>‘I … I suppose?’ (Clueless)
>‘Is this something like a friendly-fire box?’ (Clueless 2)
>‘Why, yes, Delta … I … I have grown fond enough of you to call you to place you in this zone of friends if this is what you are implying.’ (Okay, dude, she’s had enough)
>‘Yes, the most exclusive club of friends.’ (Stop, man)
>‘I would definitely call you ally, Delta.’ (Destroyed)
>Write-In

>>3793190
>>Write-In
"I have no idea what zone you are referring to. But of course you are my friend! I take our bond of friendship seriously."

>>3793196
This

“Besides, just because you are in the zone of friendship does not entail that there will not be benefits of being in it. Being my friend is very beneficial after all right?

As such, we are still friends, with benefits!”

>>3793196
+1

File: Morrigan's Sister, Delta.jpg (203 KB, 850x1155)

203 KB JPG

‘I don’t have much of an idea of what you’re … specifically referring to,’ you admit, rubbing the back of your head as you consider the words, ‘but I suppose that I … do consider you an acquaintance that I have grown … fond of the last five years we’ve known one another. With that threshold crossed, it wouldn’t be … a stretch to call you a friend. By that mathematical standard, of course.’

Her cheeks seem to sink at your words, but you’re taken from another ponderous trail by the sympathetic giggle of the youngest Fisher sister, who gives a small bow of acknowledgement … and the seemingly tired sigh of Morrigan Fisher, who steps up right next to you, her hands on her hips in a telling movement to take charge of the current situation. You move not to exercise your own authority, lest she bring rank into it. Just because you were a prospective officer and her lover now didn’t mean you were free of her opinion. As a veteran and your superior, she had more on you than you wanted to acknowledge at all … and sometimes falling in line and pleading submission was a better solution to follow than to contest for contest’s sake.

‘Iona, Delta … why don’t the both of you head on back?’ she suggests neutrally. ‘I think it’ll be better for the both of you to stay out of the city. What with the … former cadets letting their hair down.’

There are no protests from the middle sister.

Iona, too, is as obedient as she always was. A nod and an adjustment of her top is all she gives.

Still … it seemed a little harsh to you. You’d just denied them the extension of your House’s arm on rather harsh terms. Perhaps letting them join in the festivities would soften the blow? You didn’t like vetoing in areas where your authority was unwarranted, but … it’s not as if the city was under siege. If the developments didn’t inspire confidence of their safety, then they could at least enjoy themselves making use of the hotel’s amenities. Then again … it wasn’t a secret that graduating cadets got pretty rowdy. There hadn’t been anything particularly severe over the last decade or so, but you’d throw yourself into the Academy’s artificial lake before you’d trust a graduating cadet to have anything but pure hedonism on their mind.

‘You sure we can’t stay or anything?’ Delta speaks up. Not quite begging or pleading, but still throwing the request out for consideration.

‘Most of the districts will be undergoing a lock-down. So even if you weren’t going to the party, you’re not going to be able to do much else. Right?’

It appeared that your input was welcome.

>‘They can come upstairs. I have more than enough room. They can at least play around with the channels.’
>‘I’ll get you a transport back to the Academy grounds. Trust me: you don’t want to stick around for what’s coming.’
>Write-In

>>3793233
>>‘I’ll get you a transport back to the Academy grounds. Trust me: you don’t want to stick around for what’s coming.’

>>3793233
>>‘I’ll get you a transport back to the Academy grounds. Trust me: you don’t want to stick around for what’s coming.’

>>3793233
>>‘I’ll get you a transport back to the Academy grounds. Trust me: you don’t want to stick around for what’s coming.’

File: Tetsusaiga.jpg (80 KB, 720x960)

80 KB JPG

‘I’ll get you a transport back to the Academy grounds,’ you declare, thoroughly stepping your foot over to her side before adding, ‘trust me, you two, you don’t want to stick around for what’s coming.’

You don’t think either of them are even the slightest bit prepared for the manic attitudes of the rowdy officers-to-be. Not without good reason, either: the districts undertook lockdown protocols through experience, not out of formality or the modicum of respect. A city (a world, really) could tolerate only so many false red alerts, invasion warnings and prank pandemic announcements.

‘You really don’t,’ you emphasize, sighing.

So much for the Empire’s best and brightest.

Neither of them protest. Iona respects the decision with the subdued enthusiasm she always wore … and Delta, though reluctant, concedes the point. The hotel staff is at the very least competent enough to bring a suitable chariot for their return journey (one that you emphasize was to be complimentary rather than charged) within the span of minutes. You note that the vehicle was very blocky and angular in design, as long and sleek as it was; normally one wouldn’t pay attention to such details, but you couldn’t help but point out the contrast between intention and delivery. Besides, they’d brought you in to have an opinion. You’d be sullying the name of Scions everywhere if such a detail escaped you.

‘You’ve got that look on your face,’ Fisher points out in amusement as the both of you walk across the lobby, ignoring the curious looks and whispers of the other hotel guests … who are now very much aware of just who you are.

‘It’s nothing. Just … I feel like the hotel’s aesthetics are all over the place, I suppose,’ you respond coolly, glancing at the marble surroundings as you take step by step … and observe the hotel staff now rushing to the elevator door from their previous posts, more than likely expecting you to make use of it. ‘There’s a sleekness and edge it’s trying to cater to while trying to appeal to a more classical clientele. It makes for a rather confusing combination.’

‘Is this the kind of conversation that I’m going to have to be following from now on?’

‘I thought you read the manual before deciding that I was ripe for your harvest, Instructor?’ you tease, winking as she hooks her arm around yours.

She chuckles, peering into your eyes as she leans more of her weight into you. ‘I was under the presumption that you’d be more inclined to Chapter trivia and Mech schematics over the aesthetic clash of a hotel.’

‘Are you doubting my conviction to the cause, Instructor?’

‘I thought that at this point I’d be hearing your opinion on the kinetic accelerators on the Tetsusaiga models.’

You almost trip over your own two feet as you enter the elevator, her laughter tickling your eardrums.

>‘The Tetsusaiga’s forte is in maximizing its close combat urban strike capabilities. Why would they put kinetic accelerators on one?’ (Outrage)
>‘That’s blasphemous. They might as well turn it into a sniper unit.’ (Outrage 2)
>‘The Tetsusaiga is fine as is. What kind of escalation do you expect putting a kinetic accelerator on one?’ (Confusion)
>‘Urgh, I guess there’s some … logic to it. Having a back-up option when it comes to a load-out isn’t exactly out of order.’ (Relent)
>‘You made that up. There’s no way they’d do … that.’
>Write-In

>>3793838
>‘Urgh, I guess there’s some … logic to it. Having a back-up option when it comes to a load-out isn’t exactly out of order.’ (Relent)

>>3793838
>‘Urgh, I guess there’s some … logic to it. Having a back-up option when it comes to a load-out isn’t exactly out of order.’ (Relent)

File: bang bang bang.jpg (191 KB, 890x482)

191 KB JPG

You want to contest the point as a purist … but from a practical stand-point, it was probably an upgrade that was long overdue. The Tetsusaiga had long been the butt of many an enthusiast’s joke, what with its (very much warranted) status as an “urban pacifier model” against the heavy machines of warfare and hot metal that generally followed Imperial (and Alliance Military) Mech design. Sleek and rotund in places with many hollow compartments, one would be forgiven for wondering where the battlefield practicality started with the model. Relatively new by Imperial circulation standards, the Tetsusaiga was the Empire’s first attempt at marking a replacement for the eight-decade strong Hellion … and while the Tetsusaiga found its home as a city defender, it hadn’t exactly inspired confidence as a frontline Mech. There were many that had tried to make it so, of course. Your House had made many a prototype at making the Mech palatable for the use of Chapters and Squadrons … but the problem kept going back to its core: that the Tetsusaiga had too many—according common terminology—moving parts for it to be sustainable without a dedicated supply point and specialized crew. Inciters among pilots had even referred to it as the ODF’s contribution to the world of Mechs (Which was very much untrue).

Still, it had seen its fair share of campaign use, of course … and Darton Wray had sworn by it, so the noise had quieted somewhat, but in the context of the conversation, it was neither here nor there. Placing a kinetic accelerator on a Mech that was assigned (though not designed) for a purely defensive role was—is—nonsensical. It was the equivalent of giving local law enforcement Class-Six Weaponry access on a rotation. It just wasn’t … done.

It was warranted, of course, but … to you, it just felt like (and there was no other word for it) overkill.

‘I guess there’s some logic to it,’ you grumble, glancing up at the blinking numbers indicating the passing floors, ‘Having a back-up options when it comes to a load-out … or even an option pack isn’t exactly out of order. It’s just … it feels like overkill, doesn’t it? The Tetsusaiga’s a city defender by trade: what would it need a … railgun for? In practical terms?’

‘You just said that there was some logic to it,’ Morrigan replies, crossing her arms as she relinquishes her hold upon you. ‘What wouldn’t a railgun be useful for?’

‘Oh, you mean like if I was in the mood to blast through four skyscrapers to get to a target instead of manoeuvring to get a clean shot?’

Morrigan hums a little too enthusiastically at the notion, practically wrapping her arms around herself in ...

She really was an enthusiast like no other.

>‘You’re unbelievable.’ (Exasperated)
>‘I suppose the White Hawk of Arrakis would be titillated at the notion.’ (Joke)
>‘The Tetsusaiga’s already attuned to melee and urban combat. Why not just build on those aspects?’
>‘I’m not sure if I’m as enthusiastic … all this escalation is worrying, to be honest. We have the Piranhas …’
>‘What’re you doing?’
>Keep quiet
>Write-In

>>3794036
>‘What’re you doing?’

>>3794042
>>‘You’re unbelievable.’ (Exasperated)
On a personal level, I'm with Fisher
Railgun make big booms and that makes me aroused

>>3794042
>‘I suppose the White Hawk of Arrakis would be titillated at the notion.’ (Joke)

>>3794049
>Guys they're laughing at our Mech
>Let's slap some option packs on it
>They're laughing harder
>Okay what about a kinetic accelerator unit
>There's still some laughing but one weird lady with blue hair is now masturbating in the lobby
>Mission accomplished

>>3794042
>‘What’re you doing?’

So we shut both Iona and Delta down ? Or will they try again?

I agree denying them for now for similar reasons MC said but also we just accepted two lovers in almost a 24 hour period, might be a bit much for Mc to handle

>>3794042
>>‘What’re you doing?’

>>3794042
>>‘What’re you doing?’

>>3794047
>>3794074
>>3794085
>>3794111
It's amazing that she made Instructor, in my opinion, what with her being such a hardcore mech otaku. You'd think the shellshock and trauma at being the sole survivor of her deployment would have put a damper on her "enthusiasm" at the subject. Then again, she does hold the highest kill count on a single drop by virtue of BEING a sole survivor.

>>3794074
Sorry, forgot to answer your concerns.

You tentatively turned them down for the reasons above. I'm not sure if where you're headed will give you the opportunity to exercise your right as a Scion to take in new lovers, what with your career and all, but you never know. Maybe you can. It's not an outright rejection, of course, but at the same time you can't expect either of them to stand still when it comes to matters of the heart.

