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Carefully, you rise up, craning your head back and forth to take in the bay. It was surprisingly cramped and small, much smaller than you had expected. Something about it was also just... off in a way you couldn't quite place. Maybe it was simply a place infested by the voidborn, with walls that were both too bare and too cluttered. Also just the wrong color.

You gently push forward, then jerk back as a hydraulic line flies past your face, vapor trailing from the tip. Power lines pulled free with a brief snap of motive force between them and the socket, falling away in a curtain. You turn to look, and see one of the units carefully standing to ready within it's cradle, hydraulic and power lines releasing steam as they began flying free of their housings.

A klaxon blared in the ceiling, and a voice spoke over an intercom speaker in High Gothic. "Crow-2 to launch deck."

You brace against the wall for a moment, watching as the gleaming unit steps free of it's housing, thermal-absorbing paint reflecting a dull white with each step below the harsh halogen lights.

"Raven-9 to launch deck."

Ignoring the unit for a second, you lean out over the central corridor. Engineers and technicians floated past, grappling with ammo hoppers funneling cartridges into empty reserve bins, recharging solar conduits and grappling with weapons as large as several men were tall, ratcheting them into place with cable-spun cranes trailing from the ceiling.

With a slight hop, you float yourself out into the middle of the hangar, slowing to a stop in the middle of the hangar. An engineer floated past your head, barely paying you any mind except to gently push off your shoulder, sending you slightly spinning. “Looking good today.” He commented mildly, smiling at you for a brief second before turning his head back to his dataslate.

Before you could react, a dull klaxon sounded at the end of the hangar. Turning, you saw the unit that had just left it's cradle standing before the primary airlock doors, waiting for them to cycle and open before stepping through.

>Follow the unit.
>Turn the other way.
>[Write-In]

>>5947475
>Write-in: Reply "looking good too". Then follow the unit.

>>5947475
>>Follow the unit.

>>5947475
>>Follow the unit.

>>5947475

>Follow the unit.

Uh, is this a dream or real life?

>>5947475
>Follow the unit.

>>5947475
>[Write-In]
We're looking good? Take stock of our appearance, are we still wearing our torn bodyglove and gown?
Then,
>Turn the other way.
I do not think we should pass through an airlock without knowing why.

>>5947475
>Write-in: Reply "looking good too". Then follow the unit.

>>5947482
+1

>>5947677
Supporting

>>5947475
Supporting >>5947677

>Follow the unit.
Writing.

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You think to reply as well, but the words die in your mouth. Gently, you push forward, grabbing a nearby rail and using it to spin yourself around in the low gravity of the hangar. Pushing against the floor of the machine pit, you kick yourself powerfully forward and throw yourself into a low glide across the floor, towards the place where the airlock doors were slowly cranking open. The support bars of the upper deck go flying past you, interspersed occasionally with a unit in a cradle, and your forward speed is slowly brought down not by the resistance of the air, but the gradual acceleration of the ship itself.

Bringing yourself to a stop in midair, you duck beneath the massive ceramite doors of the airlock just as they begin to slide shut again. The gleaming white unit walks ahead of you, seemingly content to ignore you as it stepped into an open launch rail. Drones flitted past you, the intelligences giving a friendly greeting as they rushed to lift supply cables and restraint lines into place. A warning klaxon sounded, a hololithic indicator in yellow appearing beneath the launch rail.

The unit bows slightly, allowing itself to be lashed to the launch system, rear thrusters gently flickering and humming in preparation. It's back flexes with a dozen small articulators, weaponry coming to ready position, reactor whining as it spun to full, screaming power. For a brief second, it was suspended in the air, thrusters fighting against the tether holding it in place before the quick-release gave, and the launch rail ripped it forward, sparks flying from the high-energy contacts and throwing it out and into the black in a rush of escaping atmosphere and screaming engines.

"Crow-2 away."

Another klaxon sounds, and you see the second launch tube opening, rail returning to ready position with a smooth hiss of conductors-

A team of bondsman, bound to each other and to the rail labor to push a massive rotating gear the height of five men, slowly cranking the tension mechanism tighter as it moves along it's track. When the work is complete, they will have to step clear, lest the recoiling gear shred them and their fellows. They wheeze and strain as they push, slipping on the slick oils that keep the launch mechanism operating smoothly, more than a hundred men forming a line to operate the pulley system. Techpriests crack whips near the men who falter, biomonitoring suites glowing beneath their hoods.

>>5949017
Massive chains are dragged across the floor by gene-bulked servitors, ready to weld the wrought chains in place in lieu of a quick detach system. The walls are running red with rust and bronze- familiar, warm colors replacing the slate greys and whites, illuminated by the warm, flickering light from the dirty lumens in the ceiling. Through the end of the launch tube, you can see a hull where doors once were layered over with patches, bay doors welded shut and twisted into ruins of metal as they were repeatedly downsized, made to properly service the aircraft they were meant to. Whatever lines the ship once had were gone, twisted and melted together and papered over by people who didn't understand it.

