Welcome Participartypants

[balancemod]

Who: All y'all nerds
Where: The Arena
When: The night of the 15th
What: A small gathering to both welcome new members to the Bureau, and to congratulate veteran Reclaimers on their successful magic mitten procurement. Dress is as fancy or as not fancy as you want it. Manners, to the degree of which you are capable, are mandatory.
Content Warning: General content warning for the Reclaimers. Also general content warning for Miss Zarves

Formal, informal, never mind the dress code. NAVIGATION It's been two weeks since the Reclaimers returned, and since the newest Reclaimers arrived. Some of you have adapted better than the Director could have hoped, and some of you have made your best efforts to find a new sense of normalcy — testing Bender the food robot to his limits, forming book clubs, training together, musing over what sort of fashions one even wears to a party. Some of you, perhaps, have spent a little bit too much time in the simulation at the Dojo. It's understandable. Adjusting to the idea that your entire universe has been destroyed takes time, and sometimes, escapes are necessary. And tonight, she's hoping to provide you with a temporary escape with this party. 1. ONCE UPON A TWO WEEKS' WEARY A. TO WASH AWAY THE ACHING BLEARY The Director, using the Moon Base's simulation technology, has turned the Arena into a ballroom to behold. The sprawling hall is decorated in ornate wooden carvings, and a large maple floor meant for dancing is encircled by tables and a large banquet table. In the corner, on a raised platform, stands a baby grand piano, freshly tuned and polished. Anyone is free to have a spin on it, if the mood strikes. At some point during the evening, Johann the Bard, violin in hand, will stand on the platform and provide a performance that could only ever be heard on the Moon Base, among members of the Bureau of Balance — because he did, after all, give this particular song to the Voidfish. If you would like something with a heavier beat, there's a tablet on the wall next to the platform, where you can make music requests of your own, from the Artificer's collection of songs from across the universe. The collection may not be all that extensive, but The Cupid Shuffle is probably in there. Get down and boogie, is what we're saying. B. THEY WERE THROWN A BANQUET CHEERY And what's on the banquet table? Snacks provided by Bender, of course — which means they could have any manner of magical effects. Here are some of the snacks available, including one that the Director was lucky enough to roll for herself. Cupcakes of every flavor imaginable, utterly delicious — so delicious, in fact, that whoever eats one will have flowers grow in their footsteps for the next two hours. The flowers are magic and disappear on their own, so go turn the dance floor into a garden (Courtesy of Lion). Mead that puts you in such a good mood, you'll be unable to resist the urge to sing in whatever measure of talent you have (Courtesy of Lancelot). An energy drink that will literally give you wings for two hours. Enjoy looking absolutely angelic for your friends (Courtesy of Akechi). Nachos that have a curiously JPG quality to them, but no other magical effects (Courtesy of Terezi). The most delicious cheeseburgers you ever did taste (Courtesy of Maya). Finger sandwiches that, when eaten, light up your entire body in an assortment of different colors — the light trails behind your movements, like the way lights look on a low shutter speed. Enjoy the raving (courtesy of The Director). 2. BUT THEN, SHE ROSE FROM THE ICHOR Some of you may have heard a thing or two about Miss Zarves — perhaps the rumors circulating around town, or the strange connection to Garfield and the Bracer Chasers some of you may have bought to decorate your Bracers. Maybe words like "catalyst" and "Ouija Board" have come up once or twice. Because there is a being trapped in a plane of existence right next to yours, largely forgotten, as if she had somehow been reverse Voidfish'd. Forgotten, that is, until the Bracer Chasers — curiously laced with high amounts of aluminadium, a word that might sound familiar to McCree and Faolan. For two years, she's waited, and watched, wanting a chance to be seen again, to speak with the Bureau herself once again, cursed with a maddening loneliness. And the second one of those cute decorations was pressed against a Bracer, Miss Zarves had it — her catalyst. She would know, after all: She was once a leading researcher on using catalysts to travel through dimensions, after all — and the Bracer Chasers were one of her original designs. At the very end of the party, perhaps one or two piano songs away from shutdown, the simulation suddenly shuts down. The lights blink off with a systemwide shudder. After five seconds, the lights flare back to