I'm not saying that it's aliens - TAKE A LOAD OFF, LOG 2

[libraryassistants]

Who: Readers and Actors
What: Beta Story final log
When: November 28 - December 11
Where: Woodhurst (UK) and the SS Radiance (in space!), 2019
Content warnings: Please tag warnings in comment headers!

In Woodhurst:

There is quite a bit of confusion in the village as the weeks pass by- by now it is clear that some people are very much not themselves, and there are multiple theories as to why. Aliens, obviously- the really weird bit is that it’s not just certain edgy teens purporting this theory, but since there’s been some (alleged) activity previously, maybe they’ve come back! Some tourists (and perhaps some locals) have made signs of the ‘Take me with you!’ variety, mostly loitering in the town square or in the park, whenever they get chased out of one or the other.

Suffice it to say, those people aren’t being taken seriously by those in charge- though even they have to admit that something strange is going on. Prevailing theories amongst officials are ‘gas leakage’ and ‘water contamination,’ neither of which are suitable explanations but no one seems to want to think too hard on it. As a result, the friends and families of those acting out of sorts are in a strange position. Do they try to seek medical help? Wait and hope it sorts itself out? Or do they join the crowds bidding welcome to their potential alien guests, demanding their real loved ones return?

Visitors of all stripes might find themselves a bit more scrutinized, as a result. Didn’t a bunch of weird people show up just as people seemed to start changing? Readers and aliens alike had best be on their most normal behavior, or it’s possible they’ll get cornered by someone asking what’s happening, or… a fanatic who wants to be taken up into their spaceship. Some of whom have some weird questions about probes. Good luck figuring out what that’s about.

On the IMW Group Supply Ship: Radiance

Things are not all well further up in the atmosphere, either. The staff have had to deal with much more pushback than they were expecting, including some people who seemed to not enough understand the concept of mental health (which was not in the briefing- shouldn’t they have at least heard of it before?). A few cases also seem to be quite severe, involving a level of intervention that they weren’t really prepared for- but of course, they’re here, so they’re going to do the very best they can to get all the humans the help they need! Hopefully legally.

Most alarmingly, however, it seems there have been some kidnapping attempts! …Kidnapping attempts that didn’t involve them! Someone, or multiple someones, have managed to get the patients off the ship without first filling out their discharge paperwork, and that simply will not do. As a result, security is ramped up on the ship… sort of. There’s very little in the way of a security crew, after all, and it’s not like they can call in reinforcements. So mostly this means that there are some very tired counselors who have been put on hallway shifts, and everyone has been assigned a little name badge that they MUST wear at ALL TIMES.

(There are actual people guarding the shuttles now, but again… there’s only so much security. The real question is, do you really want to beat up the aliens who are just trying to help?)

To their credit, the various Group members are trying to listen to the concerns of the patients who are here… less than willingly, and are beginning to filter some cases back to the planet by request. But they are going to do it properly, which means the proper forms. A wrap up visit with their counselor, a form agreeing to be finished with treatment, a politely worded request to maybe not tell people about the aliens (it’s not an NDA, because the Group has never needed those, it’s really just a form asking if they’re going to talk about it so management can figure out how badly this is going to go). Oh, and would you mind filling out this survey about your experience?

Of course, not everyone is in a hurry to leave- or at least needs something to do while waiting for bits of paperwork to approve. All the regular classes and sessions are still going, and they even retrofitted one of the spas to have water instead of… whatever it was before. Now certified safe for humans!


[Information on what's available on the ship is in the first log; info post is here.]

Comments

Konrad Curze - Reader. OTA.

[curzed]

The sun sets rather early this time of year, allowing Curze.. some measure of freedom in passing through town without it being long after everything's shuttered and locked for the night. He'd found a small store earlier, which did not appreciate the fact that he had neither shirt nor shoes, only a battered black trenchcoat and equally dark jeans, and thus should get no service, but when he'd left he'd taken with him a familiar deck of cards and left approximately the right amount of money behind to pay for it. It's not in thrones, but the local coinage wasn't hard to figure out.