A skull-faced cog protruded from the wall, and you smile at the familiar symbol.

With a loud click, the gear reached the end of it's travel and locked into place, bringing the system to full tension. The repurposed launch rail stood before you, the smell of burnt meat flooding your nose.

It was inviting you.

>Step forward.
>Hesitate. Why would you...?
>Hesitate. This is wrong...
>[Write-In]

>>5949018
>>Hesitate. This is wrong...

>>5949018
>Hesitate and mentally break down, collapse to the floor and convulse while in fetal position. You literally cannot even.

>>5949018
>>Hesitate. Why would you...?

I'm struggling to parse we're actually voting to do here, can someone explain?

>>5949365
Congrats, you're just as confused as the MC is

>>5949018
>Step forward.

>>5949365
>>5949378
It's pretty obvious we're reliving parts of our good friend Corvus's life.

So we're in space, perhaps on an Imperial station or a ship that has just launched a small craft on the rail.. and we're feeling invited to now step into the void?

>>5949018
>Hesitate. Why would you...?
>Look at our hands and chest. Maybe identifying logos will be make it clear our function or place.

>Hesitate. Why would you...?
Writing.

Here's my theory on why A-414 was possibly made:
A-414 is obviously a modified template of a standard model, so I'm assuming she was sort of a prototype.
Considering she got dumped in a corpse grinder in the underhive, she probably didn't make the cut.
She was almost certainly created by a tech adept, but considering the way she was disposed of, the experimentation was illicit.
Then there is the titan connection.
It is known that the hive was built on the remnants of an engine war.
All the fallen loyalist Titans were supposedly accounted for.
Still, the residents of the underhive know about the sleepers, which we can assume to be the heretic titans.
The Mechanicus element we are in contact with didn't know about Corvus Lictor, or at least pretend they don't so it's possible he truly was unknown or he is actually a heretic Titan.
My theory is that A-414 was an attempt at creating an artificial Titan Princept.
Princepts are extremely rare and this Planet does not have it's own Titan Legio.
So if someone tried to reactivate either Corvus Lictor or one of the Sleepers, they'd need to obtain one of these extremely rare and valuable people.
I think there's a high likelyhood whoever did it has a presence in the Underhive.
It's where A-414 was dumped, you'd need to be there to have access to the titans and it would explain the change in the mutant's behavior.

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You stretch a foot out, then hesitate. Why were you doing this? Why did the room smell so foul? This was wrong, the walls were dirty, the launch tubes were blocked. Who even were these people? Did they not understand what this place was for? You stumble on the floor, trying to dig into the plating with clumsy feet. The room spins slightly around you, the joints of your knees locking and whining with effort.

“We have fallen so far...”

Why couldn't you move your hands? Looking down, you raise your arms. A long, thin tube rises into view- no, not thin, bulky and heavy, but almost appearing so next to your enormous servo-arm. It sluggishly hummed with power. You felt sick. Everything felt heavy, and your thoughts came thickly and slowly, like someone had jammed pins behind your eyes. Heavy armor bowed your back and made you shuffle as you pitched forward, peeling free of metal and cables, spinning and-

You barely realize that you're falling before you hit the deck with a dull clang. The plating vibrating unnaturally with your impact and leaving you splayed on your back, unharmed. Above you, a massive shape filled the hangar bay, obviously far, far too big for it's confines, nor any of the launch tubes. A single photoreceptor glowed in the darkness where the candlelight didn't reach, looking down at you.

“It seems that when you stepped into my grave, it left with you.”

Swallowing slightly, you sit up, looking around at the launch tubes. It was just a basic airlock system for landing atmospheric craft. Nothing to get upset about. “...what is this place?” You sweep your head back and look up.

“I... am very old. Unkillable. With a long memory.” It replied. The walls began draining of color, the oil and paint slipping free as plating shook it off like rust. Slaves were swept away, crushed beneath gears as they righteously deserved, the shadows enveloping the ceiling growing deeper as with a heavy step, the titan stepped away from you. "Does anyone but I remember these times? Does anyone even care?" It's head tilted, ever so slightly. "And what about you-"

“Tankborn?”

Your eyes open. The electric blue light of the plasma conduit glowed behind you, the metal grating of the floor inches from your face. At some point, you had slid down the machinery to curl up on the floor. Turning your head, you saw a techpriest leaning down near you. A gleaming plate was in his- you quickly shrug up on one arm. “Yes?"