life, and the entire Arena is its default white blank slate. And a message, from username @Zarves❤Scarves, slowly blinks across the screen. Hello. I would like to play a game. And then the Arena goes dark. A. HACKER VOICE: I'M IN That little stunt isn't the only one Miss Zarves, who now has a connection to the dimension you're residing in and some of the Bureau tech, is going to pull. For the rest of your stay at the Moon Base, until you're whisked away to the next mission (Or unless you figure out a way to stop her), you may experience some of the following: Wonky simulations: You may have been traveling to the Dojo to recall a certain piece of your home world. And maybe one day, while you're minding your own business, that same simulation may suddenly appear outside the Dojo. Or perhaps you're wandering down a hallway, and you come across a mishmash of other people's simulations, torn apart and stitched back together haphazardly. Bender: As if this guy weren't a big enough mess already. If you happen to ask Bender for one of the items that were available at the party, you may instead be given food that has the opposite effect. Think cupcakes that leave behind wilted plants, mead that makes you cry uncontrollably, or energy drinks that not only do not give you literal wings, but put you straight to sleep. If you happen to have a subscription to Webflix, regardless of what movie you pick to watch, it'll pick a specific movie instead: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. Also, you won't be able to turn it off. 3. AND THEN THINGS JUST KEEP GETTING WORSE The arena's simulation has decided to take a sabbatical, a spectral being from another plane of existence has invaded the Moon Base, and Madame Director is doing her best to keep the room calm and collected. First, the darkness needs to be handled with properly, so with a stomp of her elegant white oak staff down on the floor, a sound echoes above and beyond any panicked shouts, and soon the room is filled with dancing lights that emanate from the four cardinal directions of the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen! Excuse me. Thank you everyone for coming to this enchanted evening here with your fellow Reclaimers, but without proper lighting- Johann, Johann, please, I don't need signature music right now, this isn't a wrestling match for crying out- thank you, Johann. As I was saying- unfortunately, this evening's events will have to be---" Almost right on cue, as if there wasn't a possibly worse time in the world for this to happen, the doors of the arena bust open. Into the room swarms a dragonborn, looking rather beat up and worse for wear. It's impossible to tell if Dragonborn can cry the way humans can cry, but her amphibian-like eyes shine oddly in the colors of the magical lights surrounding the room. The Director's eyes go wide for a moment, this was rather- no, extremely, unsuspected. The Regulator approaches the Director. "We found him! Lucretia, we found him! And h-he. That son of a bitch has Killian!" And lacking in the proper finesse that's demanded of her as a leader, she rubs her forehead. "Carey, come with me to my office and we'll sort this out." She looks around the room, her Reclaimers all gathered and standing, watching this interaction take place. "Please, everyone, return to your apartments for the evening." A. TWO WEEKS UNTIL ROLLOUT The Director hasn't slept a wink throughout the night, dealing with a host of problems facing the Bureau at the moment. She consults with the clerics on how to get rid of this ridiculous joke-entity that Garfield has proliferated long enough. She speaks with Carey about all the details she can offer, attempting to calm her down, despite her unraveled state. Killian means the world to Carey, after all, and the Director, no- Lucretia, was waiting for the wedding invitation for far too long. Sometime around mid-day, the Reclaimers will receive a message on their bracer from her. Reclaimers, we will deploying in approximately two weeks. We've discovered the location of a relic that we haven't heard about in quite some time now. A full briefing will be provided at a later date, but please prepare accordingly. The area you all will be assigned to is known as the Netheril, a vast desert that splits the continent in half between the western and eastern fronts. We've instructed the tailors to offer special clothing designs that are particularly good for protection against sand and heat — at a heavily discounted price. Ensure that you have a weapon, as there's no telling what sort of beasts you can encounter out in such a wasteland. Train intensively over the next few days. We anticipate that it will be quite some time before you are able to return to Base, so please ensure that your BIAS is restocked and ready to go. Two weeks. blurb code by photosynthesis