And then the smell of food behind one of the other shops he didn't recognize had led to getting caught by the workers there, who ... did not act as angry as expected. They'd been unexpectedly sympathetic in fact, and he wasn't entirely ... certain ... why.

Nor did he expect to get herded inside and offered a meal. A simple fare, recaff of some form and some meat filled bread and a little cup of soup. By the time this happens he's fairly sure he's been mistaken for something he is not. He'd relocated with his free meal to the darkest spot a Starbucks has to offer - which is admittedly not much, everything is much too well lit for his tastes - and ... failed to actually eat it in favor of going through the deck of cards one at a time, frowning.

It is very similar to the lesser arcanoi he favored, but some were very much NOT familiar and going by number alone he can guess at what they're supposed to be, but it's still .. strange. The box calls them 'tarot', so maybe it's just a local variation.

For the past twenty minutes or so he's been shuffling the deck and laying out the cards one by one in the same six-card spread over and over, and every. Single. Time it's the same cards set out.

Probably he should eat his free meal before it gets too cold.

[ooc: wildcard: still skulking around town hunting aliens and keeping tabs on the actual humans, many options exist.]

[holiestlove]

Jonathan had never been much of one for coffee unless Mr. Hawkin's was the one to place it in his hand. Tea had always been his favorite, and that was what brought him back into the Starbucks. He had been told it was the best place for any drink earlier in the week.

Maybe it was the shirtlessness with the coat. Perhaps it was the lack of shoes. But with the paper cup of tea in hand, he had started to go before the brunette haired version of Jonathan Harker, in his strange modern clothes, moved over to stand near the other. Pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, he spoke in that same voice as before.

"I feel like I know you, sir. Have we met at the Library?" It worked with others, he wanted to see if he was right.

[curzed]

He'd be wearing a lot less if he thought he could get away with it. Fashion is an unnecessary distraction when he's simply not bothered by heat or cold! But the social license he's been allowed by wandering around with no shirt or shoes would probably not extend to also being without a jacket.

Curze tolerates what he must.

At least the steady rain the town's been getting means the primarch doesn't stink quite so badly of old blood anymore, which might make his presence a little more tolerable; he glances up from his cards when approached, expecting one of the generic local mortals or worse, one of the creatures pretending to be human, and instead it's... Jonathan Harker.

In a different outfit, a different hair color, but the sound is the same, as is the scent. "Mm. Yes. I helped you with your jacket." He himself is normal human sized now, even if on the tall side! The Night Haunter still has the filed sharp teeth and depthless solid black eyes though, why HE hasn't been pegged as an alien probably revolves entirely around how not friendly he is, disturbing instead of welcoming. Nobody looks too closely at the assumed crazy, dangerous and homeless. "I had wondered if it were perhaps just myself, the ghost and the dead elf."

For anyone else, that might be a note of welcome relief in his tone.

[holiestlove]

If he wore less, he would likely get to meet the constables. But given most probably though the tall man was a homeless person, he was getting a pass. Maybe judged, but a pass all the same.

Jonathan Harker was not judging. He used to be that type to judge, but his horrors at least fixed that.

To be honest, the lack of blood smell is what made it not click this much shorter than before man was his friend. But as soon as the coat was mentioned, a smile crossed the young man's face as he pulled out the chair across from Curze and sat without asking. His sunglasses stay in his hair as those blue eyes seem to light up. "Night Haunter! I didn't realize it was you, my friend. How have you been doing?" He inquired before adding. "And I must ask, ghost and dead elf? Have I missed something?"

What a sight these two must be.

[curzed]

He's certainly not going to tell Harker to go away. It's ... strangely nice, to see a friendly face. It's a novel experience, nobody ever looked pleased to see him. Nor do they ever remember what he preferred to be called. It was always the most disliked name his father had given him. This mortal however defied expectations on both fronts.

