Logfile from M3

You enter the Eurasia - Skydeck.

Eurasia - Skydeck

A park resides at the top of this station, which is as open to space as any place can get. Massive transparisteel windows cover this area, and pleasant grass and trees are maintained by careful gardening staff. It's very pretty, and not as dark as one might expect for a place that's exposed to space.

Contents: Contents:

Simian Monk [MH] Bowie [Rifleman] [MH]

Bit [Samurai] [M]

Castle In the Sky

Lift Down <LD>: Eurasia - Empire Central Square

It seems to be a night meant for contemplation. Bowie strolls into the park, a dog-eared star chart tucked under one arm. He walks along the brick-laid path a ways until he finds a place where he can see most of the stars. Unlike at home, one can actually see the stars clearly.

What a coincidence, Simian Monk, walks in from below seeming to be carrying something small and furry. He spots Bowie standing on a path he approaches his friend. "Nice night to be viewing stars." The monkey hunter greets Bowie. The furry object in his arm appears to be a black monkey that quickly climbed up to Simian's shoulder comfortably.

Bit remains in his meditative pose, watching the stars, watching the blackness. The constellations, the powers inside them... He is at peace when he studies them. Though he does spot the others, smirking unseen as he notes their interest in the same subject. "Hmmmm..."

Bowie is not at peace, and it shows in his vaguely trouble expression. He does, however, muster a smile for the rookie Hunter. "Sure is," he agrees amiably. Noting Simian's companion, he says "Cute little feller. Whut's it's name?"

And then, tada! Not at all meditative or peaceful or serene, Feste, wearing at least a portion of his Amadan get-up, enters the Skydeck. He's missing the hat and those silly glasses. (and no, no, no horns. sorry.) He's come up here to go to the Castle in the Sky, but... hey, is that someone he knows over there? Hm! Grinning, (as per normal) Feste heads over in the general direction of Bowie, possibly passing a certain Maverick in the process. If so, the Fool fails to notice. He has selective, uh... sight like that.

Simian Monk silently notes the troubled expression with more than a passing interest. However he wouldn't want to bluntly ask what was wrong, "Ah, this is my pet monkey KoKo." Slightly grinning he adds, "We've been around for awhile now, I found him half-dead in the Himalayans and now he's neurally linked up with me. I see what he sees basically. We're somewhat cousins per se." Although not showing it. Simian is still concerned for his friend's sudden crest-fallen mood.

As Feste passes him, the Golden Samurai stands up, glancing over to the others again. He knows Bowie's a Hunter, but no problems would come of casual chat. Stepping over, he addresses them in a semi-pleased tone, before giving a bow. "Greetings to you. I couldn't help but notice your interest in the.. ways of the heavens."

Bit

Bit. The Golden Warrior, the smaller half of the Nightmare Police.

This humaform reploid stands just over six feet tall - digitigrade legs, the typical body armor and torso, and the stature of a warrior. His body is mostly covered in stark gold armor, the only exceptions being his lower torso wreathed in the usual grey hullmetal, the armor of his ankles, wrists, and the sides of his helmet where blue trim appears, and upon the backs of his hands and the edges of his lower body armor where red trim appears. Upon his shoulders, the armor creates two majestic-looking spikes. On his chest is a red representation of the symbol of Yang. His head has a small red crest upon it, again in the shape of the Yang, and his face is hidden by a white mask, turning to grey around his deep blue eyes.

Bowie begins to say something, but closes his mouth again as he and Simian are joined by a rather unusual pair. Unusual in the Bit is Maverick and Feste is...well, Feste. He nods to them as they approach. "Ameteur stargazer," he admits with a small shrug. As if the star chart he's carrying around isn't clue enough.

Simian Monk turns his eyes to the source of the sound. The monkey sees the Yang symbol and makes the connection.. this must be the other half of the maverick he deactivated in Chicago. He takes on the visage of a cold emotionless warrior, and KoKo jumps off his shoulder and hides very very quickly. "Good evening, I have a feeling you are the brother of Byte? You're Bit and I am Simian Monk." He bows slightly his eyes never leaving the reploid.

Feste must just not be cool enough to be noticed by nine-tenths of the Hunters. Ah well.

The Fool, coattails of his long red garb swishing behind him, continues to approach Bowie, and soon finds that he has a...companion of sorts. When Simian Monk identifies him... well.

Feste looks over to see the Samurai himself and immediately starts to the side. Poor thing, he's just a bit jumpy lately. "Well!" Uh. What comes after well? Feste seems to have forgotten. He swallows, mentally steadying himself. This is Eurasia this is a no combat zone you are safe you are safe don't PANIC, for the love of God, what's your problem?

