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 Posted: Sat Dec 03, 2022 10:10 am
Prehnite's office was warm - nigh humid - actually. A machine humming off crystalline power spit warmth and mist into the air of the room; everything was cold topside, dying, and though Prehnite understood the value of winter for sleep? For the rejuvenation of Earths wonderful green-bodies. He was still recovering from the devastation of the blight, and to top it all off? A rather annoying cold.
Every year it struck him like this, same-song old-hat annoyance of a chill. The firegrate in his home got extra logs, his greenhouse (his poor, blight-stricken greenhouse!) got it's temps pumped up towards the tropical end of the spectrum -- and now?
His office got humidifiers. It made him happy, bundled up with tea that looked like dirt water and smelled like a medicine ball. It made the other occupants of his office happy as well. The sickly pale purple and green spotted vines that dotted his backwall had bloomed nicely, had climbed *high* towards the singular light source above them. Everything rearranged to be more 'office-like' while also still managing to be a mess of plant loving pottery, school-worthy office furniture, and of course desk baubles-- because who could rightfully exist without desk baubles?
Especially ones with teeth -- he'd been trying with some degree of success to train his more carnivorous plants to eat the you-rats that came through looking to nibble on things that didn't need nibbling...
Of course he'd come into the office at all, due to finding a single line of text that reminded him how long ago he'd put out that ping for information. Certainly something must've come in, right? Or -- if nothing at all? Then it was best to drop it and move on. He hated, above all else, leaving unfinished projects lingering in the back of his calendar. Either it got done or it got erased.
Prehnite penned a note and sent it through --- informing Ransomite his presence was required in order to tie up loose strings, and chop off uneven ends to his curiosity. Ransomite could answer the summons this way --- if he had to pull the man through subspace and waste precious energy he was going to be annoyed, but only mildly so. It always took him a minute to remember that so many within his small circle were in fact still basics and lieutenants, "Tsk, he can't teleport on his own yet, can he? We're going to need to remedy that as well. Fine..it's going on the to-do list."
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Posted: Sat Apr 01, 2023 4:36 am
Fulgurite used with Sei's permission and ******** ******** ******** summons had ground his brain to a halt and short-circuited his thoughts. One Fr. Isaac found himself instinctively jumping to a few choice devotions and curses in equal measure, dragging his brain back online and searching his memory fervently for a clue as to what Prehnite wanted. Why was he needed? There were some things he was supposed to be doing that he hadn't quite kept up with lately, true, but he didn't think he'd gone past the reporting point.
Unless this was about Zeb--
His blood turned to ice at the thought. He was supposed to be reporting anyone who looked anything similar to him to Prehnite. He was a recruitment interest after all. The concept left a bad taste in his mouth and an unsettling fluttering in his stomach. Except for a missing name, the report had been accurate enough that Elliot had stopped going to their house to see them. Something something priest things, something. None of them would know any better.
Father Isaac was spending a lot of time still in the rectory, after all. Even if he'd rather go to Scandals to see Toby perform, he couldn't risk running into them. That was why he was in the rectory when he got the summons. He couldn't just go, however, even when he knew he wouldn't be walked in on, and so he sent a somewhat embarrassed text to one of his former teammates--his civilian name was Matt, Ransomite had learned--asking for help.
Matt, Fulgurite, didn't seem terribly enthusiastic about the concept, but Ransomite couldn't blame him. But at the same time, he knew Fulgurite would help. There was a seemingly inescapable devotion to an unseen force that Ransomite knew Fulgurite also had to feel.
And so, "Thanks. I owe you one."
"Sure," Fulgurite had murmured, not looking at Ransomite but looking off somewhere else down the hallway. "Just tell me when you need back out."
"Of course."
And that had been that, leaving Ransomite straighening his posture and taking strides toward that office that carried more confidence and surety than he felt. It was hot, very hot, hellfire hot.
Ah, hellfire-- The door was just slightly ajar.
"General Prehnite?" He knocked gently, but firmly enough to be audible, "you called?"
Shiningamisgirl i am so sorry, life has been a mess ;;
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Posted: Wed Jun 21, 2023 2:09 am
And you came--- silent thought accompanied by some wry bit of pleasure wound round surprise to find that Ransomite had, in fact, found a way here without needing to shoot a message asking for a 'lift'. The number of tally marks that were slashed ever further in the column labeled 'promote this ********> grew exponentially. It could've been Ransomite was simply like Hatsya -- his dearest sword who simply didn't wish to strive for any greater stature or accolades -- didn't htink himself deserved of them -- or maybe that the other man was like 'himself' and enjoyed whatever niche he filled currently? Prehnite thought he'd ask Ransomite about it, why he'd evaded the inevitable for so long, after, of course.
