator even though nothing particular happened. 

I imagine the corpse was supposed to open its eyes and say "killl meeee" but it got censored. He also makes about 8 other faces at the camera operator, so we get that the inside of this TARDIS-like tortoise shell (must...resist...temptation...to...say...TORDIS) is yucky.

Lan Wangji waits outside listening to Wei Wuxian telepathically complain about the smell.  He is anxiously clenching a bundle of string and an arrow, and wishing he could clench Wei Wuxian Bichen instead.

Serendipitous Yin Iron

Wei Wuxian backs his way through the TORDIS until his butt bumps into a sword that is steaming with resentful energy. That's right: Wei Wuxian is about to pull a piece of Yin Iron almost literally out of his ass.

He grabs it and is overwhelmed by its screaming resentful energy and has to let it go again.

So this is what a vibrator with 4 batteries feels like

When Bowser comes looking for him, however, he quickly decides to go for it, grabbing the sword and singing "I've Got the Power (Gonna Make You Sweat)"

Wei Wuxian plunges the sword into Bowser's lower jaw, and Bowser pulls his entire head out of his shell with Wei Wuxian attached, while leaving the rest of his body and all rational laws of physics inside the shell.

Gamera Versus the Cultivators

What follows is one of the more ridiculous action sequences in the history of the world, and I say that as someone who likes Mothra movies. 

Wei Wuxian hovers in a perfect horizontal plank while “hanging from” the sword, which is held well below the level of his torso. While Bowser spins him around. For much of the time, Bowser keeps his head still and just waves his neck around.

Lan Wangji and the camera operator do everything they possibly can to make "guy pulls on string" look interesting. 

Everybody tries really, really hard and the actors are great at pretending something is there when it isn't, but this whole sequence is just horribly conceived.

What works well, though, is the Yin energy and Wei Wuxian's wrangling of it. He starts off being frightened and overwhelmed, and looking like it's too much for him; I dont' know if they made his face puffy on purpose or if that's just what happens when you spend days hanging from the ceiling fighting an imaginary monster. But he looks slack and unwell as he grapples with the iron sword.

Which makes this moment, when he gets control of it, deliciously creepy. He uses the power of the Yin Iron to stick a bunch of pokey things into Bowser's neck.

Lan Wangji has seen him struggling and now sees him...not struggling. Which scares the piss out of him, and he moves to finish the fight as quickly as possible, slicing up his hand and breaking the string. Combined with the pokey things, this does the trick and Bowser dies while Wei Wuxian faints and falls into the water.

Do the Whumpty Whump

Lan Wangji rescues him and wakes him up, and Wei Wuxian clutches the Yin Iron sword and tells Lan Wangji that he was knocked out by the screaming of disembodied voices.

This certainly sounds like a strange and dangerous phenomenon, so Lan Wangji carefully asks him to explain everything.

Ha ha ha j/k. Lan Wangji asks him exactly nothing about the strange sword or the black smoke or his weird evil smile or his new power over pointy objects. Lan Wangji appears to have a Star Trek: TNG level of unconcern about strange phenomena happening directly under his nose. But in fact he has noticed what's up, which is why he will be instantly distressed when he sees Wei Wuxian's flute moves at the Wen Corporate Headquarters.

Wei Wuxian has a fever (stay positive test negative) and comments on Lan Wangji's being so nice to him.

Wei Wuxian: I could never have imagined Lan Er Gongzi acting this concerned about me. Lan Wangji: what else have you never imagined me doing, while we're on the subject? 

Lan Wangji transfers a stream of spiritual energy to him. Lan Wangji has so much spiritual power he can be a battery for Wei Wuxian without breaking a sweat or, like, noticing whether Wei Wuxian has a golden core or not, for that matter.

Wei Wuxian basks in the nice feeling of gigajoules for a while but then decides he's bored. So then he pouts, whines, and cajoles Lan Wangji in exactly, EXACTLY the way he whines at Jiang Yanli.  I think this, while annoying of him, is a leap forward in his relationship with Lan Wangji.