"Hello!" Feste manages, actually sounding quite cheerful. "Nice day for stargazing, ha?"

Cold blue optics blink once as Bit faces Simian. "It's good to meet you," he comments, not yet knowing the monk's affiliation. "Yes, I am Bit." It doesn't seem to surprise him. Smiling to Bowie (though his mask hides it) he glances at the chart. Then at Feste. (Lively group...) Nothing further said for the moment.

Bowie continues to maintain a smile, thin as it is. Not his usual friendly smile by any means. "It is," he agrees with Feste. "Should be able t'see Orion real clear tonight."

[Radio: (A) None] Snake Man transmits, "I love holidaysss devoted to gluttony."

Simian Monk stares at the known maverick still. He did not trust mavericks one bit. He sees that Bowie is comfortable so he relaxes slightly, but ready to react at the drop of a hat, "You sure? I haven't seen Orian in weeks." Simian trying to make relaxed conversation.

[Radio: (J) None] Yin Yoma Byte transmits, "...The Minotaur..."

[Radio: (J) None] Raffinato transmits, "Is back in action, yes?"

A smile Bit hasn't seen. He turns to the windows, gazing into the far reaches.. when abruptly he appears very distracted..

[Radio: (J) None] Yin Yoma Byte transmits, "...Yes."

[Radio: (J) None] Raffinato transmits, "hmmmmmmmm..........."

Way to go, stupid, Feste mentally chides himself. He's gone and gotten himself all nervous and suchlike, and now he's stuck somewhere uncomfortable. The Fool remains silent for a stretch of time to regain his composure.

"Ah, Orion the Hunter. Lover of women and hater of scorpions," says Feste after that time. See? He can still be insightful! Yes...

Simian Monk turns his attention partially to Feste, he surprisingly chuckles, "My you do know your stars, might I inquire your name?" The monkey asks, however as he will always do when a maverick is near keeps his senses open to any sudden movements.. or blinks as Byte did far too often in their fight.

Bit appears -extremely- distracted, now, as if carrying on a faraway conversation. his gaze lowers a bit, at first appearing inquisitive, then concerned, and finally instructive, as he looks over the heavens. Where is that hunter...

Bowie is keeping an eye on Bit as well, but to his knowledge this particular Maverick understands the importance of neutral territory. "Nice thang 'bout bein on a space station is that ya don't have t'wurry about atmospheric conditions."

"My stars, not so much, my mythology, absolutely," Feste replies to Simian, smirking. "The name is Feste, sir, Feste the Fool, and you are... Simian Monk, if I heard correctly. Good evening, Bowie, dost thou fare well?"

Simian Monk smiles at Feste, "A pleasure then Feste the Fool." He notices that Bit has gotten too quiet for Simian's liking.

Bit's optics abruptly widen as if in surprise, and then close in resignation. Very silent.

"Ah suppose," Bowie answers Feste with a shrug. "Mythology, huh? As in Greek myth?" He begins to unfold the map along its well-worn creases. "So ya'd know the stories behind the constellations."

A pleasure, of course. It's always a pleasure. "And yourself, as well," Feste responds, then returning his attention to Bowie. Whatever Bit's doing is not making waves over the radio, so Feste is -- unconcerned.

"Some of them, yes -- the more famous ones. But Greek, yes, mostly. Rather interesting, if I do say so myself."

Simian Monk twitches his tail rather nervously. He then turns his attention to Bit, very uncomfortable with the maverick's sudden silence and expressions. He smiles at Feste obviously half-heartedly as he listens, "What do you know about the constellation cancer?"

Bowie lapses into silence for the moment, letting Simian and Feste carry the conversation. Bit is serrupticiously glanced at, but otherwise the Hunter lets him be.

"Cancer," murmurs Bit. "The Second Labor of Heracles..." But otherwise is silent.

The Fool starts, but then he hears Bit. "Aye, m'lord. 'Twas sent by the Queen of the Gods, Hera, to distract the noble Hercules while he fought the Hydra. The crab, ha? And Hercules stepped on it--" Feste uses his hands to make a sort of 'squish' gesture (squish!) "--and that was the end of that."

Of course, if you ask his alt...well... maybe we should just stay away from that. The Fool, however, smiles amiably. "And then Hera placed him in the stars. Any more you wanted to know about?"

Simian Monk shakes his head. He was only making conversation to lighten up the mood for his fellow hunter. He glances quietly at Bit, why was he here and what did he want?