>>3795118
That's fair, it will be nice to get all the sisters but Iona is still a bit young and may be going with the flow, and Delta well it was poor timing on her part.

Testing

File: tetsusaiga 2.jpg (131 KB, 809x560)

131 KB JPG

‘What are you doing?’

‘Forgive me if I don’t share in your dispassionate approach to the matter,’ Morrigan replies, sounding more like Iona on too many endurance supplements for her age block. ‘This opens so many possibilities …’

‘Possi … bilities?’ you enquire, curious.

‘The Tetsusaiga’s finally going to have some offensive viability in drawn combat and direct exchanges,’ she sighs, sounding almost … giddy. ‘The unit’s always been fragile when it came to fire-fights. A kinetic accelerator and a railgun targeting system is more than just an upgrade: it’s a step up in keeping its relevance and viability. I thought that you’d have picked that out first.’

‘I’ve always valued practicality over having bells and whistles for the sake of having bells and whistles,’ you grunt, leaning against the glass wall of the elevator and peering outside to the glass dome of the hotel’s recreation area. ‘Besides, the Tetsusaiga’s always been an oddity: it was designed to be a front-line unit, found a niche in defensive deployment when that didn’t work out and has a secondary specialization as a close combat melee Mech with systems geared towards infiltration. It’s an amalgamation of scenarios that have little to no overla—’

You pause as the proverbial spark hits you.

‘Oh.’

It’s the most embarrassing sound you make in the elevator.

‘Right,’ you concede, rubbing your temples as you absolutely refuse to raise your head to meet what could only be your Instructor’s triumphant smirk. ‘Heavy weaponry systems on call would make the overlap viable … and with the installation of a kinetic accelerator being made into an option, the role of an infiltrator would expand its battlefield role to substitute scouting, first contact combat-and-evasion, as a sharpshooter and … increase its proverbial value as an asset of the Aegis. Of course; yes.’

That’s when something else hits you.

‘Why not just … slap on some jets and boosters on its back while we’re at it? It’s not like that’s beyond the current scope if we’re already placing an on-board railgun.’

‘The operating system’s not made for orbital, sub-orbital or free space warfare and isn’t versatile enough … and the mech’s not viable for that sort of role, for that matter,’ Morrigan replies, looking thoughtful. ‘The structural integrity doesn’t allow compensation for extreme vector changes in acceleration or velocity of that magnitude. The Hellion’s sheer resilience and the gaps in its operating system and assisting intelligence are what allow it to be where it is over the Tetsusaiga. Less … moving parts and all that.’

Once more, you concede the point.

'Still, if you're able to find your comfort zone, it doesn't really matter, does it?'

>>3796904
You cock and eyebrow … right as the doors open.

>‘I don’t know. The Hellion’s a tougher sell than the Tetsusaiga. I’d take that any day.’ [CLASS: Vanguard]
>‘Between a Heat Axe and Hi-Blade, huh? Tough Choice. [CLASS: Fighter]
>‘I think I do my best work out of the line of fire, so … maybe?’ [CLASS: Scout]
>‘I’d more magazines over relying over a steady shot.’ [CLASS: Gunner]
>‘Oh, I thought you’d forgotten that I pegged you.’ [CLASS: Sniper]
>‘The jamming and the speed advantage is appealing.’ [CLASS: Infiltrator]

>>3796909
can you give me a short on what class is what?

>>3796910
Vanguard is the "Tank". Fighter is the "Melee DPS". Scout doesn't fight at all, but boosts your other teammates and reveals other options. Gunner is being an Ork. Sniper is ... self-explanatory and Infiltrator is essentially being an Assassin. They're also arranged in the "easiest to hardest" from my perspective.

Vanguard gives you more room not to fuck up, followed by Fighter because even when you're not on the defensive you can still DODGE. Scout has you out of the battle and "invulnerable", but makes you reliant on your teammates more. Gunner is when it gets risky because you're ammo-reliant and vulnerable to counter-attacks. Sniper is for the patient and requires a lot of synergy. Infiltrator is if you want to solo missions and get all the glory for yourself, but is VERY Mech-reliant. For instance, if you choose INFILTRATOR and have a Mech geared with more ammo than the US Army stockpile, you're not going to have a good time.

>>3796909
>‘I don’t know. The Hellion’s a tougher sell than the Tetsusaiga. I’d take that any day.’ [CLASS: Vanguard]
facetanking FTW

>>3796909
>>‘I don’t know. The Hellion’s a tougher sell than the Tetsusaiga. I’d take that any day.’ [CLASS: Vanguard]

>>3796909
>‘I’d more magazines over relying over a steady shot.’ [CLASS: Gunner]

>>3796909
>‘I don’t know. The Hellion’s a tougher sell than the Tetsusaiga. I’d take that any day.’ [CLASS: Vanguard]

>>3796909
>‘Oh, I thought you’d forgotten that I pegged you.’ [CLASS: Sniper]
Seems fitting for someone that insists on such precision in social situations.

>>3797475
>>‘Combat’s about attrition as much as it is about tactics and precision.’

File: Mobile-Suit-Gundam-Battle(...).jpg (132 KB, 1070x602)

132 KB JPG

‘I don’t know,’ you start as you step out, sounding genuinely hesitant to throw yourself in with that sort of perspective. ‘The Hellion’s a tougher sell than the Tetsusaiga. I’d take resilience and endurance over firepower, thanks.’

CLASS SELECTED: VANGUARD

‘I keep forgetting that you’re the type to get up close and personal,’ Morrigan comments, stepping out with you and letting out a bemused chuckle. ‘You’re very good at causing a scene on the battlefield.’

You can’t help but smile at that.

‘I’d rather leave the more indirect nuances of Mech combat to those that want to delve into it,’ you reply, placing your hands in your pockets. ‘I’ve never been one for surgical precision … and I never mastered the art of take-downs as much as I’d like to, but even if I can’t take someone down with a Heat Axe, it doesn’t mean that I’m just going to take my role as someone who’s supposed to fall over and die, right?’

‘That’s what makes you an effective field leader, I suppose. Your tendencies in combat give the impression that you’re trying to lead by example rather than with words.’

‘You’d know, wouldn’t you?’ you snipe, chuckling … and feeling the whack of a top-of-the-line prosthetic that’s strong enough that it almost causes you to stumble.

‘Just because I conceded defeat doesn’t give you permission to lord it over me, my student.’

>‘I achieved a tactical victory.’
>‘Combat’s about attrition as much as it is about tactics and precision.’
>‘It’s actually hilarious that you didn’t expect the opposing side to irritate you into screwing yourself up.’
>‘I still find it a little surreal that my Squadron was the only one that beat you in a field examination.’
>Write-In

>>3797478
>‘I still find it a little surreal that my Squadron was the only one that beat you in a field examination.’

>>3797477
>>3797485
Flipping a coin. Coin flipped.

>>3797478
>>‘I still find it a little surreal that my Squadron was the only one that beat you in a field examination

>>3797478
>>‘I still find it a little surreal that my Squadron was the only one that beat you in a field examination.’

File: Morrigan Fisher.jpg (199 KB, 850x1146)

199 KB JPG

You stop in the middle of the hallway, prompting your companion to do the same.

‘I still find it surreal that my Squadron was the only one that beat you in a field examination. Would have thought that Reinweld or Maldante would have scored points before I did. I don’t think anyone even gave us a chance to get past the fourth flag.’

There was more than just getting the flag that was at stake, however.

You weren’t an exceptional student outside of the more … theoretical aspects of the course. You’d arrived for your Officer’s training overweight, you’d barely scratched by in the simulations and you were practically useless at following combat protocols even in practical situations. You don’t even remember the names of those in your “Lance”, but you do remember what was at stake. Maldante and Reinweld had powered through all the way to the seventh module without fuss … and you didn’t want to be the dead weight of the group. Ryosuke had fallen at the sixth and none had reached the last. If you didn’t make it hear, you would have been wholly relegated from anything resembling a pilot’s chair.

So you went all in.

‘I think I’m angrier at the fact that the man who bested me only had a score in the sixtieth percentile despite being part of the only Squadron that, you know … actually beat me.’

‘Well, I did die four times,’ you answer, sighing. ‘That kind of recklessness is—’

‘Don’t play that card,’ Morrigan grumbles, cutting you off before glaring up at you, embers in her eyes. ‘You weren’t reckless. You sacrificed yourself in four scenarios in order for your teammates to fulfil the objective. Recklessness implies wastefulness in action.’

‘I gambled a lot, though,’ you reply, sighing heavier than you did before. ‘I don’t think anything we did there followed operational doctrine.’

To be fair, however, the circumstances never allowed you to do so effectively.

You’re still a little mystified at how Maldante managed to reach so far going by the book when the first objective practically threw all notions of that for you out the window.

‘None of you were rated above the seventieth percentile,’ Morrigan mentions pointedly, wearing a wry half-smile. ‘I think Van Digard scored the highest amongst your group, but he only did so by capping objectives or by virtue of being the first one to reach the set thresholds. None of you achieved a clean kill ratio either.’

You remember those scores. The proctors were in a tizzy after your victory.

But you had achieved what you’d sought: you were allowed to stay in the program by being the sole Squadron … and the sole pilot that was able to dispatch the White Hawk of Arrakis on an even field.

‘Like I said … it is rather … surreal, isn’t it?’ you chortle, crossing your arms and wearing a hesitant half-smile. ‘In theory, we were probably the worst team to do it. However, there’s nothing on record that says a Heat-Axe is any less effective just because one has a lower score running into a combat scenario.’

Fisher doesn’t reply.

She does, however, mysteriously smile.

‘There really isn’t, is there?’

>Write-In

>>3797671
Was there? *Eyebrow raise*

>>3797671
>Surreal to me... I guess others would find my presence near them, much less attention on them surreal.

>>3798082
I honestly don't know what this word salad is about, so I can't use it.

>>3799131
I honestly don’t know how to respond

File: Mecha.jpg (397 KB, 1680x1050)

397 KB JPG

‘Do you believe otherwise?’

Morrigan snorts, leaning forwards. She’s so close to you that you feel almost uncomfortable at the sudden, scrutinizing attitude that she’d adopted. You almost shrink back into your teen years, walking through her office door and finding yourself face-to-face with the grizzled young woman that you had thought would have chewed you up and spat you out without so much as a thought. The White Hawk of Arrakis wasn’t a title unearned. As proud as you were—as you are—you tread carefully when it came to the subject of her abilities, indirectly or directly. Jests aside, you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of a woman who held off a rebellion. The walls fell before she did … and you were nothing if not self-aware of just how far your prowess went. Victory or no, you didn’t want to test her patience.

‘I believe what happened, happened … and that if I ever get into a cockpit again, I’ll have to consider that there might be more pilots out there with your grit and cunning eager to throw me into an early grave,’ she scoffs, wearing a half-smirk and peering up at you through slitted eyes. Despite the enigmatic expression, however, you find yourself relaxing at her clarification.

‘I suppose I should be appreciative at you not discounting my Squadron’s victory,’ you joke, rubbing your shoulders as you gesture for her to follow.

‘That … is something that I would never do.’

You aren’t able to say anything to that.

