[Game Thread] The First - Finding Terrible Things

[Fragmaster01]

The night passes annoyingly uneventfully, save for that crazed human who was seen running along the rooftops, pretending to be a ninja. He was cute, but sadly did not fall, as that would have made for a good story.

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You dream of terrible things. Moles riding men in the transit tunnels, demanding your presence in their hallowed mole-mines. You're not sure what those are, but it's probably nothing good. One stands over you, waving an embellished brass stick, chanting in a language that sounds vaguely like old pop-music references. He seems t-
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Bah. Alarm clock. Bad clock, no cookie. Ah well, you do have a job today, yes? Probably should meet up with the crowd at the transit tunnel, and try to figure out how you're going to engage in this investigative reporting.

Current Time: 8:00 Outrim Standard
Current Location: Outrim, Radian 4, Your place of Sleep.

[Caput]

Mu wakes up with much yawning, stretching and general fuss before looking around to see where he is this morning. "Interesting. But how?"

He walks along the stationary train until he finds a door. He extends his legs to compensate for the lack of a platform and wanders into the darkness, seeking a bathroom. "I better not have missed a day again. Don't wanna be late."

[badhorse]

Ringo awakens with a start as the pile of paper, old clothing, and rubbish he was sleeping under disappears. He had a handy little system going - if he slept under a pile of garbage, the maintenance robots and the nasty thugs tended to miss him. And in the morning, the regularly scheduled Vanishing of waste materials served not only to wake him up but to clean him off somewhat. Simple, cheap housing. Just to be safe, he slept in different spots every night, which wasn't too hard to do. If he had learned anything about people, it was that they left junk everywhere, some of which could be very useful.

Ringo couldn't have been more proud of his cleverness. He just had to be careful about leaving stuff lying around instead of on his person as he slept - the Disc seemed to be a little more cavalier about deciding what was trash and what wasn't when you left your accoutrements (like his long-lost journal) next to a garbage heap. Huh. That was funny. Ringo hadn't thought about that journal for years. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what he had written in it, either. Oh well. It's not like he had many memories from before a few years ago. They probably had simply disappeared one night, with the rest of the trash.

He heaved a sigh and pulled himself into a semi-upright position. Mornings were not his specialty. Several doses of langorous stretching did not seem to improve his sullen outlook much. Why was he even doing this mole thing anyway? When he signed up for the job, he wasn't expecting to end up asking Abominable Rodents about their tastes in music. They said he'd be sneaking into the Center - and they were going to pay him for it - to snoop around and whatnot. Ringo had jumped at the chance. He loved snooping. He'd considered putting that on his business cards, but he'd come to learn that there was such a thing as being too honest. And Ringo was a man of virtue, above all, and scrupulously avoided such vices. He paused his train of thought to take a swig from his flask of spacewhiskey. Breakfast was important, after all.

His eyes involuntarily widened as he felt the alcohol kickstart his bodily processes. Yup, this was powerful stuff - nothing quite like it to loosen the vocal chords and shake off the accumulated sleep-gunk from his internal organs. "Urrrrggghghhhhhhh..."

Suitably catalyzed, Ringo returned to his musings. He loved snooping, sure, and the prospect of stealing stuff from those uptight Centerite nitwits was too good to pass up. But, of course, those weren't the real reasons he was doing grunt work, waiting for the chance to infiltrate that exclusive club of uptight jerks. He was doing it for the same reason he did everything, the only sensible motive there was.

Popularity.

Humming a toneless little tune, Ringo struts off towards the open transit tunnel, the faintest of smiles curling his lips.

[copatt]

Serena's head jerked up at the blaring of the alarm. Rena had been kind enough to set it for her the night before, but now, without hands, Serena found herself woefully incapable of silencing it. In the end, she used her head to knock the annoying appliance to the ground, then stomped it repeatedly with a broad, bare foot. Ah, golden silence.

Serena waddled over to the room's attacked bath, easing her wide backside through the door. She studied herself in the mirror. Well, at least I've still got a pretty face; might as well do what I can with that. Through the use of assorted cantrips such as open/close and mage hand, Serena was able to at least get her teeth brushed, face washed, and hair (sort of) combed.

Taking one final look at herself in the mirror, Serena stretched, made her way out of the room, and headed toward the rendezvous point at the open transit tunnel. Time to make some money... what an odd thought.

[Fragmaster01]

The transit platform is much as it ever was: a small staircase leading downward a few stories into the dark, dusty tunnels below. The grouchy fat woman at the gate demands payment for a ticket, which you are forced to oblige. Not that you'll be going to your chosen destination. Not today...

Today... you have Plans.

The stretchyman, the drunk, and the brontosaurus all arrive at platform 2-D, which is Happily Serving the Lachesis Pentrant of Outrim. There are no trains here; those have long since been abandoned for Transit Tunnels, a lovely device where you step into the tunnel, whoosh to your destination, and try not to hit anyone along the way. A rat in the corner is rolling around with a beer bottle, though what amusement it gets out of the process is lost on you.

The socially blind robot has not shown up. Ah well, more money for you, you suppose. A notice posted on the stairs informs you that the tunnels will be closing down in 15 minutes for repairs, and asks that you Get a Move On, or Else.

[badhorse]

Ringo sniffs and rubs his nose. "Any idea where the metal chick is? I didn't figure her to be much of a heavy sleeper." He surveys the platform. "So what's the deal here? We wait 15 minutes, and then the transit system won't yank us halfway across the Disc, and then we find the hole that leads to the Mole Men?"

[Caput]

Mu shrugs an elasticated shrug. "In theory, yes."

[Fragmaster01]

15 minutes dramatically pass in utter silence. Still no sign of Metal-Girl.

There's a horrible screeching noise as something grates in the ceiling and floor. Emergency lights blink on in the tunnels, as well as a happy hologram floating in mid-air at the side of the platform, informing you to Come Back Later. Loitering is Bad, Mmkay?

[copatt]

Well, I guess we should get started, huh, Serena asks, stepping forward and extending her long neck into the access tunnel.

[Fragmaster01]

Serena: The tunnel does indeed appear to be turned off. Your head is not yanked into the passageway like it usually would.

The sign is Displeased at your remaining here. "Can't You Take a Hint?" Regardless, it has little to back up it's whining with.

[copatt]

Serena's brain tells her arm to raise and motion for the others to follow her into the tunnel, but her quadruped body responds by simply lifting a foreleg and shaking it a little. Come on guys, let's get started. She takes a few steps forward, then cranes her long neck to see if Mu and Ringo are following.

[badhorse]

Ringo hops down from the platform. "Just how much time do you think we have, exactly?"

[Caput]

Mu shrugs again. "Not the foggiest. Let's assume very little, just in case." He walks alongside Serena.

[Fragmaster01]

Ringo: The sound of you landing on the tracks echoes down the tunnel. Creepy.

The sign gives up it's attempts to persuade you. "Fine. See if I Care. Don't Come Running to Me if You Get Hurt! It does, however, helpfully display an ad for painkillers below this message.

You wander down the tunnel, looking for maintenance shafts or other obvious ways down below. This search is slightly impeded by the fact that the emergency lights are worse than useless, once you get away from the flourescence of the platform.

It is dark here. You are likely to be eaten by a Mole-Man.

[copatt]

Serena closes her eyes, concentrates, and mutters the word lux. Even before she opens her eyes, she can tell that a cool glow is emanating from her spelldisc, the recipient of a successful light spell.