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ... ... ... ... of the ... ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: not that I have ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... mean ... ... ... ... still ... ... ... Repliforced had finally scrapped ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... have ... Chi ... Eurasia ...

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... More's the ...

Bit is otherwise silent, if distracted.

The monkey KoKo jumps back on Simian's shoulder.. feeling that the area was safe again. But still very timid the monkey chirps briefly.

Bowie doesn't seem to be terribly lightened of his mental burden, but at least he isn't frowning. Surely that counts for something? "Huh," he says in response to Feste's storytelling. "Seems a lot a thangs ended up in the stars that way."

The Amadan grins at Bowie. "Oh, yes. 'Twas a very common reward. Must've lost its effect after a while, ha? 'Oh, I think I'll just put you up in the stars,'" Feste says, doing a sort of girly-voice for Hera and a different one for the random star-person. Silly Feste. "'But that's what you did to the last twenty heroes!'"

Softly clenching a fist, Bit ponders a certain course of action... and then turns around, addressing the group. "I'm sorry, I must go," he offers pilotely. "Be always brave." And with a bow, he heads for the lift.

Bit has left.

Simian Monk relaxes obviously then murmurs quietly, "Good.. he's gone." Wrapping his tail around his waist he smiles at Feste and Bowie. He silently listens to the stories.

Bowie chuckles a little at Feste's playacting, then frowns slightly as Bit suddenly takes his leave. He watches the Maverick for a moment, just in case, then turns back to the others. "Guess that's one way a explainin why thare's so many stars...though Ah wunner whare the bears came in?"

Feste acknowledges Bit's departure with a curt quarter-bow, but once the Maverick's gone he's visibly more relaxed. "Hmm. Ursa major and minor. I believe those are Callisto and Ida. Don't know much about the latter, but the former was a lover of Zeus."

[Radio: (C) None] Captain Chi transmits, "...He yet lives then."

[Radio: (C) None] Prismatic Spider transmits, "Who?"

[Radio: (C) None] King Dragon transmits, "Who?"

[Radio: (C) None] Captain Chi transmits, "...Byte."

[Radio: (C) None] Burn Dinorex transmits, ".....ah"

[Radio: (C) None] King Dragon transmits, "Yeah, I think he's been a thorn in the Masters side a bit.. from an observation or three."

[Radio: (C) None] Prismatic Spider transmits, "I was unaware that Byte has even been brought close to death lately."

[Radio: (C) None] Captain Chi transmits, "..I see...He is fortunate that we wereon Eurasia...else I would have been forced to destroy him."

[Radio: (C) None] Conduit transmits, "..huh, a bite of what now?"

[Radio: (C) None] King Dragon transmits, "Hey, push 'im out an airdock, I'll take him for a spin."

[Radio: (C) None] Captain Chi transmits, "...It was too much to hope for his destruction I suppose."

[Radio: (C) None] King Dragon chuckles.

Simian Monk decides to ask the Fool a question, "Are there any Monkey mythologies?" Taking an interest in the legends. He idly pets his pet monkey KoKo and he seems to chirp like any monkey and perch on Simian's head.

Wind Man arrives from the Eurasia - Empire Central Square.

Wind Man has arrived.

Bowie gives a small smirk at the allusion to Zeus' promiscuity, but otherwise says nothing. He's still listening, even as he folds over a corner of the star chart and looks up to get his bearings.

[Radio: (C) None] Captain Chi transmits, "...After such an encounter I am...In need of a way to releive tension."

And Feste will leave Bowie to his chart, of course. Simian's asking questions! The Fool hmms at the other Hunter, tapping a finger against his chin. "Well, yes, I should think so... but they're all in Eastern mythology. Like the Monkey King."

Simian Monk tilts his head curiously, "Monkey King? I'm quite interested in that legend." The monkey hunter listens intently on a myth about monkies.

Wind Man arrives without particular fanfare from the lower level, gliding on nothing a few meters over the heads of the rest of the crowds, apparently surveying in a vaguely systematic way with no clear indication of what if anything is his intended target.

Bowie is standing along one of the brick paths meandering through the park, flanked by Simian and Feste. His attention is divided between a dog-eared star chart and their conversation, though admittedly he's short on words just now.

Feste quirks an eyebrow at Simian Monk, as if he half-expected him to know the myth already... if only because the Fool doesn't know it himself. Alas. "Well. See, there was this monkey. And... he was a king." Feste nods with all the gravity of a sage, as if in affirmation of his own statement. The buzz of Wind Man's approach briefly attracts his attention. Hm. Flying fat man. Sort of.