“We have finished our evaluations for now, and are retiring to data-meditation. It was the Forge Master's request that the relic be entrusted to you during such times. If you would...?"

Bringing yourself into a proper sitting position, you reach out and gently take hold of the founding plate. The techpriest hesitates for a second, then carefully lets go, turning and standing up.

>>5949873
You resist the urge to yawn until the techpriest is out of view. Internally, you felt you had been asleep for approximately nine hours and seven minutes. What had you dreamed? It had been the clearest dream you had since being immersed in the waters, but... you had spoken to someone, right? Was it a...

You shake your head. Irrelevant dream logic. You had been warned not to take the lies of the subconscious seriously by your indoctrination.

>Go and find something to eat.
>Finish making the pouch before anything else.
>Explore- familiarize yourself with the layout of the temple, rather.
>[Write-In]

YOU SAW NOTHING

>>5949874
>>Finish making the pouch before anything else.

>>5949874
>Finish making the pouch before anything else.

>>5949874
WE ARE STILL IN THE FUCKING DREAM, AREN'T WE???

>WAKE UP

>>5949874
>Finish making the pouch before anything else.

>>5949874
>Finish making the pouch before anything else.

>>5949874
>Go and find something to eat.
Find some recaff, hoping Mechanicus have something that isn't nitroglycerin.

Imagine making the pouch while Lebesnati's still yawning. She was already stabbing herself while alert.

>>5949874
>>Go and find something to eat.

>Finish making the pouch before anything else.
Writing.

Yawning, you lean yourself back against the ‘chronomatic oven’, as one of the initiates had called it. One of them was nearby, carefully running through the maintenance procedures on one of the larger machines, one that seemed to belch fumes and glow with an internal heat. It seemed that, while their masters were resting, it was the duty of the initiates to clean and maintain the forge.

Pinching two strips of leather together, you seam them at the open edges, forming a perfect pouch with no slop spilling over the edge. After enough times, you had finally managed to manipulate the needle to create the perfect mend repeatably, letting you carefully sew up the sides. In a way, it was somewhat anti-climatic- it didn't really feel like you had achieved anything, but all you had really done was get one stitch in a list of possibly thousands of functions to work. Getting a straight line was an achievement, but you still had to form the rest of the pouch and whatever you would use to hang it from your bodyglove or bag.

“Miss Lebesnati?”

You turn, looking over your shoulder.

A few initiates were bowing out of the way of Magos Korash-22, who was entering the laboratorium, looking around slightly at the idling machinery before turning his focus to you. He smiled with a slight amount of strain, dry lips cracking a little. “They told me I could find you here- no, no." He holds up a hand as you move to stand up and curtsy. "Have you been standing your vigil this entire time?"

“It is not quite a vigil if I sleep during it.” You carefully correct a stitch before detaching the current thread from the manipulators. “Have you sought me out for information on your inquires, Magos?”

“Oh, yes, how perceptive of you.” He smiled more broadly, bobbing his head. “I thought to beg a moment of your time now that the data-looms are no longer idle, although it seems you have found another project to keep you busy.” He nods towards your work, the leather strips, threads and scraps strewn out all over your lap and the floor next to you. “I was wondering if you would be willing to accompany me to the data-sensorium.”

>"At the moment, no."
>"I mean to finish this before leaving, but you may ask your questions here, if you wish."
>"Lead the way."
>[Write-In]

>>5950787
>"I mean to finish this before leaving, but you may ask your questions here, if you wish."

>>5950787
>"Lead the way."

>>5950787
>>"I mean to finish this before leaving, but you may ask your questions here, if you wish."

>>5950787
>"Lead the way."
I really want to hear what he has found on those data slates

>>5950787

>"I mean to finish this before leaving, but you may ask your questions here, if you wish."

Bentus, I liked the dream sequence and curious to see where you are taking us here

>>5950787
>"Lead the way."
If he can get us a line on some cool mechanicus gadgets as further reward, that would be sweet.

>>5950787
>"I mean to finish this before leaving, but you may ask your questions here, if you wish."

>>5950787
>>"I mean to finish this before leaving, but you may ask your questions here, if you wish."

Apologies, I slept in and don't have enough time to update before I have to meet with this client. Will close when I get back.

>>5950787
>"Lead the way."

>"I mean to finish this before leaving, but you may ask your questions here, if you wish."
Writing.

“I mean to finish this before leaving.” You look away, and begin to seam a new line in the leather. Korash-22 didn't seem to be saying anything, so you add: “But you may ask your questions here, if you wish.”

“I- ah...” Korash-22 looked around the cluttered laboratorium, with cables running between you and across the floors in great bundles, hissing pipes in the ceiling and a loud echo that rang with every sharp noise, then the Magos Autohistoria carefully sat his augmented bulk down on a reinforced junction line. He perched somewhat awkwardly on the protrusion, leaning heavily on his staff but attempting to keep an upbeat expression as he looked you over. “I must admit, I thought you were diligent before, but this surprises me.”