Long, long after -- "Come in," Prehnite beckoned with little preamble, his office currently more hot house than fiery hell-scape. It still made for a place one could break a sweat in without it being seen as some give away to uncalled for nervousness. "I think I've finally caught onto that Civilians whereabouts---however? It turns out that plants are not people...."
And Prehnite? Was terrible at discerning one from another from the next. It took time, familiarity, the threat of death to imbue the image of a face with a name. How long ago had the random bench-born civ gone after Ransomite? Prehnite shrugged to himself, grunting derisively at the display that gave him no answers -- only vast amounts of images he regretted straining his eyes over.
He hadn't expected such a turnout -- some of the photos were useless -- pigeons -- deer -- a man with stick and poke tattoos standing in a convince store (the image so blurry it must've been taken by a potato rather than any mau conceived tech!) He'd had any nubmer of agents dump data and images on him, including faceless male number twelve of Faustites ever growing buffet (Ah, no, it was the walking trash-fires team, much like his garden was *his team*). Whatever his gripes with Faustite, he'd always give the man points for having the good graces to choose *Senshi*. Agents which were reliable as they were alien; or whatever connotation the word 'Alien' was supposed to have nowadays when compared to real, live, actual aliens.
"And so picking him out of any sort of lineup is -- I'm not going to manage it without some help."
Amasis I feel that statement in my godamned bones -- soo deep - Now THEN! Let's get this wrapped like for real real!
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Posted: Thu Jun 22, 2023 3:10 am
Of course this was about Zebulon. His heart pounding, Ransomite offered a sensible chuckle. "Yeah, I can imagine." His blood icy cold, Ransomite strolled closer to Prehnite. "He's, what, ish big if I remember right?" Ransomite intentionally held his hand a couple inches taller than Zebulon's actual height. Make the actual Zebulon less likely, but not make it obvious, chalk it up to a shaky memory-- "Short brown hair. I'm sure there's only a couple men who look like him in the entire city." The dry sarcasm slipped out before he caught it, but he'd talked to and knew General Prehnite enough not to sweat it. "I'll do what I can."
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Posted: Fri Jun 23, 2023 11:09 pm
Ransites sarcasm drew the corner of his stale, line of an almost frown into a near thing of a smile, like the afterimage of happiness could’ve lived on his face Not that he’d say anything about how many brunettes plagued the city — not that it would’ve been easier if the man in question’s had punk or blue or blond hair. “I know you will— and then? We’re putting in word for *someone* to promote you. We’ve sovereigns popping up like daisies—“ all the best and better because there was suddenly an abundance of active princesses. Where more than one was far too many and made him itch beneath his skin for thinking about it at all. “Because let’s both be honest with each other. This is busywork to sate my barely piqued curiosity, and a checkbox for you that doesn’t truly need checked— you’re alive and active and breathing, clearly?” scoffed as he made faces at the screen, wondering who the actual ******** had submitted some of these? Except no - he didn’t want to know - he’d see names he’d didn’t know we’ll e ouch to reprimand or names he *knew* far too well, and he didn’t want to tell faustite to reign in any of his people. Those conversations were always lovingly terse and he needed a good bit more tea in his system before embarking on them, maybe lemon loaf flavor this time? “You cannot stay a lieutenant any longer though— if I have to go out and starseed this, is it a crow or a pile of twigs? This brownish - tall-esq - not a human at all, and laude you’re praises by saying you gave me, ugh, something special etc. If I have to do it In triplicate? Then that’s what I’ll do…I do so loathe watching things languish without reason, and I cannot fathom the reason you’ve languished so long?” and Prehnite did finally hand the tablet over to Ransomite, as if he was tired of looking at a captcha question that asked him to mark all the cross walks when nearly none of the images were ever crosswalks at all!! He left his words to hang as-well, Damocles sword of a question that Ransomite would chose to answer, or not, it didn’t matter much to him either way. Hulking man full of talent in his hands or not— he’d already decided he was pushing buttons when this little rondevouz was done.
