Room 119, like every other room on that floor, housed a general's office. And like every other room on that floor, it housed the barest accoutrements to satisfy a general's barest needs: a bookcase, a desk, a chair. Room 119 held more than the standard, but not much more — two extra chairs made an appearance. A bistro table, too, around which, sometimes, those extra chairs were arranged. And back when Room 119 was first occupied, that bistro table housed a tea set, too. Over the months, its bookshelf bloomed with new additions — sometimes literary classics like Flowers for Algernon or Missoula, sometimes lengthy, bombastic analytics on wartime strategy; sometimes blank journals. Sometimes speakers found their way on the shelves when the Citadel's youma count ran low.
Sometimes black-rimmed teacups decorated the desk. Sometimes they didn't. Sometimes tea stained a surfeit of reports through and through, and sometimes those same reports made it into a cheap aluminum wastebasket sat near the corner. Sometimes they didn't, and a clutter of wadded papers collected there.
On April 30th, a half-dozen officers received a missive beckoning them to Room 119. While the language remained simple, its pen strokes fell on the page like a personal attack:
We've a new mission. See me in my office at 2200.
Faustite
Now Room 119 looked like a victim. The floor, charred. The desk, upturned and subjected to many conflagrations. Ash and liquid of an uncertain viscosity mixed on the right wall where they formed a stain as black as the next. Unburnt papers scattered in senseless helices. Flame painted its hubris on other pages, sometimes browning them, sometimes blacking them, sometimes eating through to the stone underneath. The bistro table lay broken. The visitor's chairs each laid on their side, flame-licked. The bookcase lay flat on its fore as if protecting its cargo. Next to it, a discarded mirror. And at the back of the room, adjacent to the door, the desk sat upturned with its many drawers pressed into the floor.
It was there that Faustite lingered, where ey leaned against the narrow lip where the two columns of drawers flanked em. A hand lay on each section, elbows locked. And while ey maintained a steady stoicism, heavy shadows sat under eir eyes. Small darknesses untouched by eir own luminosity.
Time ambled on toward the declared hour. Ey waited.
Quote:
If anyone is unfamiliar with what comes next, or wants a refresher, or wants to be involved, please PM/DM me. I promise it'll be fun heart
If you're quoted into this, please pay attention to the names in your quote. Only these characters have been contacted. If you think another character should be involved, or would be canonically brought along by your character, please contact me beforehand. This meeting is a deeply private matter that will be broached with only a few people. The events afterward, however, are a little more open to attendance.
ivynian
Schörl
shazari
Quartz; if he thinks Idri is trustworthy for sensitive matters, I can pop an invite out to Song!
beejoux
Ceraskia
moonkitsune
Wolframite
kolina
Heliodor
Posted: Tue Apr 30, 2019 9:59 pm
Quartz's arrival at the door was prompted by a slightly heavy knock -- a little heavier than he intended. While Quartz was by no means a morning person in particular, he didn't like the idea of receiving a summons asking him to arrive at 2200. On nights when he wasn't out patrolling for new Order-side contacts (and even on many nights when he was), 10 pm was firmly in the middle of prime drinking hours. He preferred to be sitting quietly in his room around this time of night, a glass of wine in hand, reviewing Idrialite's paperwork and listening to music drift in from the other room. He had few personal hours, and he hated to be parted from them when he hadn't done anything wrong.
But this was the job, wasn't it? This was the life -- asked for or not. He went where he was called. And today, in the middle of Special Designated Drinking Wine and Doing As Little As Quartz Wants To Time, he was being called to a mission instead.
He waited until he was admitted, then slipped into the room. His eyes swept it, taking in the chaos at a glance.
"Remind me to send flowers to your interior decorator's next of kin," he said drily. "Yikes." He claimed a seat for himself sitting on the overturned desk, legs extended with ankles crossed.
Wolframite was nocturnal in the sense that the Negaverse subspace had no night or day cycle. It was up at peak busy hours for the castle which meant waking in the evening and going to bed in the morning. Not having a home life and identity to maintain meant it was instead available for agents and whatever might be asked of the half-youma as busy work around the different buildings and offices.
When it received the message, it was thrilled to be doing something over than emptying out and reorganizing a filing cabinet. It didn't take long to get to the office at the designated time and entered the room to a strong smell of Ash and Ichor. Its golden eyes looked about the crime scene of a room, it's own memory bring up a picture of what it once had been, and tried to figure what had happened. A fight or rage? Either case it was concern that creased the half-man's brow as he looked at its general at the center.
Quartz's remark got no quirk of a smile from it as it stood, taking a few steps closer to Faustite but then stopping to stand at attention and wishing it knew what happened.
It made the call to this mission more serious and concerning.
"Sir." It said, as a statement of attendance and acknowledgement.
Strickenized
Faustite
ivynian
Schörl
shazari
Quartz
beejoux
Ceraskia
moonkitsune
Wolframite
kolina
Heliodor
Posted: Wed May 01, 2019 1:09 pm
Room 119 was a frequented destination. One well known to the corrupt as he stopped just outside to announce his arrival with a quick rap of knuckles. With the approval of entrance, he pushed the wooden door open and stopped dead at the threshold of what looked like a battle. Once a well-kempt office was now in complete shambles and, Heliodor had little clue what could have occurred to entice such wrath from its normal occupant. For, his General must have been the culprit by the signs of fire-licked furniture, ash and dust.
Questioning was not a possibility at the moment as with the observation of destruction was the note of others who must have also received a missive. Instead, he only raised a brow in Faustite's direction before closing the door behind him and picking his way across the littered floor. He gave Quartz, a man he had yet to meet in person but had heard plenty about, and Wolframite, the newest of the group, a nod in greeting.
Stopping at one of the upturned chairs, he chose one that looked the least burnt and likely to crumble. With quick efficency the piece of furniture was uprighted and positioned closer to a wall, out of the way but close enough Helio would be included in the discussion, if there was to be any that was. For all he knew this would be a rundown of what was to be expected of them, details of the mission itself, and that be it.
A quick brush of a hand across the seat cleared the actual seat of the chair of any ash that clung to it before he sat himself down, leaning against the back with care while a leg crossed over another comfortably.