"My disguise," he says with a sharp edge of irony, "Is flawless. Who would think to look for someone half the size they should be?"

Maybe some of the other patrons of the coffee shop will be pleased to know the menace taking up space apparently has A Friend, and m aybe that friend will get him to leave! "It's been a troublesome couple of weeks. There's an alien infestation, you know. Innocents being kidnapped. Our 'recommended reading' it seems, was accurate."

And he hasn't caught a single one yet! It's depressing! "Two other members of our book club, it seems. I have seen no others besides yourself."

[holiestlove]

To be honest, Jonathan just liked how Night Haunted sounded, despite his horrors. And Curze had said it was preferred so he would remember and use it. The young Englishman did look very pleased to see his spooky friend.

Sitting his tea down on the table, nodding with a chuckle. "We are nearly the same height, it is surreal." Jonathan was six foot three and always felt too tall until he met the brothers. "They just gave me my natural hair color back and a change of clothes, but I do think I have given myself away to at least one person here."

Had he mentioned his hair turned white? Eh, it didn't matter. "I had noticed one of the children running around seemed to think I was an alien. Or something of the like. I admit I have been exploring more than speaking to others. Despite the era being wrong, we are pretty close to where I am from. Not that I think they would let me return to Exeter from here." He hadn't tried, but Jonathan had been tempted too.

"I have seen a few, and even one I know to be one of us, but he believes he is part of the story."

[curzed]

"Why did you change your hair color? Both suit you well enough, but I admit to bias for that which I knew you in first." He's always going to connect Jonathan to white hair, even if it wasn't his natural color.

As an afterthought, the cup of soup is herded in Harker's direction with one ragged black nail. "It is, apparently, 'chicken noodle', if you wish it." Should he be eating it? Probably. Is he willing to share? Sure, why not. "I assure you, you are no alien. I would know." They smell different. "But with the fear running through town, not knowing friend from foe.. it's unsurprising they would question a stranger."

They'd probably be questioning him, if he didn't live and breathe intimidation. "If we are here much longer, attempt for Exeter. It would be good to get a better sense of where we are." And when. This is Jonathan's colony world? That's fascinating. And excellent to know, where to put the man later when he finally gets his claws on his fleet again is handy.

But the last draws a moment's pause. "And it seems you know more than I of our situation. Is this a story? How would one become part of it?"

[holiestlove]

"It was not by choice, my friend." He admitted sparing a moment to take a drink of the still a touch too hot tea. Yet, it didn't bother him. "It lost its pigment less than a month before we met, when I awoke to Mina's attack. It turned white before the dawn." He had grown used to it, even if he felt it made him look like an old man. It did not.

Looking at the soup, then at Night Haunter. "Are you certain?" Just as the other did, he pushed his tea forward. "Have you ever tried Earl Grey?" He grew up in an orphanage; sharing with a friend was not that strange to him. Plus, germs aren't really something he knows much about. "I didn't think I was, but it is a relief to know. I do trust you unquestionably when it comes to such matters." Jonathan nodded, then reached for the spoon.

"From what I have gathered in our book club, Exeter does seem to exist in more than just my world, but, it is a comfort to know. Perhaps it would be worth the journey to see if my home still stands. We are more than a century from the time I lived."

Using the spoon, he takes a taste before looking up. "That is quite good." He replied. Standing just a moment to grab a second from the near station and a second cup to help with sharing. The cup and spoon were placed down. "That, my friend, I have not figured out. But they do clearly believe they are the people in the story. I confess I did not push much. Fearful of causing damage."

[curzed]

"Oh?" Now there's a phenomenon he'd never heard of. With several brothers with naturally white hair he'd been content to assume Jonathan's was too. "How unusual. I wonder how all the pigment could drain out overnight." Color was wired in! Or at least, it should be.