“The Forge Master said something similar.”

“Of course he did.” Korash-22 chuckled thoughtfully. “I must ask: are all tankborn this way?”

You pause for a second to think about it. “I would assume so. At the very least, I can vouch for my series.”

“A, correct?”

“Yes, the A-series.” You carefully run another line of seams around the edge of a flap you had left in the pouch. This was partially decorative, but it would help form the flap that you would use to close the pouch when it was done. It required curving the seam slightly, and that made it the first genuinely complex stitch you had performed thus far.

“Our relic could likely find no better a keeper than you, considering your devotion to it...” Korash-22 rubbed his chin, then cleared his throat noisily. There was a slight mechanical whine when he did it, due to either an augmetic lung or some other implant in his throat. “About this, of course. While my brethren are busy validating the authenticity of this relic, I am concerned entirely with the history it represents.”

You nod. It didn't make sense to focus on some nobody like you. And besides, your promise to Corvus Lictor didn't really mean anything if you just told your own story, you had to tell Corvus' story, too.

“I am in the process of decoding several of the dataslates provided- and while I can't say their contents are of much interest to anyone but a historian such as me, they have proven intriguing for now.”

“How so?”

Korash-22 waved a hand vaguely. “Diary entries- what they thought of the Magi of the day, personal thoughts about their Princeps, references to technology that was common in M36, evidence of how the old cants have drifted in execution between forges, that sort of thing. An individual piece of information is not so much a revelation as it is a piece in a puzzle- if you truly wish, I can provide copies for your perusal later." He cleared his throat, leaning forward on his staff. “Tell me- what state was the titan in when you found it? Was it intact? Battle damage?”

>>5952143
>"It was partially buried and pretty damaged, but it seemed to be pretty intact for the most part."
>"None of the crew seemed to have survived whatever brought it down."
>"I remember it being surrounded by a bunch of scrap metal."
>"Something in it still worked, because it spoke to me."
>[Write-In]

>>5952145
>"Something in it still worked, because it spoke to me."
>"It was partially buried and pretty damaged, but it seemed to be pretty intact for the most part."

>>5952145
>"It was partially buried and pretty damaged, but it seemed to be pretty intact for the most part."
>"I remember it being surrounded by a bunch of scrap metal."
>"Something in it still worked, because it spoke to me."

>>5952145
>>"It was partially buried and pretty damaged, but it seemed to be pretty intact for the most part."
>>"Something in it still worked, because it spoke to me."

>>5952145
>"Something in it still worked, because it spoke to me."
>"It was partially buried and pretty damaged, but it seemed to be pretty intact for the most part."

>>5952188

Supporting

>>5952145
>"It was partially buried and pretty damaged, but it seemed to be pretty intact for the most part."
>"Something in it still worked, because it spoke to me."

>>5952143
>"It was partially buried and pretty damaged, but it seemed to be pretty intact for the most part."
>"Something in it still worked, because it spoke to me."

>"It was partially buried and pretty damaged, but it seemed to be pretty intact for the most part."
>"Something in it still worked, because it spoke to me."
Writing.

“It was partially buried and severely damaged, but it seemed to be intact for the most part.”

“Damaged in what way?”

You blink, and in that instant review your memories of that night. Without intending to memorize them, not all of the details had made it through, but anything that had grabbed your attention, or that you had looked upon with sufficient focus remained explicit in your memory. “The neck was partially crushed, which crimped the access to the cockpit. The entire torso was bent at an odd angle, as if it had tripped and gotten stuck trying to push itself up.”

“The legs were visible, then?”

“No.” You think. “The only thing that emerged was it's torso. The back was moderately damaged, but I remember it still being smooth enough that it was hard to keep my footing when I went up it. I wound up needing to go through a hole in the neck, to get around that crimp. Nothing worked on it, not even the hatches." Your mouth twitches at the corners. "Something in it still worked though, because it spoke to me.”

Korash-22 nodded sagely. “I'm sure you did- tell me, were you traveling a local route? Something that could be pointed to upon a map? Or were you navigating the way the repulsor glides?"

>"You don't find that significant?"
>"It was a route used by inhabitants of the underhive, but I'm not sure it has a specific name."
>"Things got a little overwhelming. I might be able to locate it on a map."
>"It was local, but I don't know much about it. Someone else was the guide."
>[Write-In]

>>5952816
>"You don't find that significant?"
Titans talking to mortals, even to vat-grown seems like it would normally be noteworthy.
>"It was a route used by inhabitants of the underhive, but I'm not sure it has a specific name."
At the rest stop, so a decent driving distance from the underhive entry.