He's letting his guard down and not just allowing Lan Wangji to take care of him; he's demanding to be cared for on multiple vectors, when he asks the guy who's already busy healing him to sing to him as well.

Lan Wangji obliges, singing him the song he composed about their love cultivation journey, while Wei Wuxian (or possibly Lan Wangji) (or possibly both) has a flashback to assorted sexy interactions that they've had so far.

Wei Wuxian memorizes the song perfectly on one hearing, before passing out.

Writing Prompt: Baldur’s Gate III / Untamed Crossover AU featuring elf archer Lan Wangji

I DARE YOU

Soundtrack: 1. Everybody Dance Now by C+C Music Factory 2. Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf 

Wei Wuxian fainting tally (cumulative): 3

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Things the Scoundrels are No Longer Allowed to Do- Part II

Based on “Skippy’s List,” I have continued “A List of Things the Scoundrels are No Longer Allowed to Do.”  I hope you enjoy it.  The original can be found here:

https://thelordofdarkreunion.tumblr.com/post/637424500291600384/a-list-of-things-the-scoundrels-are-no-longer

The group known as the Magnificent Scoundrels has gotten a bit out of hand.  This list was compiled by Admiral Hackett of the Systems Alliance, Admiral Kelly of the GA, Fleet Admiral Hood of the UNSC, Inquisitor Vail of the Holy Inquisition, Commander Briggs of the Frontier Militia, Princess Leia of the New Republic, and Director Fury of SHIELD in order to curb the Scoundrels’ more dangerous or inappropriate behaviors.  These rules apply to all Scoundrels and their teams/crews.

207.  Expended ammunition is not a business expense.

208.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to call requesions officers or quartermasters “sugar daddy.”

209.  There is no “anti-Shepard conspiracy” within the Scoundrels’ fleet.  That’s the Citadel Council’s thing.

210.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to adopt dogs to “sic on the brass.”

211.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to pay Revenant to kill people they don’t like.

212.  None of the Scoundrels are The Chosen One.  That was Anakin Skywalker.

213.  It is wrong to fire warning shots at drivers who do not recognize your right of way.

214.  Reading is not “for officers only.”

215.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to ask anyone who outranks them if they’ve been smoking crack.

216.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to turn their starship command rooms into throne rooms.  Especially with tacky carpets.

217.  We are not making clones out of any of you.  You are all hard enough to deal with as is.

218.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to steal any massive, mobile space stations or star fortresses, which include but are not limited to:

- The Rock

-The Phalanx

-The Citadel

-High Charity

-Cloud City

219.  Thomas Drake is not allowed to crash economies “because it’s fun.”

220.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to assign nicknames to anyone.

221.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to make chain guns that fire miniature nukes

222.   The weapons specialists of the Apocalypse are no longer allowed to collaborate with the engineers of the Normandy or Enterprise, and Quill is to give up the nuke chain gun.

[I will not!  How can you stop me?  I have a chain gun that fires nukes!]

223.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to wake up superior officers with cymbals

224.  Napalm Sticks to Kids is not a motivational song.

225.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to quote bastardized versions of Dr. Seuss rhymes on military operations.

226.  Command decisions do not need to be ratified by a ⅔ majority.

227.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to line their helmets with tin foil to “block out the space mind control lasers.”

228.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to start any SITREP (Situation Report) with “I recently had an experience I just had to write you about…”

229.  Do not attempt to take the gas masks off of Death Korps troopers.

230.  Rodents are not entitled to burial with full military honors, even if they are “casualties of war.”

231.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to mock command decisions in front of the press.

232.  You should not speculate on the penis size of anyone who outranks you.  Especially if they’re in earshot.

233.  You cannot arrest children for being rude.

234.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to create new, made-up government forms, then insist they be filled out.