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Posted: Sat Jun 24, 2023 6:06 am
Ransomite knew that he was supposed to be reacting with pleasure to the notion of being promoted. And, outwardly, he did! "Oh! I hadn't expected promotion." That was not a lie. "I'm honoured, General." That was a lie. He would be--what--a captain? Captain Ransomite? On the one hand, something in him was excited by that prospect. He knew there were things Captains were able to do that Lieutenants couldn't. But, on the other hand, that meant he would be closer to Chaos. Did he want to be closer to Chaos? That was something he didn't think he should be thinking too hard with Prehnite right there, lest he somehow know what Ransomite was thinking. ...Who would be the general-sovereign who promoted him? There were a few options. Some of them were more observant than others. Some of them would be more likely to care than others that Ransomite was not a particularly ambitious agent. Prehnite, by his own words, didn't think Ransomite needed much checking in on. It was busywork, just 'a checkbox'. He wasn't, he realized, sure what sovereign Prehnite reported to. Lepidolite, probably? Ransomite had not met Lepidolite. He did not know how to work around Lepidolite. His attention zoned back in on 'starseed this', and there was a purely internal moment of alarm that he had missed something important, something that gave him away. Outwardly, he managed to recover with, "ah, I am not one to push people along." Also a lie. "I figured I would move along when it was time. I'm not impatient, either." That wasn't a lie. "But I do definitely feel ready to stop doing busywork and start truly serving." Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Luckily, taking the tablet let him not think about it. Ransomite scrolled the images, offering, "no, not him," here, "that is definitely a dog," there. "No, that's close, but not quite it..." The last thing he wanted to do was give up Zebulon. The second-last thing he wanted to do was hand an innocent person over to the Negaverse as a sacrifice. More scrolling, more muttering. Then it did land on Zebulon. It was unmistakably him, and the fact that the background was DCU confirmed it for Ransomite. It looked like he was holding a book. Ransomite's heart stopped. It jumped into his throat and died there. Around it, he managed, "hm, this is really close," Prehnite was there that day. He'd probably detect an obvious lie, "but I don't know about the bookworm nerd thing." He zoomed in, trying not to look at Zebulon's face, instead zooming in on the book. "'Green Approaches for Chemical Analysis, first edition by Dr. Emanuela Gionfriddo'?" He zoomed back out and studied Zebulon's face, his own a careful mask of neutral interest. Who had taken this? Who had gotten that close to him? "I don't know. I don't think the guy was wearing glasses, and this guy is." Zebulon wore contacts sometimes, and Ransomite couldn't actually remember if he'd been wearing them in the park. He hoped he had been. Or, at least, hoped that Prehnite wouldn't remember, either. Thank god the wedding ring was obscured in this picture. The left hand was in the pocket. The less that was identifiable about him, the better. "Yeah, I don't know. He is really similar, but... I can try to get a closer look at him in person, later? Is there any information on who this is? If not, I'll just go hang around the university until I see him." He scrolled on, the motion deceptively casual for how hard his heart was beating in his chest.
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Posted: Mon Jul 03, 2023 2:24 am
No one ever did expect a promotion, did they? Prehnite felt the kindlings of empathy in his bones when remembering just how long he himself had sat as a lieutenant. How much longer he’d remained as a captain after that? Till he was in a room full of superiors whom he’d served equally as long as; if not longer. He’d never had any walls about it either — not until his passivity had become a far more costly burden to bear than it ever should have been. Some things were simply well past earned, even more so with Sylvite gone rogue and so few able to step up and replace a decades worth of experience and take on a loyal teammate. At this point Prehnite figured the best option was to simply give Ransomite the power of not being beholden to any random passerby with a rank— “Expected or not, it’s long past earned. Besides—-when it comes to acts of service? I’d say you’re the most qualified to increase your efforts in that particular field, aren’t you? If any among us would know the good works of devotion…” and for a moment Prehnite was solely focused on Ransomite, narrow grassy gaze full of intrigue, though his tone only shrugged lazily to match the look. He did so wish to empty out the mans carefully constructed boxes — peel off the labels and scatter the confines of them until they could no longer be portioned so neatly amidst the bevy of differing lives Ransomite must have had to lead. The brief urge felt chaotic, was easily dismissed as his interest was instead snatched by something new. Not by the image of a man who should’ve been considered aesthetically pleasing despite looking ‘bookish’, but by the actual book held in his hands. “If nothing else he has good taste, it’s a first edition too—“ squinting at the image before Ransomite scrolled on, sounding enamored with the text, wistful, even. Basic as some of the information within the blue-green-binding was, a far more modern take on GAC usage in multiresidue analysis, metabolomics, food analysis, ohsomuchmore. “Maybe he’s not the man from the park, that one seemed a tad more militant minded than this kind of reading material suggests, all the same?” And his gaze was clearly for the setting, the richness of the surroundings and the peek of pages held in human hands. If the man had been a plant, then maybe he would’ve sussed him out sooner, would’ve paid more attention to Ransomite’s hemmed haws and careful hedging of minor details. As it was? Reed simply saw one more person that looked the same as any after a hundred or so images deep, he reached both for the tablet and to waive Ransomite off all at once. “Go, take a look—Ah, and if you can’t bring me a man, Ransomite? Then at least bring me the book. I could use some nostalgic reading material….” dismissively bright, the thought of having Ransomite filch some reading material in order to encourage him to yearn more for the ability to teleport than to not. That, and he did miss collegiate level education topics, the reading material specifically rooted in kind of subjects he’d never be able to teach at what was essentially a military style boarding school. He’d resigned himself to it, that he would work the remainder of his days into a pension, that any passion he held for a subject was better explored privately than as a career.
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