Fox

"I would not insult you or my word by making empty promises about brawls," said Teagan; her tone was formal but her grin was just this side of sinister for a beat. "Rest assured that I have been...asked to not cause unreasonable trouble. I expect to only punch those direly in need of punching, and any fires set should be extinguishable before they burn down more than half the venue." With too-warm reassurances offered, she turned her attention back to her companion's conversation and gave a nod to the assorted and ongoing arrivals. "Set will be all the poorer for the loss of their better company," she said, closing the grin to a smirk. "And I richer, as befits a dragon."

Teagan pulled her invite out from between her waist corset and dress, holding it out to the attendant between two fingers - each tipped with a short and pointed nail colored matte and dark to match her horns. She wasn't watching the many-eyed giant check her against his list, however; she was watching down the hill, lips pulled back in an awful sort of sharp-toothed smile as she watched others filtering in. "Do you suppose I should offer to dry the ones arriving by sea?" she asked Sekhmet, tilting her head in the lioness's direction. "It would seem polite, and they'd only get singed a little around the edges if they're lucky. They might even appreciate it. 'My dress was blackened by dragon's fire,' they could say. 'It's so very in fashion.'"

Tiamat It was quite a distance from Freedom City to Greece - but even for those not traveling by boat, there was magic for such things. When Tiamat arrived she arrived on wings of fire, bursting into the sky over Greece in all her crimson-scaled glory, flanked by more harpies than were strictly necessary for the escort. Even from the ground they could be seen swooping around her and chattering about mighty wings and terrible jaws, an admiration between predators of sorts - all the more so because the mighty dragon was only one of two predators being escorted. She held above the ground just long enough for her passenger to depart before dissolving into a red conflagration, flames coalescing into a familiar form as they touched grass. Tiamat, in more manageable human guise, was dressed in a long and flowing dress, red to match her scales, a slit up both legs to show off fine laced boots and well-muscled thighs, framing a center strip of fabric as dark grey as the dragon's own belly. Her hips were framed by cuts of leather or fabric styled like a dragon's wings, above which it all disappeared beneath a laced black waist corset, itself eclipsed when red fabric emerged once more to cover a tastefully low-cut bust. The cut of the dress's front implied that there was very little to its back, but it was difficult to tell behind a long cloak trimmed at the top with tawny fur. A modern take on a medieval dress, perhaps, right up until the sleeves - for there were none, gold ringlets and short red-jeweled bracers accentuating a pair of well-muscled arms. In her hero and civilian work Tiamat feigned humanity, but for the gala she'd dispensed with such concerns - her face was human enough, but her teeth were too pronounced, her eyes were slitted and shone bright red against smoky makeup, and head head was crowned by great horns, dark and curling back against well-tended waves of long scarlet hair. Even these, too, were decorated - delicate golden chains wound themselves around her horns and hung in arcs through her hair, suspending tiny jewels that caught the light now and again to mirror the jeweled necklace that peeked out from beneath the cloak. The mythological Tiamat was a goddess of the sea, but at this gala she was Teagan, Tiamat, the great wyrm of fire, untamed dragon queen. And she'd come with no less impressive a companion.

Nocturne - 1 post = 1pp + 1 (ref) = 2pp Past & Future Tense (1) Ref point to Nocturne, please.

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Viktor made a grumbling sound, scratching his chin, great brow furrowed in thought. "One of my old...I was very careless, long ago, but I have been more careful since. It must have been very old. Natasha, did you...ah, which -" "три", said Natalia, holding up three fingers - presumably for Ryder's benefit. "Aaaaahh," said her grandfather. "I did wonder what became of those. I am surprised anything remained in them. The old glass, I think; that batch of glass was very good. Something in the mix." He had, apparently, stopped paying attention, gaze wandering off toward a wall as his voice trailed off. Old memories and older designs were almost visible in his eyes. Natalia coughed. "Tests?" "Oh! Oh, yes. I was part of a research team then, we had a lab in Siberia. Miserable, but the mines there - Urzarsaiskoye, Lednikovy-Sarmaka. If I wanted tungsten, I could practically pluck it from the ground, hm?" He shrugged, shoulders rolling. "It is always easier to replicate than create, but I am impressed you did so from such an old sample. A small sample, even! There are government labs that have tried for years to do what we can do with a chemistry set, or Natasha can do with her bones." He paused on that, chuckling, before his face fell serious again. "Do not join the government labs. They are where minds great and small go to die."