Comments

[alethiological]

[ Wow.

That really is a disaster. So far of a disaster it wraps around into "ah, must be drunk". Maybe he did fall in the punch. Poor guy. ]

Thank you. I'd say the same, but who rolls up the sleeves of a dress shirt? Eighty points.

[ Ouch. Except eighty still isn't a bad grade. Underhanded compliment achieved. ]

[blodsvorr]

It's kinda hot in here.

[So he wanted to cool down? Don't be an asshole?

Qrow is not moving like he's drunk, and he doesn't smell his drunkest, but let's be honest, that's not proof of anything with Qrow. He nods his head over to the dance floor, and he holds a hand out to Will.]

Come on. Let's get you out on the dance floor.

[Dance with him, pigeon.]

[alethiological]

[ Suggestion: Don't be an asshole.
Instructions unclear. Decision: Continue to be asshole. ]

Then find an air conditioner.

[ If Qrow is to get any title pinned to him, above all else, it's Highly Functioning Drunk. He hasn't done that whole 'stare blankly for three seconds then break out the flask' PTSD thing, so at least he's having a good time. Guy needs more good times after all the stress he keeps piling on himself- wait what?

The hand earns a relative to the blank stare Qrow usually gets - one arm's a prosthetic he can't move, height and position meant only ever taking leads, don't humans do those weird gender hang-ups about stuff - but it's only a few seconds because. Well. It's Qrow. He just proved himself a bisexual nightmare and outside of that, there is a profound lack of ulterior motives in his more mundane actions.

However, the pigeon still doesn't take the hand. ]

I only learned the ballroom dances.

[blodsvorr]

[Qrow grins.]

Figures. Lucky you, I know quite a few of those.

[The fingers waggle. Dance with him, pigeon!!!]

[alethiological]

[ The hell is with that expression. In the face of a crow attempting suave, a pigeon stares with the blank judgment of "get that smile off your face, it makes you look as low-shelf as your liquor". Even so, the pigeon gives way first, because no. That face will not leave. In fact, that smile is just going to get worse the longer the night goes on. So if removing the face is not an option, that means it defaults to option two: tolerate the garbage corvid's attempts at Suave.

The grip changes to offer the universal 'one moment' position, then the whiskey glass is downed with no change. Placed on the nearest table to be forgotten forever. Neck snapped back into place. Alright, he can do this. ]

Good thing you know 'em. Can't do leads anymore. Let's see if you can impress.

[ Yes, he'll dance with you. The hand is taken. ]

[blodsvorr]

[The face turns into a very pleased grin.]

When have I ever done anything less?

[He knows. And he knows Will knows. But tonight is for having fun, not for falling into the pit of Qrow's crippling self-loathing and feelings of worthlessness! So Qrow takes Will onto the dance floor, and he does, indeed, lead. And he does it... actually well? Qrow can dance. Qrow learned ballroom dancing with great purpose, twenty or so years ago, and the skills have not left him.]

[alethiological]

[ Hey Qrow's narrative, be nice, he has never once been considered in the 'anything less' bracket. Wait, that's a lie, dying to an oversized owl was definitely a Less. Whoops. We apologize for getting his hopes up.

The narrative also apologize where, halfway through the dance, Qrow has done well enough to be qualified as a worthy dance partner. The Follow that has been relatively placid changes position with no warning, left leg swept back, kicking out Qrow's support mid-step. Good news, it is not to knock him to the floor. Bad news, it is to knock him into a sick dip maneuver, textbook in every way except in spirit. ]

Not bad, but not impressive.

[blodsvorr]

[Qrow curses as he falls; he was not anticipating that. But as he looks up at this shitty pigeon dance partner, he realizes that he has, indeed, done this dance before. He trained for it at Beacon, a long time ago.

Now this is going to be fun.]

That so? Let me try to meet your standards.

[He spins back up from the dip and uses the momentum to drag Will into a twirl that literally lifts him off his feet and up into the air, courtesy of this twink's (twunk's?) disproportionately strong arms. It's on.]

[alethiological]

[ Absolutely a twink. Doesn't matter how much Qrow can deadlift, he's a scrawny toothpick who dresses like a goon. But it's fine. After the first bit of swearing, the bird takes up the challenge. Unsurprising. The grade is mentally upgraded to 85.

There's no swearing at Qrow's response. The motion is followed through with no fighting, no mistakes, up until he's set back down. The one hand held turns into a grip and the Lead is yanked from him. Momentum is weaponized. Two pirouettes. On the third, spin back out to max arm's reach. A bigger asshole might've let go to knock him into the other dancers, but that's dirty pool. Unfair tricks aren't welcome in sparring matches.

He is not let go, but the grip is loosened once it's obvious Qrow won't wipe out. Lead passed. ]

[blodsvorr]

[Qrow follows along, now that he knows the game they're playing. It happens to be one he enjoys. So he spins out, and gives a tug to pull Will back in, and when he does it's to hoist him and assist him through a fucking in-the-air cartwheel in Qrow's arms and then spinning him back out again. This is going to get increasingly absurd, and Qrow is delighted to engage.]