‘I remember telling you that I was surprised by your approach, however,’ Morrigan continues, her tone taking a neutral, yet inquisitive quality. ‘Your have a preference for leading from the front, but you’re methodical enough to reinforce your own position. You told me that you picked up Gustav’s methodology … and I’ve noticed you taking up Ser Bannister’s combat since. Is there a particular reason you’re using that specific combination of combat doctrines?’

‘Well, you know how I pilot … Gormond Gustav’s probably one of the greatest defensive pluggers in the history of the Empire, but Bannister’s methodology is—’

‘—One of the most unorthodox mech combat doctrines available to any AEGIS learner,’ she quips, throwing you another scrutinizing gaze. ‘You never struck me as a pilot of fortitude over a pilot of instinct and reflex. Bannister’s Lance deployment scheme is formation-focused more than it’s terrain-focused. That’s never been your expertise. Are you trying to reconcile those two techniques or are you hoping for a spur of inspiration to help you with your piloting?’

‘It’s not as if I have to worry about that anymore, anyway. The next five years of my career are probably going to be built around bureaucracy and managing fold-sickness.’

It takes four steps for you to notice that she’d stopped in her tracks.

‘I’m sorry … I know you really wanted to be a pilot.’

>‘Well, we all have to grow up some time.’ (Melancholic)
>‘The Aegis has quite the pick this year, though. Can’t say that I’m too surprised.’ (Light-hearted)
>‘Yeah …’ (Uncertain)
>‘It’s not a decision that was made without logic. I’m just not good enough.’ (Mature)
>Write-In

>>3799370
>‘It’s not a decision that was made without logic. I’m just not good enough.’ (Mature)

>>3799370
>>‘The Aegis has quite the pick this year, though. Can’t say that I’m too surprised.’ (Light-hearted)

>>3799370
>‘Yeah …’ (Uncertain)

>>3799370
>>‘It’s not a decision that was made without logic. I’m just not good enough.’ (Mature)

>>3799370
>‘It’s not a decision that was made without logic. I’m just not good enough.’ (Mature)

>>3799370
>>‘It’s not a decision that was made without logic. I’m just not good enough.’ (Mature)

File: FOR THE EMPEROR.jpg (90 KB, 285x570)

90 KB JPG

You really wanted to be a pilot.

The AEGIS, however, only wanted the best.

‘It’s not a decision that was made without a logical centre to it,’ you conclude, sounding more controlled than you believed yourself capable of. ‘They wanted the best pilots and I’m just not good enough.’

‘What do you think?’

‘Doesn’t really matter, does it?’ you shrug, rubbing the back of your neck. ‘I mean, I told you before, didn’t I? I can’t pretend that I’m not disappointed, but … that’s that. There’s still a lot of work to be done and … well, if there’s the off-chance, maybe a Chapter will see it fitting for an administrative officer to serve in a relevant capacity. Logistics does open a few doors there …’

‘You’re thinking of applying to be a Commissar?’

You shake your head vigorously.

‘I may be spoiled, Instructor. I’ve never believed myself to be of a wicked character.’

She throws back her head, laughing as the both of you continue your walk. Your suite was mere seconds away.

‘You’d be attached to a Chapter,’ Morrigan continues, her suggestion more in jest and in full awareness of the implications. ‘You’d even be above the Knight-Commander.’

‘Yes, and be the most hated man on the ship that I’m on by default,’ you retort, rolling your eyes. ‘I’m not that desperate for a place on a Chapter, thank you. I’d rather start as a mechanic on some numbered Squadron on a defensive deployment than weasel my way into a Chapter’s ranks as an agent of the Emperor’s Hand, thank you very much. Besides, it’s not as if I won’t be contributing. I’ll be shipping off in just over half a Rhysode day and … who knows?’

You frown as a stray thought hits you.

‘I heard from my grandfather that Commissars attend a different school to that of the Aegis … but Professor Ludvitz said that there have been Commissars who were graduating cadets. Is the criteria for selection about the same there?’

‘Oh? Changing your career path?’

‘Trying to feed a curiosity and address some contradictions, actually,’ you throw right back.

She closes her eyes in thought, before flashing them open and peering ahead. ‘It depends on the qualifications the Emperor’s Hand wishes of the current batch. I didn’t interact with my own that much, but according to my old Knight-Commander, Commissar career paths are usually attached to intelligence training divisions over administrative or front-line combat and management. There might be some truth of Commissars being noticed after their Officer’s training with the AEGIS is complete … but the typical selection process is usually through the former rather through traditional jockey training that the AEGIS conducts.’

‘So it’s half and half?’

‘In most cases,’ Morrigan answers, shrugging.

You don’t bother to ask any further. The both of you had arrived at the door to your suite by your last syllable, anyway. The doors hiss open with a gesture revealing your two guests, who were seated on the large couch and watching the … weather channel.

Or rather, Rosaria was watching the weather channel. Sansa had her head leaning over the top the couch, unwilling to hear the voice assistant on the screen droning about precipitation and the APU’s latest activities in its operational cycle.

‘You’re back,’ Sansa says, getting to her feet.

‘Wilmots.’

‘Instructor Fisher.’

The both of them regard one another for a moment, wearing identical, quizzical looks … before Sansa turns to you, her expression going from curious to tentative … uncertain.

‘So you were expecting her.’

‘I was, yes,’ you answer … and reluctantly let out a yawn. A glance towards the suite’s bed has you wondering how many more questions that you needed to be asked before you’d be allowed to take a nap.

‘Trying to appeal your assignment?’ Sansa jokes, crossing her arms over her torso.

>Write-In

>>3801656
>>I may appear to have my head up my ass most of the time even I know trying to appeal my post is a lost cause, better to bite the bullet and get some experience before making a move in a few years

>>3801700
this

>>3801700
I'll support that also.

>>3801656
>>3801700
This smart

>>3801656
>>3801700
Support

File: Sansa.jpg (333 KB, 1897x1231)

333 KB JPG

You fix Sansa with a flat glare.

‘While I won’t deny the damage to my pride in being passed over and that the perception of me having my head up my ass on more days than I do not … I know better than to claw at an outcome that has a smaller chance at any sort of substantial yield than planting bananas in an artificial environment on some moon’s orbit.’

She giggles behind a closed fist, looking away.

‘Maybe when I’ve had enough of seeing four metal walls and at least three bad delivery runs, I’ll throw something out to the Celestial Hounds or the Riders Eternal for consideration. Right now, however, I think I’ll settle with being a dog of bureaucracy. At the very least I can tell my father that I’m getting some practical experience for my role as Head.’

Sansa’s eyes widen slightly.

‘Really?’

‘No,’ you chuckle, revealing your own attempt at humour. ‘but it’d make for a pretty convincing lie.’

Sansa makes a light retching noise as she rolls her eyes before placing her hands on her hips. Even Morrigan appears to find some value in your attempt at dry humour, letting out a brief snicker from her place beside you. Sansa settles down within moments, however, and the previous curiosity that she’d displayed before returns with a higher level of perceived intensity as she shifts the focal point of her attention from you to Fisher to you and back to Fisher again. It’s like she’s watching a serve exchange between two competitive players.

‘Is this about … tonight’s arrangements, then?’ Sansa inquires, her voice tentative. You don’t miss the brief, withering look that she shoots you with before turning back to Fisher with an expression that made her look as though her cheeks were fashioned out of second-grade plastic. ‘The committee’s made all the arrangements with the districts and the shops and the supervisors and I … think that you’ll find them at least passable by the preset standards.’

‘I’m not here to check up on the preparations for the graduation party, Wilmots,’ Morrigan announces, setting her hands flat in a hesitant gesture of her own before. ‘Although, judging by what Instructor Wiseman’s told me, you’ve done as good a job as you could keeping this year’s troublemakers below the tolerance threshold …’

‘Ah, well, I … tried my best, but that was more Bernie and Hammond doing the work. They don’t really … listen to me without the threat of force to back the threat up. I won’t be graduating with the rest, though. I still have a few more modules to … clock in before I’m given an official license to practice.’

Morrigan laughs lightly, offering a supportive, almost … motherly smile. ‘That’s … I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other, then.’

‘So it seems.’

It’s your turn to feel nervous as the both of them seem to stare one another down with frosty (and very professional) smiles.

File: Lieutenant Commander Fisher.png (97 KB, 310x223)

97 KB PNG

‘So, ah … um …’

‘Yes …’

They both shift uncomfortably in place, finally looking away from one another.

Sansa licks her top lip before biting the bottom. Morrigan tucks a stray lock of hair behind her hair, scratching her nose.

‘So the both of you are …’

‘Yes; as you and him are … yes.’

Neither of them finish their sentence, refusing to stare at one another as you notice a pink hue beginning to build in their cheeks.

You wonder if you should … say something.

>‘Mistress of the Mishima, meet … other Mistress of the Mishima.’ (Make an attempt)
>‘I’m going to go and have a nap.’ (Uncaring)
>‘I thought the both of you knew enough to be prepared for this sort of thing?’ (Haughty)
>Write-In

>>3803732
>‘I’m going to go and have a nap.’ (Uncaring)

>>3803732
>'I can see that both of you are going to need to discuss things for a bit. Please do so and I genuinely hope both of you can find common ground and get along. I'd rather not end up a timeshare.'

>>3803732
>>‘I’m going to go and have a nap.’ (Uncaring)
That's what we say but I doubt we get to slip off that easily

>>3803732
>>3803787
This

>>3803732
>>3803787
+1

>>3803732
>‘I’m going to go and have a nap.’ (Uncaring)

>>3803787
sounds good to me

Been a bit since I've been active in this quest, but have we actually gotten into a mech and done mech things yet, or is it more confirmed this is a Slice of Life quest with mechs as a background element?

>>3804361
We are doing a "life before the disaster" prologue right now. In game tomorrow is when shit will hit the fan and we will get a bunch of mech fights.

>>3804385
Ohhhhhh, gotcha. M'kaydokes, then. Thanks a lot!

>>3804394
You'll have to wait another 2 years before getting to the actual good parts of this quest as the quest writer enjoys being banned, not updating, and not keeping to a scheduled timeframe. This is the ninth thread made over a 3 year period.

>>3804823
One year, he rebooted

>>3804823
>being banned, not updating, and not keeping to a scheduled timeframe
Emphasis on being banned. This thread would have been up in July if it weren't for the constant banning that I've been subjected to for:
>Loliposting (Which I've never done)
>VPN/Proxy (Which I've also never done)
>Some Global Rule (Which I've also never done)
Shit's weird.

>>3805217
Sounds like someone else in your family is a prolific shitposter.

>>3804885
At any rate, they are notoriously slow.
For comparison's sake, the One Piece quest, an original quest with no previous incarnation, started two months prior to this "reboot" and is already on thread 27.

>>3805622
Then this is a terrible quest not worth anyone's time, period, isn't it? Just leave your two star rating and leave it at that. No one's forcing you to stay. If you're trying to insinuate that I'm legitimately trying not to run instead of having responsibilities that require my attention more than this and having to navigate unwarranted bans and appeals, however, I can assure you that I am not. Regardless, if this Quest is a terrible, you know what to do and where to go. Thank you for your feedback.