>>5952849

Supporting.

>>5952849
Supporting this.

Should we mention who we went with?

>>5953016
I would support that. It might be worth it for that convoy team too if the Mechanicus repaid them - so the trucks get proper sanctioned repairs and not more of the same spot-welded axel

>>5952816
>[Write-In]
The route we took was sabotaged to actively deviate from known or traceable paths, and is likely unable to be found through legwork. I can give you some boundary points to confine the range of your search, but even if I were to attempt to return and seek it personally, it may take weeks to find.
However, I was discussing the events surrounding my discovery with Magos Tobias Ext-27 and was informed that there was a magnitude 2.1 hivequake that coincided with emanations from the Titan. If we could further analyze the data of that hivequake, we may be able to triangulate the epicenter of the event to provide a location to investigate.
Korash doesn't give a shit about us, and he is right. This isn't about us, it's about our duty.We should definitely get those decoded data slates, and also ask him to tell us everything he has learned of Corvus. Everything.

>>5953628
Supporting

>"You don't find that significant?"
>"It was a route used by inhabitants of the underhive, but I'm not sure it has a specific name."
Writing.

“It was a route used by inhabitants of the underhive, but I'm not sure it has a specific name...” You think. “They had set up these structures they called buoys. The tops had some kind of mirror on them, so they'd light up when struck by stablight.”

“An ingenious solution to keep them from needing maintenance.” Korash-22 mused. “So, it was along this route?”

“Yes- in a way. The voice I heard called me away from the camp during our travel, but it was less than an hour before I found Corvus Lictor, and that was on foot.” You pause. “The buoys were sabotaged when I was down there, as well. They may have been moved into their original positions by now.”

“We weren't looking for them before. Now that we know where to look...” He shrugged. “There is extensive augur interference down in the hive foundations, probably industrial waste. Any data is helpful, and knowing of these buoys will help.”

“My apologies, magos, but-” You shake your head. "You don't find that significant? The voice, I mean?"

“Mnh.” Korash-22 pursued his withered lips. “Who am I to say? It may have been idle hysteria, a malfunctioning vox when you were nearby, simple chance. Anything. Perhaps you really were visited by a machine spirit? Maybe even the Omnissiah themself? But without any logs, such a thing is... well, fantasy! The spiritual implications are many, but you would need to ask a priest to know the full implications."

>"...aren't you a priest?"
>"I see the Mechanicus has it's different philosophies as well."
>"I dislike fantasy, myself."
>Say nothing.

>[Optional] “I had a local guide, perhaps you could ask one?"

>>5953903

>"I see the Mechanicus has it's different philosophies as well."

>[Optional] “I had a local guide, perhaps you could ask one?"

Hopefully they don’t exterminate our boys for knowing too much

>>5953903
>"I dislike fantasy, myself."
>[Optional] “I had a local guide, perhaps you could ask one?"

>>5953903
>"I see the Mechanicus has it's different philosophies as well."
>[Optional] “I had a local guide, perhaps you could ask one?"

>>5953908
+1

>>5953903
>>5953908
Support, this is fine. I don't think mentioning a dislike of something is needed at the moment

>>5953628
To answer the spoiler, Leb is only the messenger and it seems like Korash would pursue all data to assist his enquiries into the actual titan that matters. We can see from latest post that it is indeed evidential data he is seeking

>"I see the Mechanicus has it's different philosophies as well."
>[Optional] “I had a local guide, perhaps you could ask one?"
Writing.

Tried to work the [Optional] in, couldn't do it in exactly this instant, but don't worry, it'll be in the next update.

Your eyebrows go up. “I see the Mechanicus has it's differences in philosophy as well.”

“Very much so.” Korash-22 smiles. "We all have our specialties- the spiritual matters I leave to the Forge Master and the other Logi. That's why I'm an Autohistoria and not something else, I focus on the past and the present.”

You nod, thoughtfully. “That makes sense.” Looking down, you close the flap of the pouch on your lap, looking at the embroidered designs on the vatleather. “The two of us are similar, in that way. If I was to be anything else, I wouldn't be an A-model.”

“Bah, I chose this path, like I did everything else in my life, praise the Omnissiah.” Korash-22 peered at you. “Have you never debated what it would be like to be something else? A priest, a warrior?"

“I can't say I've ever desired anything else.” You reply. “I don't find it much of a burden. It's good to know your purpose.”

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be a different model?”

“...what?” You're taken slightly aback.

“A different model of tankborn. I know they exist, in the upper hives. They're quite the rage these days, if you listen to the Signatories when they come down here."