A fairly quiet month, but we've had a lot of people with a lot going on; it really is shaping up to just be one of those years. Keep on keeping on, folks! ----------- Dr Archeville Artificer: 1 post = 1pp + 1 (ref) = 2pp Horrorshow: 3 posts = 1pp Fox Nocturne: 1 post + 9 (rollover) = 10 posts = 2pp + 1 (ref) = 3pp Dragonfly: 9 posts = 1pp Heritage Crystal-Gazer: 4 posts = 1pp Grimalkin: 1 post = 1pp Miracle Girl: 3 posts = 1pp The Eel: 0 posts + 1 (rollover) = 1 post = 1pp The Shrike: 0 posts + 1 (rollover) = 1 post = 1pp Shift: 0 posts + 2 (rollover) = 3 posts = 1pp KnightDisciple Thunderbird: 0 posts = 0pp + 1 (guide) = 1pp MoonSimply La Puma Negra: 2 posts = 1pp RocketLord Ghost: 1 post = 1pp + 1 (guide) = 2pp Spacefurry Paper: 1 post = 1pp Blackstaff: 2 posts = 1pp Chimera: 1 post = 1pp Predator: 0 posts + 2 (GM) = 2 posts = 1pp GM: 1 post * 2 = 2 Tiffany Korta Emerald Spider: 0 posts + 1 (rollover) = 1 post = 1pp Merge Trois: 0 posts + 1 (rollover) = 1 post = 1pp The Immutable Betsy Brooks: 2 posts = 1pp The Scarab III: 0 posts + 1 (GM) = 1pp + 1 (ref) = 2pp Zhenschina-voin: 0 posts + 1 (GM) = 1 post = 1pp Triakosia: 2 posts = 1pp GM: 1 post * 2 = 2

Archiving; this character's sheet has been replaced with a new version.

Nocturne - 1 post + 9 (Dragonfly rollover) = 10 posts = 2pp + 1 (ref) = 3pp Past & Future Tense (1) Titanium Characters Dragonfly - 9 posts = 1pp A God Needs Compassion (9)

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"Good," said Mara, with satisfaction, she propped herself back upright, wheeling her stool back over to her drone. "And yes, momento mori," she insisted, propping the drone up to stare down its wound again. "People who forget momento mori are people who end up cackling on rooftops about showing them all. You're better than that. You'd better be, we put enough work into you." She grimaced, reaching to one side for a pair of machining gloves. "Before you go, though. Could use a third, shock-resistant hand. Pretty sure the rebar's going to clip a loose power cable on its way out. If you wouldn't mind?"

"You didn't - it's January." It was a joke; Mara had taken a seat on a work stool, one cheek resting on her fist. She gave a lopsided smile, grabbing a small metal nut with her free hand and flicking it at the young robot's forehead. "Proven to work with you, and others. Proven not to work with other others. Proven nasty side-effects on more still. That's what 'not ripe' means: not reliably repeatable. Too many open questions, uncertainties. If it did work, perfectly, every time, all the CEOs and politicians would have robot bodies already. Also, freedom of choice - not everybody wants the same things, or for same reasons. Ask twenty people, get fifty answers. Most people don't want to die. Many people don't want to live forever. Lots of variance in the human condition." She shook her head, still resting it on one fist. "Also, would be remiss as a...parent figure?...to not point out that you age. You are still made of physics, and your mind was originally purely human, inherent limitations. Entropy always wins. You can also get sick - can't get the flu, but have seen nano-viruses that would pass me by and turn you inside out. Likely to get more common as time passes, nasty to fully contain. Current median technology level in the world leaves hardware more open to exploitation than wetware. Synthetic's not a bad option, good option if you're already in trouble, but isn't a pure trade up, even before human sentimentality."

"Reading too much into it," said Mara, flatly. She'd crossed her arms, finger tapping against her bicep as she tried to arrange the words. "Immortality is a tricky subject. Definitely arguments for death at scale, societally. Irrelevant here. At the individual level, I don't think death gives life meaning. Life gives life meaning. Life doesn't have to be organic, people who talk about 'flaws in silicon souls' are afraid of things too different from themselves, or have only met Talos and his idiots. Same arguments for flaws in alien souls, or souls in people who aren't colored the way they like. Stupidity." She'd accompanied that last bit with an ugly dismissive noise that came from somewhere in her nose. "Not everything good is safe. Also, in case you make this argument to others, 'I met my ghost' is not compelling." She'd said that much more gently than the rest, but it was still a teacher's critique. "You are not less alive because you met your ghost, but a ghost would mean some part of you moved on while the rest lived. In theory. Metaphysical implications I'm not equipped to discuss."