File: I'm Afraid I Must Ass You(...).jpg (81 KB, 850x567)

81 KB JPG

‘Well, I see that the both of you have quite a few matters to discuss among yourselves,’ you comment stiffly, feeling your eyelids getting heavier by the second. ‘If I may comment on the matter, however, I genuinely hope that the both of you find some common ground. I’d really rather not have to explain just why two of my Mistresses—my first two Mistresses—met their ends in mortal combat the day I proposed to them. Neither am I enthusiastic of the prospect of … being the cause of a territorial dispute.’

Neither of them say a word … and the discomforting silence was making it very hard for you to just make your way to the bed and snoring your worries away. Fisher and Sansa had adopted identical, opposite stances, clutching their elbows and unwilling to even spare one another briefest of glances. Their cheeks are pink (Sansa’s a much deeper shade than that of Fisher’s) and their mouths open and close in half-dead attempts to establish channels of communication, causing you to wonder if there was a genetic link between Deldonan Butterfish and the two women before you. A voice at the back of your head nudges you to address the situation, unable to bear having to explain potential shame to your lineage to your grandfather … and mother. Your father probably wouldn’t care unless there was a deficit somewhere that tied into some asset he had his hands on.

‘By the Emperor’s name, it’s not as if you’re strangers to one another. What’s all this about?’

Your outburst is followed by your immediate regret as both women, now an equal beet red hue, loom, their eyes wide and furious.’

‘It’s precisely because we know one another that this is awkward!’ Morrigan hisses in a tone that says it as though it was the most obvious thing in the universe. ‘I can’t believe I’ve underestimated you to this extent!’

‘You just told me that you were all right with it in the lobby!’ you exclaim, gesticulating in a manner that reminds you much too much of your mother. Inheritance was a strange thing sometimes.

‘Instructor Fisher? Seriously? Of all the women in the universe you could have taken as a lover you … and … urgh!’

‘What’s wrong with Instructor Fisher?’ you throw right back, taking a tone that’s much too high-pitched to belong to a man in his early twenties.

‘I—she—urgh … do you know how … weird it is for me?’

‘That’s what I told him,’ Fisher sighs, placing a hand on her hip as she regards the both of you with lazy eyes. You can’t help but feel irritated at her words.

‘You said you were all right with it!’ you hiss, glaring at the older woman.

‘I meant for her,’ Fisher clarifies.

File: TSUUUUN.jpg (7 KB, 201x251)

7 KB JPG

‘She said that she was—’

‘I am!’

You close your eyes, leaning back and taking a deep breath. This was precisely (ten percent) of the reason you didn’t want to bother with the opposite sex during your tenure as a student of the AEGIS. You don’t know how your grandfather managed it. It probably involved a lot of money.

‘Then what’s wrong?’

‘I … just …’

Morrigan approaches the hesitant form of one of the few women in existence who could be called your friend … and nudges her elbow with her own. Sansa wears a brief scowl in response … before placing her hands upon her face, slowly sliding them down as you try to comprehend what had to be the most confounding two minutes of your life that didn’t involved Mechs. She’d never acted like this before.

Then again, she was never really your Mistress before.

‘I didn’t expect to play second fiddle within the span of an hour,’ she confesses. ‘I know that I said that I accepted what I’d be to you but … I thought that I’d—’

>‘You’re not second fiddle to anyone. Neither is Morrigan second fiddle to you.’ (Clarify)
>‘If you weren’t prepared for this you shouldn’t have said you were.’ (Stern)
>‘Look, however you feel, deal with it as you would. I’m going to bed.’ (Dismissive)
>‘You told me you understood.’ (Accusatory)
>Write-In

>>3805971
>>‘You’re not second fiddle to anyone. Neither is Morrigan second fiddle to you.’ (Clarify)

>>3805971
>>‘You’re not second fiddle to anyone. Neither is Morrigan second fiddle to you.’ (Clarify)

>>3805971
>‘You’re not second fiddle to anyone. Neither is Morrigan second fiddle to you.’ (Clarify)

>>3805971
>‘You’re not second fiddle to anyone. Neither is Morrigan second fiddle to you.’ (Clarify)

File: Sansa 3.jpg (143 KB, 850x1209)

143 KB JPG

‘You’re not second fiddle to anyone,’ you declare, your voice as steady as you’re able to manage. ‘Neither is Morrigan second fiddle to you.’

‘Figures you’d say something like that,’ she mumbles. Her tone tells you that she’s not the least bit convinced by your statement. You move to correct that.

‘Look, if you’re just going to snipe at me, fine,’ you go on, rubbing the back of your neck as your thoughts briefly strayed to the prospect of lying in bed. ‘If you think that my taking you in as a Mistress—as my lover—changes anything … well, it does change things, but I don’t think any less of you. You were my friend and someone I trusted before … and I consider you just as much now, if not more. I’m still going to be that same idiot who needs you to bail him out whenever things get too hot handle and … I don’t think you’re any different from that hayseed know-it-all that you were an hour ago, right? So, ah … when I … what I mean to say is that I understand my obligations and the perception of my station, but I … you’re just as important to me as she is. I know that it’s unorthodox for your … comprehension and understanding, but I do care for the both of you equally and … that won’t change even when I actually take a wife in.’

Sansa sighs.

‘I know that it’s not a … perfect answer for you,’ you continue, hesitant in your words as you spare the even-faced woman, ‘or for you.’

‘It’s what we signed on for, though,’ Fisher chuckles. ‘Isn’t it?’

It takes you a moment to realize that she was talking to Sansa.

‘It doesn’t make it any easier,’ she exhales, rolling her shoulders. ‘I suppose I’m going to have to learn to be content being a woman in your life rather than the woman in your life.’

‘Yes, that is what being a Mistress to a Scion implies,’ you word out throatily, prompting a light chuckle from both women. ‘Not so easy in practice, is it?’

‘I … no, it’s not as easy as I thought it’d be. Especially when it comes to you.’

‘Eh?’

‘Nothing,’ she guffaws, shaking her head. ‘Right, sorry, I’m … I’m over it. I’m fine. I have … accepted that Instructor Fisher and I are going to be riding … the same cock.’

‘Do you really have to say it like that?’ you hiss, wincing and glancing over at the all-too-enthralled Rosaria … who was literally watching turbines turn on the flat display. It must have been her first time seeing an Atmospheric Processing Unit in such detail; you wonder how she’d react to seeing one up close.

Morrigan raises a coy eyebrow.

‘You have two Mistresses and you’re reeling at the use of carnal language? Are you a Scion or not?’

You let out a breath, rubbing your temples. You really were too tired to argue now.

>Write-In

Could have sworn we told her about fisher

>>3806124
>"Ask me in an hour after I have had a nap." (in Elvish)

>>3806124
>Sigh and flop on the bed
We must bring out one of the most powerful weapons in a husband's arsenal:Giving up.

>>3806124
Yes! Technically? I mean shut up. Even a scion can try and be romantic about this. *mutter*

Then again having two lovers in the same room kind of kills off that notion....

Trying to take this one step at a time.

‘It’s times like these where I feel as though the world of dreams is a boon to all man, of lower birth or higher standing,’ you mutter, scratching the back of your head as you trudge towards the bed. The two women snort in displeasure of your dismissive action, but you’re too fatigued to argue any further; a glance at Rosaria has you noticing that she’d—mercifully—placed the virtual interface on (more than likely to make use of the digitization of the unit’s site) instead of being inconsiderate and allowing the sound of turbines to blast you through your beauty sleep.

As bad as the service was, you had to admit that the sensation of a soft—yet firm—mattress pressing into your face was almost enough to wash away your grievances. You roll over in a manner that you could only surmise to be the pinnacle of indignity, kicking your shoes off and letting out a groan as you feel the passable texture of the mattress gently press against your back. A light burp escapes your throat; a build up of gas from a day most stressful … and eventful. Arms spread-eagled and the land of dreams reaching out to you, you feel like you could almost drif—

‘You’re seriously going to bed?’

‘I am exhausted and require rest, lest I turn irritable and my tolerance for the unwanted dip into irritation,’ you return, not even bothering to turn your attentions to the woman who had thrown up the inquiry. As much as you care for Fisher and Sansa, you really wanted to go to sleep; with the graduation party scant hours from now, you didn’t want to be the one idiot who misjudged their own endurance and ended up on a stool with a bottle in his mouth.

‘Right now?’

You crack open an eye, finding—to your surprise—that it was Fisher who had asked. Sansa, however, is right next to her, her expression somewhere between a half scowl and one of thorough amusement … with smidgens of fondness here and there.

‘Unlike you two, I have a sensible sleeping schedule,’ you mention pointedly. ‘I turn off the lights and go to bed when I’m tired. I don’t pour myself stamina enhancers or coffee on a nightly basis for the sake of it.’

To your further surprise, the both of them actually look indignant at the … accusation. Fisher less so, but it was still quite refreshing to see that she was conscious of her own flaws once in a while.

‘I sleep at reasonable hours!’ Sansa exclaims, glaring at you as she balls her hands into fists, leaning over.

‘So do I. Fancy that; we have something in common.’

‘You’re really going to take a nap?’ Morrigan inquires once more. It would seem that your clarification hadn’t processed just yet, despite her (supposedly) advanced intellect.

>>3806124
>Write-In
"You're right"
Order an energy drink and then have sexy fun times with those two.

File: Ho ....jpg (98 KB, 1280x720)

98 KB JPG

‘If I’m going to last the night with a bunch of rowdy Academy graduates, rest and a fresh start’s probably the best course of action to take.’

Sansa rolls her eyes.

Morrigan sighs.

>Pat the bed (Extend an invitation to them)
>‘And if you’ll excuse me …’ (Sleep)
>Write-In

>>3806341
>‘And if you’ll excuse me …’ (Sleep)

>>3806341
>>Pat the bed (Extend an invitation to them)

>>3806341
>Pat the bed (Extend an invitation to them)

>>3806341
Pat the bed (Extend an invitation to them)

Fuck it go big or go home!

>>3806345
This

If they want on the mishima d train then they have to set an appointment first because sleepytown already has one

File: GOTTA LET IT OUT GOTTA LE(...).gif (241 KB, 407x584)

241 KB GIF

Testing if [/green]unbanned[/green]

Testing again.

File: Projecting.png (340 KB, 490x332)

340 KB PNG

>>3805842

>>3808325
Lmao. By the grace of QMs do they stay and entertain us. Stop being a bitch and just be patient. Honestly.

>>3807201
Did you get banned again?

File: What the fuck man.png (27 KB, 919x603)

27 KB PNG

>>3808325
Like I said, you can just tell people not to play this Quest. Furthermore, I'm not sure that you know what the word "projecting" means, because you're literally listing your displeasure/grievances and I'm merely trying to hurry you up and get to your point. It's obvious you don't like this Quest and it's not worth your time. Do the sane thing and drop a "it's terrible" review and leave.

>>3808587
Yes. I have been banned three times over three separate things in the last 24 hours. It's an issue that I've been having since 2018 and mods refuse to so much as actually give a reply that isn't "Just stop using your current ISP and get a new one".

Real reply, by the way.

Session in an hour.