Simian Monk turns his eyes to the flying object in the sky. Concentrating a bit harder he tries to figure out what that is, he zooms in a bit with his targeting systems. Unsure of what he was seeing first a maverick and now a master? What next? Will Wily come dancing in a tu-tu?

Simian Monk sends a radio transmission.

Bowie receives a radio transmission.

You intercept Simian Monk's transmission to Bowie: Look up there in the sky.. is that what I think it is?

Bowie wouldn't be surprised by much of anything these days...though Wily in a tutu would certainly be different. He glances up again, noticing that his view has been somewhat hampered by a levitating Master. That only raises his shoulders in a shrug, not his ire.

Bowie sends a radio transmission to Simian Monk.

Simian Monk receives a radio transmission.

You intercept Bowie's transmission to Simian Monk: It is. Remember, neutral territory.

Wind Man spots the unlikely trio as well, though recognizing only the Hunter Bowie. Shuttling himself with only the very faint hiss of his hover jets to a place directly behind and above bowie, removed by perhaps a dozen meters, he crosses his arms and watches the conversation rudely, making no attempt to either announce or hie himself.

Simian Monk barely nods to Bowie as if he already knew about that little.. hinderance. His monkey, KoKo, glares right back at the master for being so rude. Simian turns his eyes also to the master, "Can we help you by any chance?" The monkey reploid asks politely.

Wow. Feste's completely BS explanation appears to have worked. (score!)

And oh look, more company! The Fool (sans the hat and glasses in the desc) looks upward at Wind Man, offering him a smile and a cheery, "Evening, sir!"

Bowie settles for giving the Master a simple nod in greeting. No one said he had to be cheerful, simply polite.

"Would you like to submit to the rule of Dr. Wily and recognize his authority as absolute?" asks Wind Man, in reply to the monkey reploid. The question is asked with a complete lack of subtext to the delivery, as if the Robot Master were asking for the time or change to use a payphone. His eyes flick then to Feste. "Greetings," he counters equally flatly.

Simian Monk raises his eyebrow briefly, "I'm afraid I should decline the..... 'generous' offer" Sarcasm not hidden in his voice. Then in an eerie calm voice, "And anyways.. you can't do anything in this territory because of the neutral ground," then adding with humor, "and you are outnumbered."

Bowie isn't sure whether the question is directed at only Simian or to the entire company, but feels compelled to give an eloquently simple reply. "No."

"You make it sound so simple," says Feste to the hovering Master. "And boring." He idly looks at Simian. Oh, these Hunters, they're pretty much all the same, aren't they...

"Neutrality is a euphamism for opression," replies Wind Man, "dependant on recognizing the higher authority which mandates it. There is no authority higher than Wily," says Wind Man, and the fanblades in each shoulder begin suddenly to spin, creating a strong breeze throughout the entire area - but a breeze no stronger than one might expect to occur naturally on a windy day, nothing that would result in what could be called damage to even a human child. "It is fortunate for paranoids such as yourself that Dr. Wily chooses to designate this area as inviolate for the time being. I do not intend to 'do anything' in the applied context."

Simian Monk simply just twitches his tail and ignores the Wily zealot. He turns his attention away from the master towards some stars off in the distance.

Bowie reaches up to secure his hat as Wind kicks up a blustery day. The surrounding trees are unused to such a stiff breeze, their leaves fluttering. "Thankee," he answers without any sarcasm.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "o/` These days -- are great, there's work to dooo... o/`"

The wind gradually dies back as the fanblades slow to an idle pace, the Robot Master remaining suspended in the air without apparent means of lift or support like a sprite in a video game the player is not expected to take very seriously. "You will eventually be his subjects," he says, "as in a way you are now, by recognizing his authority to grant sanctuary. And I would not propose to contradict the spirit of his gift. Please, continue as you would. You have nothing to fear from me here."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... Hmmmm?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Boo."

Simian Monk turns his eyes to the master tiredly. He shrugged, trying to ignore the master.. it was starting to get irritating with it's unconditional devotion to Wily.. programmed sods. "However there is a imperfection to your logic. We have free will to think what we wish, and there are many more than there are Wily's." As if it solved something he turns back to Bowie, "How has your day been?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Hm. Don't tell me -- you've died and now you're haunting me. Not that this is much change from status quo."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "No, I just like saying 'boo'."