"No." It was not an unkind 'no', but it was a firm 'no'. "I respect the interest, and the science. An interesting concept. But, no. Unless something goes very wrong with my current body I will not be a synthetic upload this decade." She was smiling as she stepped back from the hug a bit - a sad smile, but a smile. "My power does not define me. If it was the only obstacle to becoming synthetic, I would have done it already. I would miss it - the song of it is hard to describe - but it would be done. I would have other advantages to trade it off, and could work on replicating it as an addition later. My mother would help, she can do what I can do, probably better." She shook her head, strands of hair escaping from behind an ear. "Organic is not worse," she said. "Synthetic is not worse. They both just...are. Advantages and disadvantages. I have thoughts on...fail-safes, I do not look forward to death, but I will not shed my body for the sake of it."

Mara hesitated a moment; she'd come a long long way in dealing with affection, but distance was relative. "Glad I got to be part of that project," she said, returning the hug. "Don't know how much I can claim to be a mother, but you've done well with what we made. Made it your own, which is most important. Never stop improving," she added, patting the younger - if taller - girl on the back. "Best part of science, in the end, and teaching, and raising. Shoulders of giants. You stand on many very tall shoulders; you'll be great, and should help others to be great too. Already have."

Mara's expression was almost unreadable, only softening around the eyes as she watched the hologram play. "This is...extremely personal. As a gift," she said at last. "It's...a piece of you. A copy of a piece. And...a rare perspective." Mara's face bore a rare expression - no grump, no impatience, eyes wide and all the little muscles smoothed out in surprise and a sort of wonder, minus the reverence. "We're usually limited to our own perspective. Experience. Unless you're psychic, but they cheat and it wouldn't work anyway." She made a wavy motion near her own head as if that explained the comment at all. "That's...thank you. It's...thanks."

"Disgruntled civil engineer," said Mara, sounding like she didn't quite like the sound of the words. She wiped her hands clean on a rag before carefully accepting the box. "Invented a robot that ate buildings, built buildings. Lost his job. Tried to add rebar support to ex-coworkers." She tapped the back of a finger against the metal spike. "Don't worry. Couldn't get through shields. Drone only took that hit keeping someone safe. Engineer learned an important lesson: without his robot, he was an idiot with a fancy remote control. Without my robot, I had several other robots. And a suit." She pushed some of her tools aside, making room on her table to gently set the box down. "Thirty..." the heroine said, eyes unfocusing for a moment as her brain switched contexts; the pause didn't quite reach her hands, which were busy carefully removing the plastic so that she could open her present. "...yes, a big year. A younger me would be surprised I lived to see it."

The display had nothing further to say, but it wasn't much longer of a ride; several floors' distance below HAX's single basement, the doors slid open into a short hallway and the ajar door to Mara's secret workshop. Or, perhaps, Dragonfly's - Mara herself was not armored up but the drone sitting on her center table was unmistakably the heroine's, half-disassembled and pierced straight through by a long metal spike. Puppy was fearless as ever, slowing only to shoot Eira and her spider a friendly glance as it bumped the door open and ran off to affectionately bump Mara's feet. She cut the flame on her acetylene torch, sitting it down to cool. "Slow day. Wanted to get some work done anyway," she said by way of greeting, pulling her goggles down around her neck. "Could've scrapped it, didn't seem right. Would've met you upstairs, but I'm not supposed to be back until later, might cause questions."

The elevator doors slid open just before Eira reached them; sitting directly in the center of the elevator floor was a plastic sphere, perhaps a foot in diameter and clear to reveal the collection of electronics inside - the most notable of which was a large, glowing blue eye. It made a happy trilling noise, rolling to the side to make room for its mistress' guest. Puppy had placed itself near the elevator buttons, and apparently not by coincidence - it waited for her to enter the elevator and then made a suspiciously low, monotone three notes, the elevator starting its descent with no buttons pressed. The display, which should have listed a destination, instead scrolled text as the elevator dropped past the main floors and just kept going: BUSINESS OR SOCIAL?

Nocturne [3+6= 9 posts = 1pp + 1 (ref) = 2pp] Inside the Kotatsu (3) Past & Future Tense (6) Ref point to Nocturne, please.