235.  No one is allowed to perform “lap dances” in uniform.

236.  Past lives have absolutely no effect on the chain of command.

237.  Cain is technically allowed to kill any of you if he finds reason to, so stop pissing him off.

238.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to defect to other military service branches during training missions.

239.  Your race is not “other” on official documents.

240.  There is no Scoundrels ethics committee.  And if there was, Thomas Drake would not be chairman.

241.  Chainsaws are not the answer to every question.  Nor is “more chainsaws.”  Or “chainsaw cannons.”  Except for that one time, and yes, it was awesome.

242.  Stop posting classified information on social media.

243.  Adam Vir is no longer allowed to play “Hippocratic Oath chicken” with Dr. Kril.

244.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to cook nerve gas in the sink.

245.  There is no “annoy” setting on a phaser.

246.  A wet towel is not an improvised weapon.  Unless you’re Master Chief.  There’s a reason the Covenant calls him “The Demon.”

247.  I know you all have passes, but if the gun can’t fit through the x-ray machine, it doesn’t go on the plane.

248.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to download Internet Explorer into the Geth hivemind or the Martian noosphere.

249.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to demand payment in liquor, backrubs, or bubble wrap.

250.  Any Exterminatus-grade weapon is not “my little friend.”

251.  Airlocks do not double as waste disposals.

252.  No member of the Scoundrels or their crews are a pagan god or goddess of fertility.

253.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to learn profanities in any language that can bend reality.

254.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to steal their own souls.

255.  There is not a Space Marine Chapter whose heraldry is a smiley face.

256.  The following weapons are no longer allowed as dueling choices: steamrollers, nerve gas, land mines, or heavy artillery.

257.  Shepard is no longer allowed to drive or pilot anything.

258.  Han Solo is no longer allowed to attempt any piloting maneuver in which the original inventor was killed doing.

259.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play The Only Thing They Fear is You every time a super soldier enters the battlefield.

260.  In formal introductions to nobility, you are not allowed to introduce your companions as “the other guys.”

261.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to monologue.

262.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to do anything that would make a Sith Lord cry.

263.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to get telepaths to hurry up the speeches of long winded politicians.

264.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to hand over annoying reporters to any organization that could be considered a theocracy.

265.  If a black op requires you to impersonate an employee, you are not allowed to bill the target for overtime.

266.  By definition, chaplains cannot be atheist.

267.  The proper response to the question “Why?” is not “Why not?”

268.  It is assumed that a properly trained Titan Pilot knows what at least one of the buttons in the Titan’s cockpit does, and it is wrong for Cooper to pretend otherwise.

269.  At the end of a high profile assassination mission, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play disco music on the target’s phone.

270.  The Scoundrels cannot hear the soundtrack.

271.  Thermonuclear hand grenades do not exist, and the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to try and make them.

272.  I assure all of the Scoundrels with absolute certainty that Ralph is not a traditional Japanese name.

273.  None of the Scoundrels are from Margaritaville.

274.  Hawaiian shirts are not part of any of our governments’ formal uniforms.

275.  Master Chief is not allowed to record Gravemind ASMR.

276.  The Scoundrels are not allowed to write tell-all books about anything.

277.  “Legends never die!” is not a valid excuse.

278.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to think of new, creative, or fun uses for cursed artifacts.

279.  Check the door means listen to see if there’s any activity on the other side, not put multiple rounds through it.

280.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to give wasabi to unsuspecting aliens.

281.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to attempt to do anything they saw Jackie Chan do.

282.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to implement any battle plan that includes the words “and hope they miss a lot.”

283.  There is an upper limit to the number of people a bullet can go through.

284.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to attempt to unionize the Unggoy.

285.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to hack forge world PA systems so they only play Allentown.

286.  Sarcasm is wasted on Imperial Stormtroopers.

287.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to upload porn to the HUDs of their commanding officers.

288.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to download porn from the HUDs of their commanding officers.

289.  No matter how tough the battle, the Scoundrels are to keep the congratulatory ass-slapping to a minimum.

290.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use time machines to invade Germany on August 31, 1939 and thus secure Belgian dominion over Europe.