File: Fisher.jpg (232 KB, 850x1204)

232 KB JPG

You crack an eye open, managing a small smile … and proceed to give your bed a soft pat. Fisher and Sansa stiffen slightly, throwing brief, tentative glances at one another as they appear to weigh your decision … before the former pounces and finds her place, right by your side, humming in satisfaction as your other Mistress stares at the both of you in disbelief. Sansa bites her bottom lip as she tries to digest the current state of the matter, before manoeuvring around the bed and sitting down to your right … and proceeding to topple and roll herself face-first into your chest, where Morrigan had already claimed your left pectoral with her chin. Your arms are pinned down by their weight, leaving you totally open to the two-pronged attack from a twosome of the most dangerous women you’d ever met.

‘I can’t move,’ you practically whine, suddenly regretting going spread-eagled and back-first.

‘I fail to see how that’s our problem,’ Sansa remarks coyly, her chin dragging along the fabric of your top before shifting and dropping her head onto your left bicep. ‘Oh, those remedial classes are paying dividends aren’t they?’

You grunt indignantly as Fisher snorts … and runs a hand up your chest.

‘I don’t know,’ your former Instructor chimes in. ‘His texture was much softer before.’

‘I’m right here.’

Neither of them pay heed to your complaint. As the both of them make remarks about your current body mass index and muscle tone and comparing them to your more rotund days, however … you find your eyelids growing heavier by every back-and-forth. The call of the land of dreams is at its loudest in its silence … and you embrace the darkness—and your two lovers—with a sense of contentment that even the impending bureaucracy that was logistical administration couldn’t take away from you.

>CONTINUE
>PROCEED

>>3809110
>PROCEED

>>3809162
This

File: Do You Want Me.jpg (62 KB, 480x406)

62 KB JPG

You crinkle your brows and feel the sand in your eyes, grunting your discomfort as you find yourself returning, slowly, to the land of consciousness. Whatever rest that you had tried to gather hadn’t done for your fatigue what—

You feel something.

Rough yet soft, wet and warm … whatever it is, it takes over. You find your breathing laboured, your heartbeat racing. Your soft transition into the waking world is shook by the sheer, dominating presence of … pleasure. You find your back painfully arching and your eyes growing wide, but all that you can see is a haze of stars and storms and blurs of colours as you try to make up and down of this thoroughly rude awakening. You gasp and grasp for air, the shadows and the dim light of your suite at the hotel finally coming into focus … and you look downward to find the cause of your—

‘Hah,’ you gasp, clenching the sheets of your bed.

‘Hey there, sleepy-head,’ Sansa Wilmots greets, brushing a stray lock of her hair back … before engulfing the tip of your erect, wet cock with her mouth. You can feel her tongue swirling around the top … and it is utter agony for you to keep yourself from falling over that cliff there and then; so lost are you in this thrall of pleasure it takes a moment to notice that save for her hairband and a bra that was very much unfastened and drooping so low that you can see the pinks of her areolae she was—

‘Why are you naked?’

Her mouth still working the tip of your cock, Sansa throws an irritated gaze.

You feel a light squeeze upon the base of your testicles … and realize that she’s not the lone perpetrator to this gross misdeed.

‘I was wondering just how much it was going to take to wake you up,’ Morrigan Fisher drawls as she rises into view from the gap between your thighs … and joins her sister-in-arms, kissing your cock and sniffing the base, running her tongue up and down and burying her nose in the shamefully unkempt forest that was your pubic region. An unexpected cry of delight escapes her, however, as she takes the base from below; you can feel her lips suckling where your nuts met your shaft … while Sansa, now without absurdity to distract her from the task, closes her eyes and suckles at you like a woman starved for your very essence.

‘W-Wait,’ you gasp, looking away as you feel a tight, prying sensation in your lower region, your toes threatening to drop off as your sheer comprehension of the situation at hand dangles above a whirlpool of lust. ‘This is going to—’

‘You have approximately ninety’—she throws Sansa a brief glance, prompting a quick nod as the younger woman licks the underside of your glans—‘minutes until you have to suit up. The way we see it, you have two choices available to you right now, Second Scion of the Mishima ...’

File: Or Me.jpg (361 KB, 582x1000)

361 KB JPG

Your breathing is haggard, your train of thought unclear.

A … choice?

‘Who do you want first? Me …’

Morrigan breathes in your raw musk.

‘Or me?’

Sansa worships your cock, gazing at you with beckoning eyes.

>‘A nap.’ (Kick them out of bed.)
>Sansa
>Morrigan

>>3809173
>Morrigan

>>3809173
>Morrigan

>>3809173
>>Sansa

>>3809173
>>Sansa

>>3809173
>‘A nap.’ (Kick them out of bed.)
nap-chan is pure

>>3809173
‘A nap.’ (Kick them out of bed.)

File: you seem upset.png (40 KB, 509x572)

40 KB PNG

>>3809087

>>3809173
>Morrigan

File: Rosaria.jpg (10 KB, 231x218)

10 KB JPG

You hiss your dissatisfaction as you toss your tie over your shoulder, leaving it to the mercy of Rhysode Alpha’s nights. Your three companions hurry alongside you, two of whom were choosing to be deliberately ignorant of their contribution to your current, shared conundrum.

‘I told you we were going to be be—’

‘Hush!’

You roll your eyes as the sound of thumping music hits your ears, signifying that the festivities were well under-way, even without a certain committee member who was supposed to be aware of her responsibilities instead of insisting that you weren’t dry, wet, crusty and fatigued and could go another round or two. Sansa straightens the creases in her dress, her heels clicking as the four of you slow into a brisk stride. Behind you, you hear the hum of the hotel’s transport making its way back to Jabba’s Palace (Much to the driver’s relief, you might add: no one wanted to be around the graduates and their antics if they could help it) by your leave. Morrigan, meanwhile, was in her previous pseudo-casual-cum-formal wear, having scoffed at the prospect at being put in a dress of any sort with the logic of it being nothing short of a miracle that it would emerge unscathed from the night’s frivolities. You had, of course, countered with that if the dress was in any way ruined, it wouldn’t be out of your options to just buy her another one.

She had replied that it was not in her to abuse the good-will of a man that had taken her—

‘You know, I really find it weird that you were a virg—’

Sansa elbows you.

Morrigan smacks the back of your head.

‘Senpai?’

‘We’re here.’

You didn’t need the announcement.

The whole street—the whole city sector—was effectively a party. Loud music, strobe lights and neon drones floated all round as you spy thousands of attendees raving to the beat. Restaurants lined up next to one another, to be open until the last body dropped and the first light of the dawn arrived to spare it from the mercy of rest. There are glass lofts and flat boundless platforms everywhere … and you wrinkle your nose as the intermixing scent of people, food and artificial body odour maskers and enhancers hits your senses, even a good fifteen feet away from the concentration of attendees.

‘What the—where are the—urgh, hang on, I have to sort something out. I’ll meet up with you later!’

‘Huh?’

Sansa gives you a peck on the cheek as she rushes into the crowd, leaving you with—

‘Well, I suppose that I should let you mingle with your peers.’

‘What?’

Morrigan shoots you a coy look as she motions towards what appears to be the nearest outdoor bar. ‘The last thing you need is your teacher making things awkward for you.’

She doesn’t give you an opportunity to reply, either, waving her dainty fingers as she makes good on her intentions, leaving you with …

‘Senpai?’

>>3809875

>‘You know what? They have the right idea. Go on; I’m sure there are a few friends you’d have an easier time making than if I was around.’ (Give Rosaria to go ahead and venture forth on her own)
>‘Shall we?’ (Extend your arm)
>Write-In

>>3809883
>>‘Shall we?’ (Extend your arm)

>>3809883
>‘Shall we?’ (Extend your arm)
If left alone she is just going to get treated like crap for being a Spacer.

>>3809883
>‘Shall we?’ (Extend your arm)

File: UNTZ.jpg (513 KB, 1642x981)

513 KB JPG

You extend your arm to the wide-eyed young woman, throwing your most welcoming smile on top of it.

‘Shall we?’

She peers at you curiously, eyes wide as she appears to deliberate the decision … before hooking her arm around yours, giving an affirmative nod to go with a small smile of her own. You lead her into the party, drawing curious stares from the sober and impromptu shoulder checks from the ones teetering on the edge of their own awareness. You don’t really know where to go, darting your eyes around to find a familiar face … and finding many that you really have no desire to know any better than you already did. You notice the presence of many a fourth and third year in the crowd, too, recognizing a few of the rowdy juniors from the start of the Academy year orbiting around a few civilian women. You spy platforms and glass lofts above you, with several bars taking up spots that didn’t serve as choke points towards the restaurants that had elected to be a part of this madness. Not that they had a choice, mind. This particular stretch of road had always been frequented by the students on their off-days, in no small part due to those restaurants. While you had a bit of a tongue for these sort of things, you couldn’t argue against the indulgence of pure volume when it came to the prospect of barbecue sauce on meat, even if it was engineered (Not that it was something you could hide from; cows would have gone extinct eons ago if they weren’t).

For a party, however, there isn’t much of a dance floor.

Not that there wasn’t one, of course. You could see the raised squares that were about two thirds of a foot above the ground where the best and brightest of the Academy were … cutting a rug, as it were. Or rather, attempting to do so, anyway. If there was one thing that the Academy didn’t really cover it was dancing and finding a rhythm … and you see the results of its scarcity right before your eyes: wiggling hips and awkward hand-raising as though it was a fighter trying to find a vulnerable spot on their opponent over anything resembling actual dynamic movement.

It’s almost enough to make you smile.

While you weren’t a man who could boast of his rhythm either … you were at least better than what was on display.

‘Senpai?’

‘Oh, sorry,’ you apologize, stepping out of the way of a couple that was very likely much too inebriated to even notice they’d almost stepped on the toes of a Mishima and courted an assault charge. Not that you were the type to do so … anymore, anyway. ‘All right, uh …’

You meet Rosaria’s anticipatory gaze, wondering just what you should do.

>Walk around randomly
>Hit the bar
>Climb one of the raised platforms
>Step onto the glass lofts
>Enter the BBQ Restaurant
>Cut a rug
>Write-In

>>3810038
>Enter the BBQ Restaurant
BBQ CALLS TO ME

>>3810038
>Hit the bar

>>3810038
>Enter the BBQ Restaurant

>>3810038
>>Enter the BBQ Restaurant

File: Rosaria (2).jpg (88 KB, 492x850)

88 KB JPG

‘Let’s go get some food.’

You have to make it clear to yourself that you did not—generally—enjoy the eateries on this stretch of street in any specific capacity. You’d frequented the place often enough with Ryosuke (and Sansa and the rest, but most often with Ryosuke), but you’d hardly call the place a worthy haunt for a Scion. A sense of nostalgia wafts over you with the scent over smoked meat as you make your way to the only eatery that didn’t have its entrance clogged with a mix of bodies … and the only one that you’d admit to have grown fond of over the years even if not wholly for the food: Muad’Dib’s Meat Manufactorum. In an ancient tongue, it translated to teacher or something of the sort … but in this case it referred to the all-too-jovial former owner and founder: a man with a heavy-set moustache and enthusiasm that could be grating as much as it was endearing.

Sure enough, you find the place in all its glory: walls that were all-too decorated with paper and print that was probably worth more than the foundation. There is a hint of a faded glory all around, with ink and scrolls plastered against walls with peeling paint jobs and seats that hadn’t seen rest for decades. As expected, however, there weren’t many patrons about. One didn’t come to Muad’Dib’s without an empty stomach, after all.