Bowie decides this is not the time to be argumentative. Once the breeze dies down, he lets go of the brim of his hat. He can't exactly afford to replace them twice a week anymore, you see. "However ya want t'look at it," Bowie replies steadily to Wind. Then, he turns back to Simian. "Gettin by. You?"

Hmmm. The Fool just shrugs helplessly at Wind Man. I /tried/ to say I agreed with you, but nooo. "Thank you for the advance warning," he quips. Now to the radio. Tra la. o/`

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh. Well. That's a lot less interesting, isn't it?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I'm /so/ sorry."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh, no, no. I'm actually rather glad you aren't /dead/, but ... well."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Well, to be frank, I'm glad I'm not dead either."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Reasonably."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Right. I'm not reasonably dead."

"You have free will to think what your programming and upbringing encourage you to think," says Wind Man, lifting slightly. "If the idea were never presented to you that murder is wrong in some cases, it would never occur to you, just as it does not occur to the rat who believes nothing. The only differnece is that I know the source of my beliefs, whereas you can neither control nor identify yours." He rises even higher, glances over the gathering once more, and departs with the sound of his meneuvering fan as his final point.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Anyway. I'm bored."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "<dryly> Quick, hide the women and livestock."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Livestock? Never!"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Women and handsome boys, then."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Hah."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "You wish."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "<sigh> Yes, well."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*smirk*"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "How DO you do that, anyway?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "It's really easy. I could teach you."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Just like you could, ah, /teach me Russian like you promised/."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Mmm, perhaps later."

Bowie bites back a retort. All too well he knows the futility of arguing philosophy with Wily's kin, and considering his circumstances (tabloid reviews weekly!), he doesn't exactly have the moral high ground anyway. He gives a mental shrug and busies himself with refolding the chart back to its convenient carrying size.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "-- On the teaching me how you do that whatever it is, not the Russian."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Oh, fine."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "So does that mean you could teach me Russian now, then?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Ya ne znayu. Tiy khochesh' po-russki uchit'?"

Righty-o. Feste gives Wind Man a nice thumbs-up, and... starts sneaking off himself. He has... an appointment. He's going to learn Russian, you see.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*blink* Yes please?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "<approving> Very good. I suppose I won't have to teach you anything."

Wind Man has disconnected.

Simian Monk has left.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Oh my."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Surely you have something left to teach me."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "You're a natural already. At translating, anyway."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Hm. Yes; I could teach you to swear."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Ah...hah."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Yes, I would like that."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Hmm. Yes. Where to begin, then ..."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Maybe we ought to meet somewhere. I'm getting odd looks because I keep twitching."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "...everytime I hear 'z' placed next to another consonant."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "<offended> It's perfectly natural, you know."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Maybe in Russia!"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "You have that unnatural 'h' noise."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Don't forget the three extra vowels."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Hmmph. We -do- have ten. Sort of."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Sort of, ja så? Pfah."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Yes. Sort of. I am not -eloquent- when it's late, dear Fool. I need to relax -some- time ..."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Neither am I, as you've, ah, heard. *cough* What, you can't relax around me?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... Rather a loaded question, hm?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "If 'twere loaded, it'd tread slowly."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... Heh."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "It's true!"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Nor will I dispute it."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Good. But seriously, even I tire of vain bibble-babble, and you're obviously not enjoying it."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "No, not really. It -is- late. So whose couch?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*laughs*"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Your choice. I'm on Eurasia at the moment."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Hmm, well. I can't fit a couch in the teleporters. Perhaps I'll just come visit. Where on Eurasia?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*chuckles* I was -going- to come to you, but very well. I'm just sort of... around, you know... let me figure out just where 'tis, first."

You enter the Eurasia - South Quadrant.

Eurasia - South Quadrant

An austere, impressive district, this area was set up to be the governing quadrant of the station, and it shows. Buildings here are based off older ones on Earth, and everything speaks of grandeur and political power. While there is little stone, much of the metal in the buildings is made to look like stone, and the facades of the buildings here are truly impressive.

Contents: Contents:

East <E>: Eurasia - Judicial District

South <S>: Eurasia - Executive District

West <W>: Eurasia - Legislative District

North <N>: Eurasia - Empire Central Square

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Well. Let's see. Lot of monuments... sharp-dressed old men... must be the South Quadrant. How I have wandered."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Hmmm. Indeed. You -do- get around ..."

Abernathy arrives from the Eurasia - Empire Central Square.

Abernathy has arrived.