291.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to Tokyo drift tanks

292.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to “catch air” in military vehicles.

293.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to send anything to the past, future, or alternate dimensions.

294.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to mount speakers on tanks to play Ghost Division as they drive into battle.

295.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to post memetic hazards on the internet.

296.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to bind eldritch dieties to their will and make them mow the lawn.

297.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to load weapons with all tracer rounds

298.  If your personal weapon can be read with a Geiger counter, you aren’t allowed to have it.

299.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to turn Khornite daemon worlds into self supporting blood banks.

300.  “Pimp my Death Star” is not a real show, and we are not bringing Grand Moff Tarkin back from the dead to host it.

301.  Prussian Glory March is not a disco song.

302.  We know that Shepard was brought back from the dead by Cerberus, but no matter how high profile or how close a friend, the Scoundrels are not allowed to ask Cerberus, the Adeptus Mechanicus, or, god forbid, Fabius Bile to bring anyone or anything back from the dead.

303.  Any weapon that can be set to “flay” is strictly forbidden.

304.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to sing the Oompa Loompa song every time someone annoying dies.

305.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to store squeeze tubes of explosive putty in medicine cabinets.

306.  On most planets, shoulder holsters are frowned upon as casual attire.

307.  Zero body count does not mean just the ones they can find.

308.  Walmart is not a one stop shopping place for hunting demons.

309.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play football/soccer with AT-ST or Sentinel walkers.

310.  None of you are currently parents, but if you ever become one, Trazyn the Infinite is not to be named your child’s godfather.

311.  You know what, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to name any of the following as godparents of any potential children:

-The God-Emperor of Mankind

- Emperor Palpatine

- Councilor Sparatus

- Leman Russ [Bjorn said it was OK so fuck you.]

- Kahless the Unforgettable

- Kuben Blisk

- Kharn the Betrayer

312.  Searching a building means entering it, not leveling it with artillery and digging through the rubble.

313.  FedEx does not deliver to Tatooine.

314.  None of the Scoundrels are allowed to single-handedly make Starfleet Academy the number one party school in the universe.

315.  Covering fire does not include nuclear weapons.

316.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to challenge anyone to a dance-off to the death.

317.  Kirk, rifts in the time-space continuum are not for your personal amusement.

318.  Blowing up the top twenty floors of a building is not a “diversion.”

319.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to convince Sith Lords to use Force lighting on their welding projects.

320.  Canadian is not a real language, and you can’t set your translators to it.

321.  There is no such thing as a were-saxophonist.

322.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to tell new personnel that starship windows can be rolled down.

323.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to start wars between major weapons corporations, especially “because I’m bored.”

324.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to clear enemy underground bunker complexes just using Bangalore torpedoes.

325.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to order a lance of Imperial Knights to perform synchronized dance numbers.

326.  The Scoundrels are to leave out human mating rituals when presenting cultural exchanges to alien ambassadors.

327.  When raiding enemy corporations or terrorist organizations, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to look at the target’s HR files to see if they have better benefits.

328.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use time machines to collect autographs.

329.  Any buttocks belonging to the Scoundrels or any of their crews are permanently forbidden from making contact with any copy machine.

330.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to go FTL to avoid red lights.

331.  “Just throw them out the airlock” is not a backup first contact protocol.

332.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use the Enterprise’s transporters to fill enemy starships with jello.

333.  None of the Scoundrels are the patron saints of large explosions.

334.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to make, accept, or take rake-offs on bets concerning X-class end-of-the-universe scenarios.

335.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to go on PA systems and announce they just won The Game.  Goddammit.

336. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to trick Captain Marvel and Cato Sicarius any superheroes or super soldiers they deem “annoying” into fighting each other.

337.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to sell tickets to or organize cage matches between prominent super soldiers.