He's no biologist. Maybe he should... find a book on it. "Of course I'm certain, or I wouldn't offer." Sure, his thinness compared to even Sanguinius is marked, but he hasn't starved for decades now! It's fine! But the tea in return is eyed. "... Much to the despair of my brother Fulgrim, all teas are much the same to me. One form of boiled leaf water is not much different than another." He'll try it anyway, because why not.

The unquestioning trust of a mortal who actually thinks of him as a friend. How surreal is his day going to get? "Strange that it might be the same world but not the same time. Warp deviations can lead to years of de-synchronization, but a century.." The second cup of soup is also considered. Now he has tea to try, AND soup.. and the meat pie. He's spoiled for choice. "Who was it, do you remember? The one you spoke to."

[angel_of_baal]

It's fine, Tsang is fine, and you know what would steady its nerves? A significant dosage of caffeine. Surely that's the thing to calm a jittery antenna. Or two.

But that? The sight of that stranger in the back? That did the opposite to Tsang's antennae, and for a moment it wanted to run away (optional: screaming). But that would draw attention and one thing it remembered from Revanian college was that running made predators think you were prey.

It was not prey! It was NOT! At least...none of the Revanian known predators are here. Which was the same, or close enough, right? So second option: Tsang, clutching its Pistachio Matcha (yes the barista had given it that Look too) as it tried to look brave, striding over.

But then inspiration and courage failed, because being this close to the stranger was, uh, intimidating? ".....hello?" Look, Tsang was doing its best!

[curzed]

There are many, many much safer places Tsang could be right now. Places that don't have a serial murderer sitting in them, frowning at the cards on the table as if they had personally disappointed him in some catastrophic fashion. Places with friends and allies and some form of defense against sudden and expected attempts on its life.

The light here reveals much the night did not, but his presence is the same, malicious intent banked to mere coals but still there, buried under annoyance not focused on the alien but on the offending pictures on the cards.

Only because he's not entirely aware the alien is there. At least up until Tsang strides over, and Curze lifts his head slightly to study the xenos with an unblinking gaze, a card held delicately in one callused hand. "You're either very brave, or very foolish. Or both."

His voice is still strangely gentle. That hasn't changed.

[angel_of_baal]

All very true, but Tsang feels responsible for this monster showing himself and it would be devastated if any of its friends came to harm. It had to step up, even if it was just to stand in this creature's way.

It wanted to be the first, was probably the second. "I'm not afraid of you," Tsang lies. Is a Pistachio Cold Foam Matcha a weapon? The stranger may find out!

[curzed]

"You are." The card is set down at the top of the array of six of its fellows, its image a single fist holding a stick. "You wonder what I might do to you. What I might do to your allies, when I catch them. The imagination is vivid, is it not?"

The entire set is swept back up and added back to the stack, shuffled with an idle grace repeatedly. Deck split, reshuffled. Split again, reshuffled. "Fear is a gift few understand until it's much too late." When he begins setting them out again, in the same pattern as before, the cards are all identical to the previous layout, including the single fist and its lone stick at the top. "A protective mechanism designed to keep life from foolish mistakes and terrible lapses of judgment. Those who forget die much faster than those who do not."

[angel_of_baal]

"I don't want to know that." Which means yes, its brain had run down the road of 'what would have happened' and had come back screaming. One down side of being an artist is an imagination.

But as long as the stranger is here, he's not, well, doing that to anyone else.

"Without fear, there would be no courage." And surely its drink makes a wonderful shield, with the way Tsang is trying to hold it in front. "Every hero has felt fear, and overcome it."

[curzed]

"And few heroes have long peaceful lives with which to enjoy their courage." Again the cards are collected and reshuffled. The odds were against one repetition.

Seven beggars belief. "Come, miserable creature. Sit. You wish to pretend to be human, act as humans do. Play the game of fate, as humans do, and see if courage serves you or cuts you."

The stack of cards is set on the table, and swept in a long arc to display their seventy-plus identical backs. "Choose seven."

[angel_of_baal]

"It takes courage to live in peace, as well." So full of aphorisms, it is.