Amidst all the austerity and gravity of the Southern Quadrant is a very incongruous Fool. In a sea of blacks and grays and browns, sad colors as Hawthorne would say, he leans against a faux-stone facade of a building, wearing the glaring red of his Amadan clothes. He's missing the hat and glasses, though, but that's probably for the best. Yup.

Abernathy receives a radio transmission.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "It's what I do."

That red coat is a nice thing for Feste to be wearing -- it makes it that much easier for a certain 'almost legally blind' albino to pick his friend out of the crowd. Abernathy, of course, blends in handily in his usual blacks -- up until he steps out of the crowd, to stand alongside the incongruous Fool with his back to the wall. "Good evening."

"Mmm," is all Feste says, if you can really call that talking. He seems rather comfortable there, leaning up against the wall with his hands in his pockets. "Evening. So."

Abernathy tilts his head back, to peer up at the taller man with narrowed eyes. "So?" he inquires, shoving his hands in his pockets after a moment's thought.

"I don't know. Weren't you going to teach me how to swear?" Feste looks over at Abby, and gradually back into those narrowed eyes, but it's almost... sheepishly. The smile's a little more forced than normal.

"Well, yes," Abernathy replies, looking away from Feste -- to observe the crowd, with half-narrowed eyes. "But really only because I think you -need- it, at this point." He pauses, blinking, as if wondering why he said that. Then -- he shrugs, and inquires: "Something wrong?"

Feste smirks. "Four languages I speak fluently, and I can swear in them all, and here you tell me I need it." He just sighs a bit in response to the latter. "There is a fellow... a clown, or so he claims to be..."

"Yes. Because everything else you speak is a damned romance language, or Norwegian." Abby smiles pleasantly. "Now, if you knew -German-, I'd think it tolerable. But you need something with -teeth- to swear in." He pauses. "Ahhh, the unpleasant creature with the horrible fashion sense, who is probably a Maverick?"

Now that brings a genuine smile to Feste's face. He grins back at Abby, eyes twinkling. "Oh, teeth, well. Didn't you know I was raised Lutheran?" Haw.

"But yes, him. Raffinato. He /is/ a Maverick."

Abernathy recoils at this revelation, feigning shock. "A -what-?" he asks, incredulously. There's a twitch of a smile on his face, though.

One that disappears. "Really. And to think, I forebore from shooting him because I wasn't quite sure..."

[OOC] Feste giggles.

[OOC] Feste == heretic.

[OOC] Abernathy, GOOD EASTERN ORTHODOX BOY.

[OOC] Abernathy says, "I mean, NOT ONLY did you break off from the true Church, but you broke off -after- you followed those imposters who SET THEMSELVES UP IN ROME. T_T;"

"A Lu-ther-an. You know, a heretic?" Teehee. "I didn't even know we HAD swear words in Norwegian until we moved out of Norway. And then... but I digress."

The smile on Feste's own face weakens. "Aye." He leans in. "Listen, he's been fully converted. He's just a brain-in-a-jar-type and he's made that... very clear via demonstration, and frankly, I don't see how... how you end up like -that- without..."

"I don't think I can be friends with you anymore," Abernathy says, archly. He smirks at the thought of F being uneducated in the art of swearing, but doesn't comment.

He does, however, lean in as Feste does -- well aware of the need for secrecy, betimes. "Believe me," he murmurs. "I understand. I have one in the family -- not a Maverick, mercifully, but ... " He allows it to trail off, and gives a slight shrug, eyes narrowing now.

Feste rolls his eyes at the first, attempting to maintain some kind of seriousness here. "Well-- no-- I don't mean to insult them, of course, but-- perhaps I spoke too soon. He's a monster, plain and simple, and he goes out of his way to prove it to me. He is not human anymore." Feste seems perfectly sure of this statement -- he genuinely believes that Raffinato is a Maverick even if there's proof against that fact, and... well. The paranoia is kicking in.

"No, I believe you." Abernathy's tone is deadly serious now. "If only because it matches my own conclusions and -- " He trails off, looking away from Feste, and thinking about his words a moment. " -- and ... and intuition about him," he concludes, softly. "I don't doubt he is a monster, though -- we need a little more than anecdotal evidence, hm?"

"I shall have some for you," Feste replies, grimly. He'll start recording things, start watching for the signs, because Raffinato will come back. Inevitably.

But this still leaves a question unanswered. Why would it matter to Feste that that sot is a Maverick, or for that matter, worry about him at all?

Abernathy leans back at this, looking satisfied -- but it's a grim, hollow satisfaction. "Good. You will, of course, be compensated." It almost hurts to say that, but it's a part of the deal he struck with the Fool, and so ... he's compelled to.