>"I can't say I've thought about it."
>"I've wished I was a different model a few times these past few days..."
>"Occasionally I've wished parts of myself were different, but I like my series."
>"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?"
>[Write-In]

>>5954497

>"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?"

The question is vaguely offensive, fuck off cogboi

>>5954497
>>"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?"

>>5954497
>>"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?"

>>5954497
>"Occasionally I've wished parts of myself were different, but I like my series."
>"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?"

I'm sure finding out that Leb has brains instead of lymph glands, and also pushes the burns out was shocking but she is what she is.

>>5954497
>>[Write-In]
"I suppose it would have been nice to be well kept, clean and cared for, but I know how tragically rare that is. Omnissiah knows exploration and reliquary work was never a priority for the A-models, and I can't say I was told to seek out the Titan, so in some way I have chosen my own path. Nothing besides happenstance and my own choices brought me and this knowledge to you, I could have just as easily taken augmetics from the corpses of the bridge crew to sell for personal gain. As it is, I am an accountant with no accounts, and a scribe with no scripture. I have been abandoned by my creators, but I am not worthless.
Should I have chosen differently?"

>>5954497
>>"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?"

>>5954497
>"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?"

>"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?"
Writing. Lebesnati confirmed for never wishing she was the bodyguard spec.

"Why would I want to be anything other than myself?" You ask in puzzlement. What kind of a nonsense question was that? It was like asking if you'd rather be something other than human.

“Why do we replace our organs with cybernetics?” Korash-22 shrugged. “It's not just to draw closer to the purity of the machine- if we wanted to do that, we'd reduce ourselves to nothing but enameled skull cases, wouldn't we?”

“...that makes sense?” You hesitate briefly.

“It's not just the purity of the machine, but it's a chance to modify ourselves towards an ideal. To be strong where we were once weak, clear of mind when we were once muddled, to partake of the Omnissiah's gifts. We modify ourselves for purpose, and we get to choose that purpose. Doesn't matter what we once were.”

“It's the nature of my model to be protean.” You pick at your robe, flicking a slight wrinkle in the fabric smooth. “I have no need for any of their other foibles. Just what I am required by my master and the circumstances.”

“That's a unique way of looking at it.” Korash-22 mused. “Most people have something they want that drives their augmentations.” He leans in somewhat conspiratorially. “You have no idea how many female initiates think they're the first ones who want to augment their figures. Or replace them with... more suggestive plating.

“Why would they want to make themselves less intelligent?” You tilt your head slightly, puzzling through it. Wouldn't they lose most of their extended neurons?

Wait, no. They were ordinary humans.

Korash-22 rasped, augmetic lung wheezing with the effort. “I'm sure that doesn't make them less intelligent, just... more driven by the desires of the flesh. A flaw, but it wouldn't be a holy challenge if it was not something to overcome.”

“Strange.” You shake your head and clear your thoughts. “As for your original question, I had a local guide, perhaps you could find one? They were with a local group, the Suns?”

“The Suns...” Korash-22 thought for a moment, and something beneath the cowl of his robe subtly clicked. “They may be known to us. The Corpse Suns gang?”

“I believe that was their full title.”

>>5955281
“They are known to us.” Korash-22 nods, seemingly recovering some of his brighter energy now that your tangent was finished. “They have been executing a very interesting political play, recently. And they may very well succeed." He forces a smile at you. “It may sound quite boring to you, but I assure you, it's quite the entertaining diversion for me! They've been petitioning the hive administration recently, asking to take up a trade contract in absentia from the original minders of some of the Primus corpse-grinders. They've been making deliveries of corpsestarch to prove it, and they're requesting an advance on their contract!” He spreads his hands slightly. “Don't you see? It's quite the long plan to secure Administratum funding, presuming that they actually control a grinder, of course. Otherwise, it's an impressively long con."

>"I fell into it, so I can say the grinder is real."
>"They were producing brand new bars from somewhere."
>"Ah. Did you want to ask me anything more?"
>[Write-In]

>>5955283

>"I fell into it, so I can say the grinder is real."

What a weird dude, this might be the first time I’m creeped out by a mechanicus in a quest

>>5955283
>"I fell into it, so I can say the grinder is real."

>>5955283
>>"Ah. Did you want to ask me anything more?"

>>5955283
>"I fell into it, so I can say the grinder is real."
Wasn't it jammed though, that's why we could get out?

File: 40kek.png (111 KB, 325x286)

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>>5955283
>"I fell into it, so I can say the grinder is real."
>>5955693
The plot thickens and that's why it got stuck

>>5955693
The grinder wasn't jammed, you just were on the top and it grinded slowly and thoroughly. If you had stayed put, it would have slowly began to swallow you up.

>>5955283
>>"I fell into it, so I can say the grinder is real."

>"I fell into it, so I can say the grinder is real."
Writing.