It makes a sound that in a human would be an audible nervous swallow, but Tsang is a Revanian, so his nervous gulp sound sounds more like a cricket chirp. Which it realizes was wrong, so it hides the chirp in a sip from its drink.

Ah, delicious green. But it has a mission now: to show that it's not afraid. So it perches on the chair, like a nervous bird, one hand, the wrist wrapped in layers of friendship bracelets (because Tsang has FRIENDS!!) tapping the cards, twitching back each time as if this was a trap.

It probably was.

[curzed]

Either Tsang's words or that nervous chirp earn a snort from the Night Haunter. "It takes complacency and laziness to live in peace." Though he makes no move to grab the alien, every flinch back sharpens his attention much like dangling a feather at a cat, and it takes supreme restraint to simply slide each indicated card in front of himself and collect the rest that aren't selected back into their neat stack.

"This version of the lesser arcanoi is different than I'm used to," the pale man says, tone thoughtful, as the cards are arranged, face-down, in a loose figure-eight. "Though it does usually vary from world to world, I've gotten rather used to my own. I'll convert them as best I can." The first is flipped over, a rabbit sitting amongst five cups, two still full of red liquid, three spilled on the ground. "Many believe that it is possible to tell the present, the past and the future based on what card arrives in which position, as a fun game with friends. Pay attention. I will not repeat it." He's one of them. He knows it works well for unraveling the mysteries of his own foresight when it's too vague to provide more than uneasy warning.

No visions have plagued him here, though. "This position represents what has gone before, and its influence on matters now. It is..." There's a moment of hesitation, and a frown follows it, running what he knows of his own cards on the Nightfall versus 'modern' Earth's variant. "An emotional state returning to cause trouble. Sorrow, loss, depression, inherited cycles of emotional suffering." Hey, wasn't that why the aliens are here to begin with? Except he's not ... sure it applies to the alien. "It is also a reminder nothing lasts forever, and an opportunity waits to change old patterns and break free."

putting a FIRM PIN IN THIS even if other thread may change things a bit

[unsheathedfromreality]

If Curze isn't going to eat his food before it gets cold, the birds might.

Or one bird might. One particular dead, transdimensional bird who resembles a blond human right now and looks none the worse for wear for his enforced weeklong vacation in space -- who enters the Starbucks with the firmness of a man on a mission in his stride.

His mission: to approach the primarch's table without a trace of apparent fear, pick up the meat pie, and slap down some odd little alien gizmo in its place. An offering in return for much-needed sustenance, which he is now going to eat in two bites.

MY PIE

[curzed]

The Night Haunter has scoured the woods for miles around, in and out through town, for any trace of the undead creature in the wake of their last ... meeting. And there hasn't been anything of a sign. It's as if some hand had reached down from the heavens and snatched Illarion up, denying Curze his victim.

Which. More or less did happen, actually.

For someone who had his secondary heart utterly mutilated only a week ago, he's doing alarmingly fine. There's no trace of the potentially-lethal injury beyond the faintest of internal scarring, even the hematomas left by such catastrophic blood loss inside reabsorbed and erased.

But he remembers it. And as illarion in his false-human shape picks up his dinner and leaves some ... thing .. behind, the primarch's head lifts only marginally, the barest sliver of white in the corner of his eyes marking where he's actually looking. "You," comes the low baritone rumble, "Owe me a heart."

[unsheathedfromreality]

"You grew it back."

Which is horrifying in its implications, if Illarion could still be horrified -- which, surprisingly, he's found he still can.

That's why he's here. Because he cannot -- will not -- hide like a frightened child from this monster. He is a monster in his own right. He isn't prey.

And that pie was not nearly enough meat. He considers the cup of soup, then produces a banana from -- somewhere -- on his person, sets it down. Follows it with, of all things, a salt shaker. (The customary gift to a god -- fruit and salt.)

Then he picks up the soup, drinks it in one long swallow, and sets it back down. At least it clears the crumbs from his throat.