‘If it isn’t my favourite Scion!’

You grit your teeth as the grease-laden apron presses against your suit, wrinkling your nose in disgust as the large, elderly Muad’Dib wrapped his hairy arms around you. The man had no sense of personal boundaries: dark skin, loud laughter and hair that was held in place by cooking oil, Muad’Dib is the picture of utter irritation for you. If there was a man that was born in this wide galaxy that didn’t have a bad bone in his body, however, he was likely the same man wrapping you in a hug you’d rather not be part of. You didn’t enjoy the familiarity he’d practically force-fed you in your accompaniment of Ryosuke.

‘Good evening, Mr Muad’Dib,’ you greet crisply, right as he releases himself from you. ‘I see that the crowd is rather sparse tonight.’

‘Eh, it’s okay,’ he waves off, his large moustache shaking with every movement of his mouth, ‘It’s a party! Everyone’s partying, yeah?’

He does a little jig. Rosaria, at your side, giggles.

‘Oh, you finally found a woman! Oh, come here!’

You step out of his way. You didn’t want Rosaria to be spared the same embarrassment you’d endured for the last half standard decade.

Your kouhai gasps as he practically constricts her. She doesn’t, however, look particularly displeased by the development.

Then Muad’Dib steps back … and stares at the tattoo.

‘You’re … from Colony Fleet?’

Rosaria stiffens.

‘Is that a problem?’ you inquire neutrally. You’d had enough—

‘No, no, no problem … but Muad’Dib’s might be, you know …’

You tilt your head. You’d expected as much—

‘You sure you want to have her taste Muad’Dib lamb? She might fall for me, you know?’ he brags, making a wide gesture as if moving to embrace the whole planet. ‘You have Muad’Dib’s you don’t go back!’

Rolling your eyes, trying your best not to crack a smile. Rosaria giggles, holding a hand to her lips as she half-heartedly attempts to hide her own amusement.

‘I think we’re good.’

‘I bring you the usual, yes?’

>‘Sure. Medium this time, please.’
>‘You know what? Maybe I’ll go around a bit more. Come back later.’
>Write-In

>>3810169
>‘Sure. Medium this time, please.’

>>3810169
>‘Sure. Medium this time, please.’

>>3810169
>>‘Sure. Medium this time, please

>>3810169
>>‘Sure. Medium this time, please.

>>3810169
>>‘Sure. Medium this time, please.’

File: LAMB.jpg (128 KB, 600x500)

128 KB JPG

You had asked the man for a medium cut of lamb.

As always, however, Muad’Dib did what Muad’Dib did best … and as you listened to Rosaria excitedly talk about the atmospheric processing and conversion units (particularly about how the thousands upon thousands of turbines and the miracle of self-catalysed thermal energy intermingling with eezo), the thud of a heavy cut— make thattwo heavy cuts—of lamb being placed (more like dropped) onto your table set on large plates that could be bowls with a slight increase of curvature. The fillet really are more slabs than they are cuts, which has you once again wondering just where in the galaxy did he find a lamb large enough to get that clean a slice of its meat. The sauce is equal parts pungent and appetizing … and the scent is nostalgic enough that you brace yourself for Ryosuke to cut a slice of your meal for himself without so much as a knife mark of yours in its cooked flesh.

‘The secret … is in the spice,’ Muad’Dib declares, pulling up a seat and smacking his hands together as he looks at you—and Rosaria—with eyes that are much too youthful and energetic to be on a man of his age. ‘I only ground the most mature Fuchsonian Glass Worms and—’

‘You still have your permit, I take it?’ you comment dryly, glancing at a rather fascinated-looking Rosaria from out of the corner of your eye. ‘I thought that the city council would have objected to having anything remotely agricultural in the city by now.’

‘Nothing that some considerations can’t take care of, eh? Eh?’

He nudges you with his elbow. You’re not sure if you like it.

‘Oh my, this is delicious!’

‘Better than that flavourless slop you have up there, eh?’ Muad’Dib points towards the ceiling; Rosaria responds with a conflicted expression and an uncertain silence, but he doesn’t give her time to follow-up. ‘You know, I always pity the Colony Fleets. They can fix a drone with adhesives and rubber and they put up with that horrible slop that they called food. Everyone knows food grown in space dies in flavour and they try to claim that that’s a passable palate? Please! You, girl. You are from up there. You can tell me. It’s better down here, yes?’

Rosaria swallows … and nods.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat as you cut your own portion. With any luck, you’d be able to finish it within the hour.

‘I … I suppose, yes. There’s more a focus on … nutrients and sustenance.’

‘It’s a controlled ecosystem up there,’ you comment, biting into your lamb and swallowing it, fat and spices and all. ‘Flavour is not a luxury that a Colony Fleet can afford on a consistent timetable.’

>>3811144
except maybe salt. Since the body needs it anyways.

‘You said that you use … Fuchsonian Glass Worms?’ Rosaria inquires. ‘Actual Glass Worms?’

‘Yes, yes,’ he sighs, too over-dramatic for your liking. ‘I’d use Dune Worms but they’re very picky about the soil they burrow through to get to the roots. Too cold, they hibernate. Too hot, they over-eat. Glass Worms are the way to go with this planet’s climate. Sometimes I wish that the APUs had turned this place a little more hostile, you know? Then I could give you the best lamb.’

‘Why are the worms so important to the spice? I know about Fuchson’s Moons, but … I never heard about Glass Worms being used as flavour enhancers.’

He actually looks taken aback.

‘You are from a Colony Fleet and you do not know?’

‘No, no, I … I’m aware of the location. Just … I never thought that the worms would be so central to a delicacy.’

‘Ah, a mystery of the universe, indeed.’

You grimace slightly, wondering how she’d react if the truth hit her ears.

>‘It’s because we’re not eating the worms. We’re eating worm vomit.’ [KNOWLEDGE]
>‘Huh.’ (Sarcastic Grunt)
>‘The oil helps too, doesn’t it, Muad’Dib?’ (Shift the crux of the topic)
>Keep silent
>Write-In

>>3811151
>‘It’s because we’re not eating the worms. We’re eating worm vomit.’ [KNOWLEDGE]

>>3811151
>>Write-In
"The worms produce specific enzymes that help breakdown and improve the flavours of the meat its marinated in." (technically correct)

>>3811153
This

>>3811153
>>3811157
This is very wrong, though. That's not how it works.

>>3811172
Was a guess at how it worked. Can we sub with another similar explanation that sidesteps how it gets the flavour?

>>3811182
Fuchsonian Glass Worms eat routes and peppers, but only digest about 5 percent of what they eat and puke the rest out. The vomit is solidified into spice which Muad'Dib prepares and then stores, which he then marinates the lamb in when he needs it.

>>3811190
Wouldnt that technically be that? They basically partially digest the foods and that require enzymes.

Much like how civet cat coffee is fermented with civet cat enzymes.

>>3811192
You forgot to mention that the root being used is key to the type of flavor that you want.

>>3811194
Ok. If its not acceptable I'll just choose for the truth option.

>>3811194
Same, the spice must flow

>>3811151
>‘It’s because we’re not eating the worms. We’re eating worm vomit.’ [KNOWLEDGE]
unsurprisingly, its not the weirdest delicatessen out there IRL

>>3811151
>>‘It’s because we’re not eating the worms. We’re eating worm vomit.’ [KNOWLEDGE]

File: Rosaria 2.png (603 KB, 859x709)

603 KB PNG

‘It’s because it’s not the worms that we’re eating,’ you elaborate calmly, cutting off another piece from your rack of lamb. ‘It’s vomit that we’re eating. Worm vomit..’

As you expected, she grows ashen and wide-eyed at the reveal.

‘Worm … vomit?’

‘Dried worm vomit,’ you clarify further. ‘Several branches of localized animal and plant species on specific inhabited worlds developed certain quirks from the genetic modification to assist in their adaptation to new habitats. Some are tougher, some live longer and in the case of several genetic descendants of the common worm, developed a tendency to vomit flavourful waste for the consumption of the common man. It’s one of the rare miracles of human interference in that we allowed for such a thing to even come to fruition. Fuchson makes a killing as a dumping ground for bad roots and herbs for the consumption of its worms … which effectively convert compost into flavour enhancers; spices, by any other name. Glass worms, however, are still a bit of a substitute compared to the sand worms. A decent pick-up, but you can tell that they’re of a lower grade.’

Muad’Dib nods sagefully. ‘My brother-in-law tried to rear the worms in his herb garden for a harvest. They just won’t do it unless they’re under a controlled environment. Exporting and importing something is just wasteful when you can just make your own, no? It’s not the same, yes, but it’s close and the glass worms do just fine.’

You swallow another bite, turning to Rosaria again.

‘It’s because there’s too much light and warmth on Rhysode. Fuchsonian Sand Worms get too lazy under comfortable conditions and neglect to do what the common breeder keeps them for when they get too happy. In comparison, the glass worms will eat and eat through routes and herb piles without prejudice. People as a whole have a harder time simulating harsh environments over ones that cater to the common needs of a species. You make it too harsh and they die out: you allow it to be too comfortable and you’re looking at a loss.’

Finally, for the first time since the reveal, Rosaria takes a bite.

‘You seem to be very knowledgeable in the topic, Senpai …’

‘My father has a few journals on the development of certain species under different gravities, polar imbalances and environments,’ you explain, remembering the few days your life had to be put on hold and finding nothing to do but sift through tablets and articles. ‘I’m not enthusiastic about the topic myself, but I have picked up a few things in the matter.’

‘I wonder if I can make something out of a Salamander’s hide, though … I heard it’s a delicacy on some—’

‘That’s a lie, Muad’Dib.’

‘I know, but haven’t you wondered how a Salamander would taste?’

Rosaria tilts her head.

‘Those flying monsters?’

>>3812082
>‘No, Muad’Dib, I’ve never wondered how much the softest layer of a forty-foot dragon tasted like.’ (Sarcastic)
>‘I’m sure that the city would be happy to sell its assets for you to have a crack at a Salamander shank.’ (Sarcastic)
>‘You’d be branded a criminal for trying.’ (Nonchalant)
>‘I wouldn’t call them monsters. In fact, from what I heard, they’re quite docile, if territorial.’ (Address Rosaria)
>‘Probably like burnt rock.’ (Honest)
>Write-In

>>3812095
>‘I wouldn’t call them monsters. In fact, from what I heard, they’re quite docile, if territorial.’ (Address Rosaria)

>>3812095
>‘I wouldn’t call them monsters. In fact, from what I heard, they’re quite docile, if territorial.’ (Address Rosaria)

>>3812082
>‘I wouldn’t call them monsters. In fact, from what I heard, they’re quite docile, if territorial.’ (Address Rosaria)

>>3812095
>>‘I’m sure that the city would be happy to sell its assets for you to have a crack at a Salamander shank.’ (Sarcastic)

>>3812095
>‘I wouldn’t call them monsters. In fact, from what I heard, they’re quite docile, if territorial.’ (Address Rosaria)

Like grumpier cats.

File: Ptch.png (116 KB, 300x300)

116 KB PNG

Testing

File: 408px-Summon_b_2040003000.png (235 KB, 408x400)

235 KB PNG

‘I wouldn’t call them monsters,’ you reply, rubbing your wrists. ‘In fact, from what I heard they’re quite docile under the right circumstances, if fiercely territorial.’