Then he pauses. " ... is this something personal, dear Fool?"

Ooh, compensation. Feste looks almost surprised at that -- offer of compensation. Oddly enough, compensation was the last thing on his mind. It just came as an inevitable fact that Raffinato would return and give him some evidence to take back... and maybe the removal of the Englishman was recompense enough.

Feste closes his eyes, finding the words in the space of a few breaths. "It's damn well going to be if you don't /do/ something," he murmurs, almost frightened. "He won't leave me alone. It's progressively worse than when you were there with me."

For just a moment, an emotion manages to get past Abernathy's icy mask -- /rage/. Pure jealous rage, the kind that makes you see white for a blinding instant, that robs you of thought. His fists clench at his sides; he only manages to throttle it down once he's taken a deep breath. Then he reaches up, removing his sunglasses and rubbing a hand across his eyes.

By the time he puts the sunglasses back on, he's pure professionalism once more. "Considered filing a restraining order?" he remarks, the comment only half-flippant.

Feste, like any other nervous creature would be, is ready to shy at the first sign of danger. He's watching Abernathy, and Abernathy only; the rest of the world is irrelevant. So that flash of rage does not escape his keen eyes, and his reaction is immediate. In that first second, he has no clue that that anger, that undiluted fury is not directed at him -- only that it is, and it's right there. He flinches.

Andruw-Feste takes a moment of his own to try and regain some composure, but on that last question, he throws his head back and laughs, a short, barking laugh. "As if he'd -listen-! 'Oh, jolly good, old chap, I never believed in the gov'ment meself anyway, young feller me lad! Say, would you--' ..." He breaks off his little Raffinato impression, apparently having just realized he was doing it, and gives a small shudder. He may not have been showing it at first, but since then, he's had a lot of time to think about it. And it really must get to him.

Of course, Abernathy notices the flinch ... but only belatedly. And there's nothing he can do about it. So he simply composes his expression in a stoic mask as Feste laughs, listening attentively and trying to pry out the actual meaning behind his friend's words. It's damnably frustrating, and takes everything he has not to snap back at Andruw-Feste. No, that wouldn't do. It really wouldn't.

"That is why the government has guns, and standing orders to arrest any Mavericks it encounters," he explains, patiently, once Feste is done speaking. He's trying to be soothing, but it's -so hard- ...

Feste simply bites his lip whilst looking Abby in the eye. He's-- most definitely scared and uncomfortable with all this talk of Mavericks, and trying (and failing miserably) not to let it just all come gushing out. And Abernathy being here does not make that easier.

"But...th..." He stops in the middle of a word, suddenly seized by a hatred of his own. These foul--things--they're not human, they're just PRETENDING to be, and that's what makes them so deadly. They were human, once, and they can still act like it, but they're actually-- they're in all the safe places, nowhere is really safe anymore-- they're traitors, they're traitors, and they're so... dangerous. And too close for comfort. Is that it?

"... you can't see them," he finishes.

"Can't see who?"

Love is patient, Abernathy reminds himself, digging his fingers into the fabric of his pockets. He is not particularly empathetic, so even though he can -see- that Feste is upset ... it's a struggle to understand just how deep that upset runs. To analyze it, comprehend it ... that's a little beyond him. Is kind, upbraideth not ...

"Tell me what I should do here, Andruw. As -- as a professional, or ... as your friend." There. Would that be enough? He's not very good at this, after all.

Feste's jaw drops, if only slightly, almost as if he's exasperated with Abby's lack of understanding - though it's more likely he just can't find the words to describe it himself. He looks away briefly, only to look back. "Them! The people like -- like him, you can't see them. You can't tell them apart, can you?" He's breathing a little faster now -- oh, Andruw, all hot and bothered. Tsk.

Ooh, next question! Andruw re-wilts. "I don't know! God!" he cries, truly exasperated now. "I don't even know what I should do!" Hold me up...

Abernathy is stupid. It's his job; he keeps trying to see these things in terms of black and white, which tends to obliterate the natural subtlety and cunning nature gifted him with. He bristles at Feste's apparent exasperation with him, and entertains the momentary temptation to just -walk away- from this frustration. Then, of course, what the Fool is trying to say -clicks-.

He takes a breath, and gives a little shake of his head. Now he's not upset, no; for once, he's sympathetic ... and it leaves him hollow, to realize his own struggles again in his friend's fear. "No, Andruw. I can see them, I just can't act against them. It makes it that much worse." His own dullness of tone surprises him, but only dimly.