338.  Lockpicking and door breaching are two entirely different things.

339.  Performing obscene acts while in the cockpit of or piloting large combat mechs is strictly prohibited.

340.  Freeing slaves out of justice is good.  Out of spite, not so much.

341.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to compose offensive emails during stealth operations on the target CEO’s email and subsequently CC the entire company.

342.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to recreate the Charge of the Light Brigade with the Death Riders of Krieg.

343.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use telepaths to get out of speeding tickets.

344.  The state-controlled news service of the Imperium of Man most definitely does not have a liberal bias.

345.  Likewise, the state-controlled news service of the United Federation of Planets does not have a conservative bias.

346.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to kidnap Ewoks or Volus and put them in hamster wheels.

347.  Adam Vir is to, by order of Supreme Grand Master Azrael of the Dark Angels, return the Watchers in the Dark he took from The Rock as pets.

348.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to spend the entirety of their bonus pay on lottery tickets.

349.  The very concept of a Hutt lap dancer will earn a surprise visit from the Deathwatch.

350.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use grenade launchers to play bocce ball.

351.  If you are unsure of which side of the road you are supposed to drive on, the middle of the road is not a healthy compromise.

352.  No matter how cool it would be, the Scoundrels are not allowed to use any time machine to loan General Eisenhower a squadron of X-wings for D-Day.

353.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to program medical droids for “aggressive dentistry.” 

354.  The Scoundrels are to stop trying to get a reality TV show based on themselves.

355.  Garrus Valkarian is not “on loan” to the Vindicare Temple to improve either his or their sniping skills.

356.  Pointing out a massive plothole in any bad guy’s plan will not stop them from attacking you.

357.  Preliminary nuclear bombardment is not automatically Plan A.

358.  Maverick and Tope are not tax exempt for being chaplains. 

359.  Thomas Drake is to stop teaching classes to the rest of the Scoundrels on tax evasion.

360.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to refit tanks with jump jets.

361.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to create their own currencies.

362.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to attempt to set Jawas on fire with a massive magnifying glass.

363.  The Stanley Cup does not have the same power as the Holy Grail.  Not even on Canadians.

364.  The Scoundrels are not allowed to steal the Stanley Cup.

365.   The Eldar really hate it when you greet them with “Live long and prosper.”

366.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to give pre-teen children their phone numbers, especially when they are on black ops.

367.  You cannot partake in the sport of fencing with a broadsword.

368.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to switch nationalities or service branches for tax purposes.

369. None of the Scoundrels are “He who must not be named only in passing.”

370.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to shoot at natural disasters.

Well, there it is.  I hope you enjoyed it, and if you would like to add to the list, feel free!  

[hotel-six]

"Mason." I blurted, eyeing at the man as he smiled. Woods in turn grumbled and fished his wallet, handing the Alaskan a paper bill.

"Great choice Bell!" Alex stood up from his table and shook hands with me. I shot him a questionable glare.

"Boo!" Frank called as he gave us a thumbs down.

"He's just salty he lost a bet. Don't mind him." Alex assured me and all I could do was nod. Frank was the kind of bully that picks on you because he cared for you, and no one else could change my opinion of him.

"Well, now that it's settled, Park, you're with me." Adler concluded as Park followed Adler for additional instructions. You looked at Mason questioning what to do next.

"What now?" I asked as he slumped to a nearby chair and faced me seriously.

"We'll have to come up with ways to earn her trust." He said, pulling a dossier of the president's daughter. Okay. This was easy. I just have to get to know her a little. Got it.

I read the copy of the dossier. It was so formally written, the words started to bore me.

So her name is Eve, she's into foreign languages, likes tea parties and ice fishing. Yeah this is one bizarre gal.

"Do you know anything about her interests?" Alex asked as he noticed my eyebrows already looking confused.

"Yeah… I guess I know a few foreign languages. But I doubt if she'll be interested in that."

"Yeah. It would be weird if we greeted her with a different language." Alex rubbed his fingers on his chin while Woods quickly inserted himself in the conversation, his arms crossed.