The chef places his hairy arms onto the table, wrinkling his nose. ‘A little contradictory, no?’

‘Perhaps,’ you concede, nodding. ‘Any substantial information on the species is as scarce as any belonging to designated Primal Worlds. What we know could be argued as nothing more than inconclusive conjecture based on insubstantial evidence, what with the Empire’s approach to them.’

Rosaria tilts her head, swallowing another slice.

‘To them?’

‘To Primal Worlds,’ you clarify, cutting another portion off for yourself. ‘The discovery of worlds that haven’t undergone environmental re-conditioning but developed their own ecosystems, especially ones inhabited by its own vertebrate and invertebrate species motioned a movement of non-interference and pure observation so as to not disturb the continued … course of nature, as it is. There are worlds with defences that keep human presence out by default; such as ones with high gravity and disorienting polar irregularities, but most of them require … active discouragement due to the … resources available. Ultimately, though, it’s more for our safety than it is for theirs. We don’t know what viruses and bacteria gestate on those worlds … and even with the advances in technology we’ve made in adaptive medicine, the last thing anyone wants is a galaxy-wide outbreak of an ultra-flu.’

‘Still, there is a market for it, no?’

‘A market for morons, probably,’ you scoff, wiping the sauce from the corner of your mouth. ‘The Salamander’s Primal World, for reference, is one of the most bio-diverse of the Primal Worlds, if not the most. I don’t bother much with the details myself, but when Primal World and bio-diverse are used in the same sentence, the smart choice is to stay away. Bio-diverse means a higher probability of undiscovered bacteria and viral propagation … and cornering a market’s no use if you’re going to die before you’re even making a deal.’

You make a thoughtful pause, however, as a memory strikes you.

‘Doesn’t make trespassers and poachers less of a problem, though.’

You don’t mention just why poachers were a problem in the first place. For those who had everything they could dream of, what would be more appealing than to stretch a hand out to what they couldn’t fathom?

The dinner conversation goes on naturally, with you and Muad’Dib going back and forth over the over-cooked nature of your meal, while Rosaria happily munches away and chimes in at regular intervals. You’re about to tell him off for disregarding regulations when the sudden mass exodus of patrons catches your attention.

‘I hope Maldante keeps it short.’

Maldante’s Speech. You’d almost forgotten …

>>3813615
>Go outside
>Stay in

>>3813617
>Go outside.

>>3813617
>>Go outside

>>3813617
>>Go outside

>>3813617
>>Go outside

>>3813617
>>Go outside

File: Lucion.jpg (64 KB, 491x355)

64 KB JPG

You reluctantly leave your half-finished meal, prompting your companion to wordlessly follow you through the front doors of the establishment and into what was an uncompromisingly packed crowd … and with a view of a certain valedictorian that appeared to be trudging through his own speech. You’re unsure just how much he was into it at this point, but you ultimately decide to stay and listen to whatever you could catch. By everyone’s reactions, however—or lack thereof—it was unlikely that you’d missed much.

‘—that we are only as valuable on the battlefield as we are to the comrades that sit in that foxhole beside us. Whether we’ll be in Mechs on the Frontier, sorting the logistic chains for the front-lines or taking more administrative roles in the background … it is something that I hope that all of you remember and appreciate. Wherever our roads and the spaceways may take us, I wish you—all of you—with the utmost sincerity, good fortune and good luck.’

There is a small round of applause … and two characters hanging from a balcony telling Maldante to get on with it.

He throws the duo a visible thumbs-up, chuckling into the bead.

‘We are the masters of our own fate. Our destinies are ultimately … what we put in life as much as what it throws our way. Do not allow failure to discourage you; do not allow success to defeat you. Do not forget your duty and your obligation to the AEGIS … to the Emperor. Training is over, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s go out there … and do this right.’

There is more applause, but not so much that you would call it deafening. People seemed to be more eager to get back to the party, as is Maldante. You feel slightly guilty that you hadn’t caught the first half that you’d presumably missed, but you also suppose you could just prod him later for details should you see fit or were drunk enough to do so by that point.

‘I swear … these speeches grow more and more uninspired by the generation,’ you hear a man chuckle.

A man right next to you.

Who, to your surprise, seemed to be addressing you.

He was much too old to pass for a student … and you’re quite positive that he wasn’t an Instructor. Tall, broad-shouldered in a red and blue suit that looked to be barely containing his powerful frame, you find yourself reminded of the Wargeass players of the Academy. In possession of a weathered (yet admirable) set of features with a jaw that was at least a third of his face with hair looking as though it was hastily slicked back, you struggle to find a mode of approach to the man, who seemed to be waiting for your answer.

The smile that he wears is more intimidating than it is assuring … and for the life of you, you’re not sure why just yet.

>>3824541
>‘I suppose.’ (Distant, Suspicious)
>‘He tried.’ (Defensive)
>‘I’m sorry, you would be …?’ (Inquire)
>‘Can’t say.’ (Indifferent)
>Write-In

>>3824543
>‘I’m sorry, you would be …?’ (Inquire)

>>3824543
>Can’t say.’ (Indifferent)

>>3824543
>>‘I’m sorry, you would be …?’ (Inquire

>>3824543
>Could be, or it could be you've grown jaded from hearing them so often.

File: Spoiler Image (10 KB, 272x122)

10 KB JPG

You turn to fully face him, extending a tentative hand for him to take. His gaze drops to your offered gesture for a moment, before widening his smile in a manner that you’re quite sure is more an attempt at disarming your apprehension than it is any indication of pleasantness that he had been afforded your attention. The man gives you a good shake, leaning in slightly with what you adjudge to be a look of slight scrutiny … before morphing into one of glowing (if insincere) acknowledgement.

There is an odd quality that you notice about him as he draws his hand back; that despite his imposing frame and the literal nose-in-the-air, that there was something not quite … genuine about the article before you. It’s not a conclusion that you’re willing to take, of course, but … you’d been around your father and observed the circles he’d been around too many times to let such minute details and suspicions slip by.

However, before anything else, you believed that it was best to follow protocol. At worst, he was probably a Wargeass Scout that the Instructors had extended an invitation to; he had the build of an ex-player at least … and his demeanour seemed to fall in line agents of clubs associated with the sport, anyway.

You decide to be direct.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before, sir,’ you start politely, remembering that Scion or no (And Logistics Divisions or no), you were now an official member of the AEGIS … and acceptable conduct was mandatory. ‘You would be …’

‘Ah, pardon my rudeness,’ he apologizes jovially, throwing an appreciative gaze around. ‘Cain; you may call me Cain.’

‘Mr Cain,’ you pronounce tentatively.

His smile widens to such a degree it almost unsettles you.

>Discern his motives/identity (DC: 3, [AWARENESS: 1])
>‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr … Cain.’ (Hesitant)
>‘Are you here on business?’ (Inquire as to his presence)
>Leave him to … whatever it was he was doing
>Write-In

>>3825344
>Discern his motives/identity (DC: 3, [AWARENESS: 1])

>>3825344
There is an ERROR here: it should be AWARENESS: 3 (1+2). Forgive the mistake; you may re-post should you wish to do so.

>>3825344
>>Discern his motives/identity (DC: 3, [AWARENESS: 3])

File: Perception.jpg (38 KB, 500x333)

38 KB JPG

DISCERN HIS MOTIVES/IDENTITY
ATTRIBUTE: AWARENESS [3]
DC: [3]

Ruling: Averages

>Reply to this roll

Rolled 1, 1, 2, 2, 6 = 12 (5d6)

REPLY TO THIS PROMPT

Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>3825391

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>3825391

File: Caaaaain.jpg (48 KB, 600x600)

48 KB JPG

AWARENESS: SUCCESS!

‘Or would I be more correct in assuming that it would be … Administrative Senior Officer Cain?’

The man laughs, but it isn’t one that concedes or confirms your … accusation, so to speak. Still, his demeanour was hard to dismiss as one born of pure professionalism … and with almost every sane citizen in the city deciding to distance themselves with the chaos that was a collection of rowdy officers-to-be, it was highly suspect that a man who carried himself in such a way would be … otherwise. You’re not quite sure just where his talents truly laid, but judging by his manner of dress—and your borderline referential-by-default knowledge of Chapters and Squadrons—you doubted that he was linked to anything resembling field-work, despite his rather impressive frame. Perhaps he had, once upon a time, but by the stubble and the twinkle in his eye, you suspect that he was more at home being behind a desk somewhere rather than being in the line of fire.

Not that you’d accuse him of such.

‘Rank isn’t something that I choose to carry into functions like these,’ he indicates, gesturing to the flowing bodies all around you. ‘I find that people tend to get flustered when they find out that they’re talking to a prospective superior.’

You wear a smile of understanding, tilting your head forwards. His words were more honeyed than you expect them to be, but you settle with having the illusion of comfort in his company rather than being apprehensive over his identity. While you weren’t one to be intimidated by rank alone, there was something that you couldn’t quite place with this Mr Cain … or rather, Officer Cain. There was the possibility that you were grasping at air, of course, but you took pride in that as a Scion, you had an eye for this sort of … thing. He seemed amicable enough, however, even if you couldn’t get a proper read on him.

‘Although, I do admit that throwing that around can be advantageous under the right … circumstances.’

You follow his gaze to a pair of girls—fourth years, if you guessed correctly—dressed in a manner that would have given them strikes on the discipline and protocol charter. Cain adjusts his collar, an interested smile playing upon his features for a brief moment, before turning to you.

‘Not that you would need such a thing, would you, Officer … Mishima?’

‘You know who I am?’

He chuckles behind a closed fist.

‘I’d be a fool not to, really … although it was a little hard to place just where I recognized you from. You’ve lost some weight since the last tabloids made their rounds.’

‘I’m glad for it.’

He smiles good-naturedly.

For some reason, you only become more guarded at the gesture.

‘Or would you prefer that I address you as the young Lord or the Lord Scion?’

>>3825423
>'If it's all the same you, sir, I'd ... rather hold on to the formalities of the current structure rather than risk insubordination.' (Officer First)
>'Either will suffice.' (Scion First)
>Write-In

>>3825424
>>Write-In
"I didn't get to where I am right now just banking on the Mishima name, sir. I'm proud to wear my rank until the day I muster out."

>>3825431
I'll support that.

>>3825431
Sounds good

>>3825431
Supporting

File: cain2.jpg (34 KB, 291x420)

34 KB JPG

‘In my years here, I’ve learned that peddling one’s name is a sure-fire way to get one’s head in the mud,’ you quip, chuckling at a distant memory. ‘Therefore, I would much prefer to … address and be addressed by the standard of the uniform rather than one dictated by the advantages given by the House that which I belong to … sir.’

He shrugs nonchalantly; you assume that he finds your reasoning acceptable enough to not pursue it any further.

That prompts you to put forth some inquiries of your own.

‘If I may be so blunt in my … inquiry, sir: is there any particular reason that you are … in attendance?’

‘Is there a reason that you believe I shouldn’t be?’ he returns. You’re not sure if there was an edge in his voice or if the ambient noise had inadvertently lent that quality over to an innocent retort … but seeing as he was your superior (Indirect as your stations are assumed to be), you didn’t wish to take the chance in proving yourself to be a hypocrite within the first ten seconds of your declaration.

‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to … pry, sir.’

He snorts, waving it off with a light-hearted gesture.

The crowd was really getting a move on, now. The noise around you was practically scraping at your eardrums, what with the raised volume and the collective ecstasy of the gathered cadets.

‘Officially,’ Cain starts, leaning in with a sly look, ‘I’m actually enjoying an extended period of leave. As to why I’m on Rhysode, I decided to have something on my itinerary that didn’t involve getting shrapnel lodged in my chest, my fingers wedged between supply boxes or needing to answer a crisis situation that involves a collective three-thousand tonnes of military equipment. I believe that Rhysode’s good for that, if nothing else.’

He grimaces, eyes visibly hazy, even in this light.

‘This is hardly what I’d call peace and quiet, sir,’ you muse, almost chuckling.

‘Well,’ he chuckles, glancing around. ‘Maybe not … so much peace and quiet.’

You notice his lingering gaze on several young women squeezing their way through the crowd, wearing an appreciative look as they found a spot at a bar. Cain adjusts his collar and straightens his suit, a predator ready to pounce. There’s a small urge to roll your eyes as you understand the nature of his presence … and bite back some comments of fraternity regulations that were more likely to have you thrown in some brig than be heeded at all.

‘Ah … of course, sir,’ you communicate neutrally, nodding to indicate your understanding.

‘Well, it looks like you aren’t looking for so much peace and quiet either.’

You notice that he was looking past—

‘Good evening, young lady.’

Rosaria.

You’d totally forgotten about her.

She stammers a greeting, only to be interrupted by another wave of Cain’s hand.

File: Rosaria The Runaway.jpg (277 KB, 850x1471)

277 KB JPG

‘No, no, it’s quite all right,’ he pre-empts, smiling down at Rosaria. ‘I believe that you have a few memories of your own to make tonight that don’t involve chatting with an office jockey like me.’

He gives you a nod … which you return with a salute so sudden you almost knock your elbow into a passer-by that throws a dirty look before disappearing behind a mass of bodies.

‘A good night to you, Young Lord Mishima, young lady,’ he teases, winking at Rosaria … before marching towards the women at the bar with swagger and confidence to behold.

Rosaria’s arm hooks around you as the masses around you really begin to move … and you realize you should too.

Cain was right about one thing: this was to be a night to remember. For all of you.

Make it count.

>Walk around randomly
>Hit the bar
>Climb one of the raised platforms
>Step onto the glass lofts
>Enter the BBQ Restaurant
>Cut a rug
>Write-In

>>3826317
>Cut a rug

>>3826317
>>Cut a rug

>>3826317
>>Hit the bar

>>3826317
>>Cut a rug
>>munch her rug

File: Shake It Shake It.gif (979 KB, 500x234)

979 KB GIF

You stare at the inebriated personnel-to-be of the AEGIS, gyrating and swinging around you with varying degrees of control and awkwardness.

You remind yourself that there was still a chance to turn back. Rosaria wouldn’t question it.

There was one thing that you were always tempted to do, but had never found the courage to … execute (Assuming that was the correct terminology). You’d never excelled at the rhythmic movements of the human body to the point that you could declare your confidence in a public venue. Thus, you’d mostly avoided the dance floor in an attempt to not be taken as a fool … in sharp contrast to Ryosuke, who didn’t care so long as there was a floor and his pants weren’t—no, it really didn’t matter if he still had them. You’d borne witness to the sight; it wasn’t a pretty one by any stretch. The both of you (and Gerard) were lucky to have gotten out of there unscathed.

Ryosuke may not have found his summer with the girls at the Academy, but he definitely had a clientele in the more mature audience.

‘Senpai? Aren’t you going to dance?’

You open your mouth to answer, inadvertently smacking into the back of a taller graduate … who glares down at you before being pulled away by his date. Maybe you should’ve made that decision before you stepped into the middle of the dance floor.

Just a thought?

Rosaria swings her hips, keeping her arms locked in as she tries to get into the mood.

Awkwardly and with a prayer … you follow.

>Shake your groove thing! (DC: 3; [COMBAT: 2]

Rolled 4 (1d6)

>>3827857

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>3827857
im the scion of mishima and this is my favorite dancefloor

File: Muahaha.jpg (11 KB, 300x225)

11 KB JPG

Rolled 4, 3, 2, 4, 4 = 17 (5d6)

>>3827858
>>3827859
It would seem that I will have to bring my A-game since you have decided to entertain me with such rolls!

File: DANCE.gif (978 KB, 448x249)

978 KB GIF

One, two, three … four.

One, two … three, four.

One foot left, one foot right follow by a juke and a cut. You wiggle your arms for effect as Rosaria—either a seasoned veteran or mimic on the dance floor—follows your movements. The both of you claim a wide berth as you nervously try not to knock into any more of your fellow graduates. You feel your knees, oddly, becoming lighter by the second, your torso unlocking itself as the beat takes a more—dare you say it—funky. Hands raised perpendicular to your baby, you shift one foot forward, one foot back … prompting a delightfully melodious laugh from your partner, who, much to your own amusement, arches her back in an exaggerated movement and points her finger to the sky.

The beat shifts; quickens. The track had changed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kK2hpeqkYjA

There is a rhythm to follow now … and you can only hope that you don’t come off as an utter fool.

Been working so hard, I’m punching my card

Wait, what did you care?

Eight hours, for what?
Oh tell me what I’ve got …

You grab Rosaria’s wrists, counter-balancing yourself with her weight and compensating with your ankles, swinging her and rotating around with a strut upon release. Hips jut to the left and the right as you beckon her to follow. Enthusiastically and as if reading your mind, she does. Step, step, step, pose she goes, waving her hands around as you slither and prowl, using your knees as your platform, shifting from strut to pause to spin. You’re given a wide berth by merciful onlookers. Your arms spread open, you spin and kick, dropping into a half-split and transitioning into a stand, hands swinging above you and clapping as you slide your neck in another beckoning gesture. Rosaria leads with legs, prompting you to swing and spin in a move that you’re quite sure left some skid marks on the platform.

Everybody cut footloose!

It did.

Then Rosaria spins herself back into your arms. You grin widely as she pushes herself off of you, the both of you mimicking an animalistic series of side-kicks, swinging your arms from side to side, shifting balance from one foot to the other, your buttocks wriggling with every movement. You draw yourself to full height, moving quickly and thrusting your pelvis and back-stepping as Rosaria, with ideas of her own, clasps her hands around yours, the both of you making an awkward mockery of a waltz for all of three seconds before stepping back again. You turn your back to her, snapping your head left and right with your hands around your waist as the song ends.

You feel Rosaria’s back to yours, using you for support.

And a howl of cheers erupts around—

Wait … cheers?

File: You Didn't Tell Me You Co(...).jpg (387 KB, 847x1200)

387 KB JPG

Your cheeks turn red as embarrassment fills you.

What were you think—

You find yourself with a chestful of laughing blonde Spacer, the both of you basking in an unexpected storm of applause. Rosaria practically collapses in your embrace as you try to ignore the wolf-whistles that arrive in quick succession. You hold on to her, unsure just how much you’d pushed the girl in your mutual endeavour.

COMBAT/PHYSICAL + 1!

‘You didn’t tell me you could dance!’

You’re taken aback by the identical exclamations you have for one another.

‘Well, you never asked!’

The both you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out laughing, the young woman practically leaning into you as she does so. You’re out of breath, wriggling away from centre stage and a now-whispering and pointing crowd … and you have the dancing eyes of a girl staring right back at you.

You really don’t know what to do or say.

Rosaria, however, apparently does.

'You were great,' she gushes, hopping on her heels. 'I didn't think you were so ...'

She stops herself, looking away.

>'It's expected, of course, of a Scion.' (Proud)
>'Me? You were incredible. I could barely keep up with you.' (Praise)
>'I have picked up a few extracurricular tips here and there ...' (Nonchalant)
>Write-In

>>3827986
>'Me? You were incredible. I could barely keep up with you.' (Praise)

>>3827986
>'Me? You were incredible. I could barely keep up with you.' (Praise)
considering shes a spacer, yeah

>>3827986
>'Me? You were incredible. I could barely keep up with you.' (Praise)

>>3827986

>'It's expected, of course, of a Scion.' (Proud)

>>3827986
>>'Me? You were incredible. I could barely keep up with you.' (Praise)

File: Kouhai Ka.jpg (10 KB, 210x240)

10 KB JPG

‘Me?’’ you manage, a little groggy from the exerted effort finally catching up with you as you step away from the platform. ‘You were incredible; I could barely keep up with you.’

Even in this light, it’s hard not to notice her face lighting up the way it does.

‘T-Thank you.’

You feel several pats on your shoulder as you finally leave the dance floor … and the swelling of pride in your chest replacing the relief in your breath.

‘They teach you those moves up there on those ships?’ you joke, prompting a nervous laugh from your companion. The both of you were practically hanging on to each other now, the fatigue from the absolute slaughter of the dance floor; her arm is hooked around your neck and you’re practically squeezing her breast due to the height difference between the both of you, but you’re much too elated by your accomplishment to care.

Rosaria giggles, glancing back at you.

‘No, but your lead isn’t one that’s particularly hard to follow, Senpai,’ she answers, grinning wider than you’d seen from her prior. ‘Being a Scion … I suppose that’s to be expected of you.’

You burst out in laughter.

‘My dancing instructor was given relief after the first three lessons,’ you recall with much amusement. ‘I think she’d be having a stroke seeing me now. You … you’re a natural, though. Is this your first time?’

She looks down sheepishly.

‘In … public.’

You’re taken aback, if only slightly. ‘If you didn’t want to dance you should’ve told me,’ you state, feeling … oddly apprehensive of yourself; it’s not an alien feeling, not at all … but it had been rather prevalent since you started hanging around those characters you called friends. ‘I would’ve—’

‘No, no, it’s fine, Senpai,’ Rosaria reassures you, placing her hands in your chest in a gesture you understand to be one of placation. ‘It’s not like I disliked it!’

‘You should have been more assertive in communicating what you wish to consent to and what you’re—’

‘It’s all right, Senpai,’ she declares … taking to your advice a little too quickly for your liking. You didn’t mean for her to adopt it this very moment. ‘I’m having a good time … really.’

Her firm stance has you almost snorting in amusement.

‘Well,’ you concede tentatively, stepping back and rubbing the back of your head, ‘as long as you are.’

‘Are you having a good time?’

You cock an eyebrow, surprised at the question. Were you having a good time?

‘Me?’

You look around. You really should have been; you had an adorable kouhai for company; you’d just finished cutting a rug and …

And you feel like something is missing. For some reason.

No, you were definitely enjoying yourself. That much was certain, but tonight was your last night on Rhysode, and …

>Write-In

>>3828931
>You should be spending it with your two new mistresses. Where are Morrigan and Sanza?

>>3828931
>>Write-In
"Come on, its a party. Lets get some drinks."

Find as many as our companions as possible and drain the local distillery.

>>3828944
Supporting
Smashed, in more ways then one

>>3828939
Seconding.

>>3828931
This>>3828944

>>3828931
>>3828944
This