ARE WE STILL IN A FUCKING DREAM?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

"I fell into it, so I can say the grinder is real."

Korash-22 opens his mouth to reply, then stops.

“It was running, too.”

He stares at you blankly for a few seconds. “I wasn't expecting you to say that." He hums. "I may have lost a bet.”

“A bet about what?” You ask cautiously.

“If they truly had the grinders running...” He tugs on the hem of his robe slightly. “I thought the notion that they had managed to restore it to operation was laughable. Seems I was wrong.” He clears his throat. “Irrelevant: why did you fall into an active corpse-grinder?”

“I was thrown down the disposal chute.” Not a lie, either.

“Ah, yes. That can happen." Korash-22 frowned, then smiled again. “We must be fortunate that it was only a short fall, then! How else would we have received these good tidings?”

It probably wasn't, in retrospect, but he didn't necessarily need to know that. “That's one way of looking at it.”

“Empty words from the man it didn't happen to, eh?" Korash-22 bent forward, pulling himself to his feet with the heavy metal of his staff. “Speaking of empty words, I am now out of them myself. You've been more helpful than you know. Ah, if you remember anything else, do call upon me, yes?” He smiles at you.

Rising to your own feet as well, you cursty, mindful of the auto-needle. “I shall, Magos, but I'm not sure if I know anything further of note.”

“Then you'll have to use your own judgement.” Korash-22 smiled thinly, clapping you gently on the shoulder as he passes. Without pausing, he weaves his way through the machinery and passes from the laboratorium without another word.

You stay standing for a few seconds before looking down and carefully pulling the auto-needle into retracted position. Holding up the pouch in your hands, you turn it around to check the loops on the back, then - very carefully - you pick up Corvus Lictor's plate and slide it home into the leather. It draws the loose, wrinkled hide tight, creating a hard, flat wrapping around the metal sheet.

A perfect fit.

Carefully, you slip the entire thing under your robes, running a spare strap through the loops of your bodyglove and securing it loosely to your stomach. It seemed like the best place to keep it- putting it behind you ran the risk of you sitting on it, and it would print oddly on your robes if you tied it to your side. Here, it was at it's least obtrusive, although given the fit of your gown, the edges were faintly visible against the fabric when you leaned back or looked up too far.

...so, one project done. And it seemed your minders hadn't returned yet. Korash-22 had also evidently chosen to come to you, rather than you having to seek him out.

>Go and find something to eat.
>Locate whatever passes for a library here.
>Explore- familiarize yourself with the layout of the temple, rather.
>[Write-In]

>>5956368
>>Go and find something to eat.

>>5956368
>Locate whatever passes for a library here.

>>5956368
>>Go and find something to eat.

>>5956368
>Go and find something to eat.

When was the last time little Leb ate anyway?

>>5956368

>Go and find something to eat.

I sort of feel like Lebby is loosening up a tad, anyone else noticing this?

>>5956368
>>Go and find something to eat.

>>5956625
I mainly attribute it to opening up to Toby and not being condemned for our 'unsanctioned' nature. I kinda reason it as Leb coming to realise that she has worth beyond what she was made for, as well as some part being more trusting of Mechanicus due to our experiences in our short life.

>>5956368
>>Go and find something to eat.

I have to write a one-shot session on short notice, so update potentially delayed to tomorrow.

>>5957175
what kind?

>>5957196
A very janky storyteller hack set in the year 257,038. Our protagonists play copies of refugees uploaded during the outbreak of WW3 and sitting in cold storage until being accidentally reactivated by a tech-cultist in eastern Africa. Upon waking, they discover the building has only one body available for sleeving, leaving one player to control that and the other to ride shotgun in a roomba that was also connected to the network. The world has been overrun with sapient technology that has completely infused itself into every living being, turning the entire Earth into a gigantic factory that the inhabitants farm, fish and hunt for sustenance.

I ran it as a one-shot a long time ago, but we're returning one last time to put the poor fuck stuck in the roomba into a real body.

>>5956368
>Go and find something to eat.

>Go and find something to eat.
Writing.

>>5957957
Cropse strach yum!

Where the hell did the Mechanicus eat?

A soft thump, thump rings off the polished rock with every step you take through the dark halls of the Temple Pluripraxis. Few individuals shared the area with you, many of the priests retreating to private meditation- or perhaps they were sleeping? Your internal sense of time was fairly precise, enough for you to be reasonably sure it was not the night cycle within Odrev, but perhaps techpriests slept at bizarre times.

Nothing about the temple was organized the way a facility of this size was supposed to be. The codices and policies of the Planetary Governor and Odrev itself were explicit in the acceptable distance and orientation of nutritional facilities relative to domiciles and commercial districts- that is to say, you should have been able to find what passed for a cafeteria around here within a few minutes of walking. It seemed the Mechanicus did not personally care for the codes that they followed in their construction elsewhere.