Natalia made a beckoning gesture with one finger, a very gentle gravity lifting Black up into her lap. "I did mention that he liked insects," she said primly, running fingernails down Black's shell. "You did," said Viktor; his great bushy eyebrows had gone up into his hair as he watched the little machines mill about, looking at each of them in turn. "You did not, I think, share important details of it." He flexed his bicep at the mantis, muscle swelling significantly. "These are made by him?" "They are." Natalia's grandfather made a mild appreciative noise, looking around at them again. "And they are..." He faltered, shooting a word in Russian at his granddaughter. She just raised an eyebrow. "....toys? Just toys." "They are not." He made the noise again, less subtly, kneeling to inspect the mantis. "These are good. You are proud of these." It was not a question. "Do not let them break the chemistry glass, it is caustic. You said you found one of my older designs - these are not them, but they are impressive. You had questions, I think?"

"Your guys?" Viktor turned his head to rattle some Russian off to Natalia, who waved dismissively from her seat, responding in kind. Viktor did not seem elucidated. "You have - what? What is this. Now I must see, yes, release them." "Perhaps these people do not share their philosophies because their philosophies are weak," he mused, leaning back against the central metal table (which made a terrible sound as it scraped back against the floor an inch). He crossed his arms, bushy brow furrowed low over his eyes. "They fear that you, too, will know they are weak and small. It is a weak man's problem. If you wish to play the banjo, play the banjo." "Do not play the banjo," countered Natalia. "Baaah," dismissed her grandfather, raising a couple fingers off his arm in lieu of the full hand wave. "Flowers were always good for me, but that was a long time ago. I cannot say now. Clearly you must have done something right -" "Grandfather." It was a warning. "- so perhaps you keep doing that. If someone competes for her affections, perhaps punch him." Natalia was sitting back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, narrowing her eyes at her grandfather like she expected to develop laser vision.

Viktor scratched his chin, calloused fingers scraping along stubble as he surveyed the room. "It does lack the better sciences," he admitted. "Nothing here so dangerous as my gauntlets, except maybe little Natasha, hm? But that is as it should be, ho!" 'Little Natasha' rolled her eyes, dragging a metal stool away from the lathe so she could sit beside the door. "My advice to you," the man continued unabated, "is to fight." There was a spark in his eyes at that, and something else too - a sort of uneven shimmer when he turned his head, a gold against his natural blue that was impossible to see until it caught the light. "Fight for love, or for your justice, or for wealth, or - or best of all, most of all - fight for the thrill of fighting. But never stop, and you will always be worth something." He'd been awfully imposing there for a moment, the image of a man who'd gone blow for blow on the covers of newspapers, but it went away and he was an old man again...if a very very large one. "Ah, well. Great men truly die when they give up on their passions. Their bodies sometimes keep moving around for years after," he added, waving a hand in a suspiciously familiar dismissing motion, "but the man is dead. Nothing sadder."

Viktor was quiet for a moment, and then his brow furrowed. "You are the boy?" he asked, in a heavy Russian accent. "The boy?" was Natalia's immediate response, her voice as arched as her eyebrow. "Are there others? You speak of him." "I don't - grandfather. Do not make me sound like some kind of lovesick -" "You speak of almost no one. You do mention this one." Viktor unlaced his fingers, shrugging without sitting up. "So he is the boy." Whatever Natalia shot back with, it was in Russian; with Viktor responding in kind it was a moment before anything was intelligible. The room was not in great shape, to match the rest of the building, but someone had clearly put some effort into getting things in order - the dirt on the floor showed signs of furniture being moved around, and most of the debris had been piled up in the corner along with what looked like the shattered remains of a table, some damage far older than the rest. No super-science to be had here, aside from a pair of large, complicated metal gauntlets on the table behind Viktor; a set of chemistry equipment against the back wall was merrily bubbling away at some chemical concoction or another, burners fed by a portable propane tank; metal working equipment next to the door had clearly seen recent use, surfaces shining and clean where they'd had to turn or scrape. Bits of dark steel plates sat here or there, but in their unassembled state it was hard to say what their purpose would eventually be. Natalia had resorted to what was clearly some kind of crude Russian invective, which apparently meant her grandfather had won the debate. He was laughing, a deep gravelly thing, as he stood to flash a grin at Ryder. "So! You are the boy -" - Natalia mostly managed to stop a glare - "- and I am Viktor. You are too small, I think, but brave, and you have survived little Natasha so far, and that is good enough for me, for now." He stretched, back and shoulders popping as he looked around the room. "It is a terrible workshop. I have had better. But it keeps me busy while I am here, and it is good to not draw attention sometimes, hm?"