"I don't owe you anything."

[curzed]

"Making myself whole does not erase the action that made it necessary." How strangely gentle he can make his voice, as if none of this was anywhere near as deadly serious as it was.

The cards before him are collected, now that there's more room with the absence of his dinner he can try a larger spread. And there goes his soup too.. which has been replaced by a fruit and a salt shaker probably stolen off of some table or other.

And a device he doesn't recognize. What do you do, little machine? "And now you also owe me a meal. I have not eaten in some weeks, how cruel of you. Perhaps we can merge the two, a heart and a meal. Does yours grow back, I wonder? Do you even need it, dead thing? Will you miss it when it is gone?"

[unsheathedfromreality]

"It was an act of self-defense -- you were the aggressor. You have no claim of justice against me for injuries suffered while trying to kill me."

Where it came to the stolen meal, however -- or the meal Illarion had traded for, albeit without his trade partner's consent in the matter -- that's closer to a legitimate grievance. The disguised shrike's expression twitches at the notion he's been cruel, then blossoms into a smile at the proposed solution. "It won't, I don't, and there's not enough of it left for a meal."

So propose something else, he doesn't say, but leaves open.

They're getting a look or two, from people close enough to overhear.

[curzed]

One card is used to wave off who was and was not an aggressor. "This is a human colony under Imperial jurisdiction. In accordance with the Edict Perpetua Xenocidium, the presence of unbranded xenos within Imperial-claimed or Imperial-adjacent space shall be regarded as prima facie evidence of hostile intent. No declaration of war, warning or attempt at parley is required."

Every primarch is born with certain knowledge inscribed into their minds from the start. Languages, customs, expectations. His specialty is .. rather specific. "All servants of the Imperium, civil or military, are granted irrevocable authority to employ lethal force against xenos entities upon detection, observation, or credible report without need for further sanction. Mercy towards invading xenos forces is defined as negligence. Negligence towards xenos is dereliction of duty, and dereliction of duty constitutes treason." He folds his hands, card still held between two fingers, and rests his chin upon them.

Guess what he's been up to since arriving?

What an odd conversation to be eavesdropping on, between an ordinary man and some creepy homeless dude. "Hm, combined with your.. yellow fruit of some sort, perhaps it would be enough to redress the immediate wrongdoing. Unless you have something else to offer."

[unsheathedfromreality]

Accustomed to legal justification for his own actions as he is, Illarion follows all of that tolerably well -- and wrinkles up a lip in a fang-baring grimace as the primarch completes his explication of the applicable law. "Are the local authorities aware you just annexed them?" he retorts. "And are they de facto servants of the Imperium, as rulers of one of your colonies?"

Because that's going to be an awful lot of executions to get sorted out, to his thinking, if failure to remove the aliens from their own midst was treason.

Though, regardless -- the matter of the stolen meal. He's going to settle that first, and not by offering up his own heart. "Yes. Two things. Wait."

He'll repay the rest of the food in kind; he's got enough pocket change he can stroll over to the counter there and pick out a plastic box full of ... more fruit, and boiled eggs, and nuts. A "protein plate" -- where was the MEAT? -- that he pays for and returns to drop before the aggrieved primarch.

"I also have an offer for you," he continues, picking up from where he left off.

[curzed]

"If they aren't yet they will be made aware when the Crusade arrives in the local system," the Night Haunter says serenely. "All human colonies, planets and holdings are part of the Imperium."

Whether they like it or not is the distinct implication. Chances were very good, based on the attitude of the local populace, that the Night Lords would not be assigned this specific task. The IIIrd perhaps.

Now that it's been denied him twice he does rather want that undead heart, sliced thin with a bit of sauce. But he waits, with all semblance of patience, as Illarion heads for the counter and not the exit, returning with ... things he recognized by vague association more than experience.

None of it smells particularly objectionable. One egg is nudged around on the bottom of the box. "What offer would that be?"