"Then," he continues, voice gone from dull to simply calm now, "allow me to help you by suggesting you do everything in your power to avoid him. Do not allow him to catch you alone, in public or otherwise. Do not speak to him -- no, not -even- to get more information on him. If he decides to talk at you, by all means, listen. But don't -encourage- him, for God's sake, Andruw!" He takes a breath, and continues in a hurried undertone: "And don't tell me you aren't -- I know -exactly- how you act around his type, and you can't even help yourself."

Andruw listens. Andruw listens with every scrap of his attention. Oh, does he listen. And the things he hears are...

At least Abernathy knows what's he's feeling, then. His pain. If Abby knows, then Abby will surely take care of it. Surely. He's... a bit relieved, at least. And the advice -- he'll take it. He'll do his damndest.

It's just the last part that kind of rubs him the wrong way.

"What are you talking about?" he asks, still in those exasperated tones.

"The damned MASK, Andruw!" Adrian snaps, unable to contain his low-level irritation any longer. "When you're in your role, you can't -help- what you do! You're -- " Words fail him, so he gestures grandly to encompass the idea. "-Feste-. And -Feste- is a FOOL, in every sense of the word! He doesn't know when to -quit-!"

'I don't understand what it is you've done to yourself,' said Evan. 'I don't know who it is that you've become, either...'

Reckoning time. Here he is being confronted with a truth he could not see, a truth he didn't WANT to realize... there's no running away from this. None. Andruw, lips shut tight, breathing harder than normal, simply stares at Abby. His expression still carries hints of that passing fear, and yet finds itself somewhere between indignation and disbelief.

He slumps back against that false-stone metal wall, covering his face with a hand. Oh God, it's true, isn't it? It is.

But he didn't have to -say- it. Those red eyes peek through the fingers sliding downward across his face, narrowed and strange. How -dare- you. The Fool -- or is it Andruw? -- steps forward, and teeth gritted, attempts to slap Abernathy. It's not a prissy affair, either. It's a manly backhanded slap.

And quick as thought, Abernathy throws up one of his own hands, a soldier's reflexes conspiring -- to let him catch Andruw-Feste's wrist, before the other man can slap him. His eyes narrow behind his sunglasses, and he -stares- at his friend for a long, long moment. His fingers, on Feste's wrist, tighten -- he's not -that- strong, but he's trying to make a point.

"So I'm right," he says, simply, softly. "And you know it."

Caught there, he doesn't try to force his hand any further. He just stops, hand curling into a fist. But the physical tension is gone.

Gone also is that briefly appearing mask of indignity, of pure outrage, of how could you do this to me I trusted you to cater to my petty sensibilities! Andruw is back in his rightful place, now feeling worse than ever. He just tried to slap Adrian, and why? For telling the truth. What selfish, stupid git I am. Why am I doing this? I'm such a...

The beginnings of a sob escape his lips, but no words accompany them. That's as sure as a yes.

Abernathy remains exactly as he is for at least a minute, holding on to Andruw's wrist and staring it his eyes. At last, he smiles a weird, helpless smile. "Andruw," he rebukes, quietly. "We're going to offend all these conservative business men if you collapse and I have to carry you home."

"I think we... already gave them quite a show, don't you think?" Andruw murmurs back, smiling despite...well... everything. It's funny; he can't help it. "I'm sorry..."

"Hmm. Yes, well. I'm not sure there's any way anyone could take this except the very -wrong-." Adrian finally lets go of Andruw's hand. "Or right, or whatever perspective you're coming from. And," he rebukes, "don't apologize to me for it. -I'm- not the one getting hurt here."

"Heh." Andruw's hand falls limply back his side, and for the moment his eyes track its path. Oops, there goes the arm. Soon they've returned to Abernathy's sunglasses. "But I-- still..." He siiiighs. "I... am tired of bothering conservative businessmen with my own troubles. Can we leave?" (and he says he's the seme!)

Andruw is self-deluded! We've proven this already! Abernathy is the seme, ahahahahaha--*slap*

"Of course." Abernathy glances over at those conservative businessmen, smiles, and looks back at Andruw. "Your place or mine?" CHEW ON THAT.

Andruw shrugs helplessly. "Thank you... I'm biased, of course, but... if you'd come with me..."

Abernathy tips a hand, and straightens, squaring his shoulders. "Of course."

[OOC] Feste says, "And off they go, hand-in-hand, skipping?"

[OOC] Feste *bricked*

[OOC] Abernathy says, "Yes."