"Ice fishin'" the sergeant said. Both Alex and I turned to his suggestion.

"I don't know, make shit up. You're from Alaska, she'd be convinced that you're some popular ice fisher or something." Woods said as Alex agreed to him.

"Great, now that that's done, we could leave, right?" I stood up and clapped.

"Not quite yet. Do you already have something to wear? Remember, we need to act like we belong." he reminded me and of course I'd miss that. My mind started to remember 'Nam all over again, but just bits and pieces.

"Ah yeah. So… " I trailed, waiting for Mason to finish my sentence.

"We look for clothes." Mason tossed his keys to Frank as we stood up and went to buy some. Honestly, the side trips of the missions are the fun parts.

~

International Academy of the Arts

Prom Night

I've never worn formal clothing in quite a while but this one, I actually like. It's a fine mix of comfortable and classy, and I could still fit a gun in it. Perfect for undercover.

I took another sip of their fruit punch, these killer drinks looked fancy and tasted fancy. When Adler said blend in, it meant I get to avail everything served for the students.

"Is it really that good?" Mason asked, his eyes widened in curiosity as I downed another glass. He was wearing this simple tuxedo with a bright red bowtie. He told me red was a noticeable color and he hoped it was trusting enough for Eve to follow us.

The lights started to dim as the colorful spotlights slowed down, diverting all its glow toward the center area of the venue. It was time for the dance. As the crowd started to partner up, my eyes started to focus on Eve.

"There she is, near the stage. Let's go." Mason quickly grabbed my hand and we surged through the crowd positioning ourselves not too far from Eve.

"So we're dancing?" I asked as Mason offered his hand. I could feel my heart thumping as I accepted his offer. This isn't normal.

"Yeah. Just sway your body side to side. No big deal. Just act normal and when the time is right, we could talk to them." Mason assured as his hand found its way on me. I focused my eyes on his feet, attempting to copy his steps.

"Nothing suspicious so far. But they're closing the entrance. Looks like everyone in the guest list is already in." Lazar radioed as we continued dancing, our steps were swaying closer and closer to Eve.

We got close enough that we actually caught her attention. Eve smiled at us as everyone tossed their partners to the nearest couple, forcing me to pair up with Eve's partner.

He looked at me with a warm smile. Maybe I'm really that convincing as a schoolmate so I tagged along, dancing to the rhythm.

"I haven't seen you here. You're one of those exchange students, yeah?" He spoke and all I could ever do was nod and continue dancing.

"Great, great. Welcome to the International Academy of the Arts! I'm Ben." he welcomed me and I smiled in return.

"Great school. I like." I muttered, pretending I don't know much of the English language, further verifying my transfer student alibi. From the corner of my eye, it looked like Eve was already having a great time.

"Back to your partner you go!" He cheered as the music cued for the exchange, but just as the pass was about to happen, the lights quickly dimmed as the music stopped. Collective gasps and screaming immediately filled the dance floor as everyone panicked to safety. The faint glow of the emergency exit was their only source of light.

"What's the sitrep?" I yelled over comms.

"Proceed to exfil! The entrance is under attack!" Adler yelled as gunfire started booming in the background. Glass shattered from the windows and you felt a familiar hand pull you up.

"On your feet, Bell. I got Eve." I felt a gun in my hand and I knew exactly what to do. Lead the way.

"Woods, how's the exit?" 

"Dark and crowded." he grumbled. That just meant it wasn't the safest way out. Three people are defending the entrance and I can't afford wasting my time waiting for the crowd to ease up. 

I remembered the blueprints from earlier. There were a few more exits that I remember and every choice offers the quickest path to Sims.

Route A is through the second floor. There's a metallic ladder that leads straight to the parking lot. I doubt anyone would go there. With all the fancy clothing, this was the least plausible way.

Route B is through the basement parking lot, but the entrance is through the rest of your squad's defending line. It would be such a risk but the basement is underground and actually safer.

[Route A]

[Route B]