That, or you were simply a fool and missing wherever their meal hall was.

Polished stone and wrought metal followed you wherever you went, completely unlabeled aside from the occasional label written in inscrutable lines of machine code. Each time you came across one, you found yourself staring at it for a few seconds, as if you could force the symbols to resolve into legible text if you stared hard enough. It seemed you were blind in this place, without access to the noosphere.

Why hadn't you simply asked one of the initiates in the laboratorium to bring you food? You hadn't trusted them, and hadn't wished to impose on simple orderlies even if you had.

That was a lie. You had just wanted to stretch your legs and take a look around. It felt childish to simple sit and wait for someone to bring you food whenever you demanded it. And now you were lost.

Did the Mechanicus possibly not have cafeterias at all? Was the nutritional paste consumed by some of the more heavily augmented techpriests simply the standard fare here, piped to distribution booths across the entire temple for efficient, easy access?

No, that couldn't be it. Somewhere here, they made and ate real food, even if it was corpsestarch.

You could go for a bar, honestly...

>Flag down a random techpriest and ask them.
>Navigate to more familiar waters- was that artisan from before in the forges?
>Seek an obviously important place- surely Alpha-Nought-5 would be present?
>Stubbornly keep navigating by your own wits.
>[Write-In]

>>5958127
>Seek an obviously important place- surely Alpha-Nought-5 would be present?

>>5958127
>>Flag down a random techpriest and ask them.

>>5958127
>>Seek an obviously important place- surely Alpha-Nought-5 would be present?

>>5958127
>>Seek an obviously important place- surely Alpha-Nought-5 would be present?

>>5958127
>Navigate to more familiar waters- was that artisan from before in the forges?

>Seek an obviously important place- surely Alpha-Nought-5 would be present?
Writing.

>>5959820
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah I ran out of time today. Update when I wake up.

>>5960033
Apologies, it'll be one more day. One of those weeks where a bunch of small things come up that break my free time into itty bitty pieces where I get nothing done.

>>5960746

No worries QM, I’ll wait patiently

File: hive corridor.png (474 KB, 573x1188)

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Up. That's what would make sense. If you went up, you would inevitably come to the most important section of the Temple Pluripraxis, which would in turn let you locate everything else as it existed in relation to it. That's how it worked in the upper hive and the spires, that's how it work would here. You further reasoned that, as the temple clearly saw heavy traffic considering the size of it's halls and the different ways it connected to the hive that it would be very similarly arranged to a port, making it easy and efficient to traverse.

Deduction completed, you set off for the nearest flight of stairs you could find, wandering the halls until you found a twisting metal staircase tucked next to one of the lobbies. It was bisected down the middle by a ramp - presumably for the most vehicular-inclined techpriests who had removed their legs and replaced them with treads or wheels. You follow it up, and then find another staircase and take that up.

When the corridors start turning to bare metal, all illusions of finery and devotion falling away to reveal hive maintenance ducts, humming grates spewing recycled air and lone enginseers scrabbling around the temple on errands to the other parts of the hive, you figure that was a decent sign that you had gone too far. Instead, you turn around and begin descending to the more purposeful levels of the temple again, moving out in gentle spirals as you try to get an idea of the seize of each floor.

You follow blank signs you can only occasionally read, faint shoals of light in the ceiling- but most importantly, where the greatest number of adepts seemed to be coming and going from - and, when that inevitably led to the main thoroughfares of the temple, the places they avoided. Most were abandoned sections - or merely kept by some low-level techpriest giving lessons to initiates in some machine rite or another - but some showed plenty of signs of having been recently used. And by following the places where the shoals of light were the greatest, you found what you were looking for.

A pair of double doors that arched to the ceiling stood in front of you, guarded by a pair of skitarii on either side that didn't so much as twitch as you got close. Nowhere else had guards, and so that must mean that this place was more important than most. Now you just needed to find out where you were, and you'd be set.

Reaching out, you grab one of the brass ring knockers mounted to the front of the door, then glance at the skitarii for any signs of a response. Continuing to pretend to be statues was probably plenty of explanation, so you lift the ring and rap it against the red metal twice.

For a moment, nothing happened, then the door slowly began to grind open, struggling to move against all it's weight, but admirably managing to swing open regardless.

>>5962065
Stepping through, you find yourself in a long, tapered - surprisingly low-ceilinged chamber. Beyond the entrance room, the ceiling dropped down- or perhaps was mirrored? A second floor had been established, giving more room over for the many, many black-glassed cases that lined the room. Each were bound tightly shut with brass chains, engraved with binary prayers that were outlines by the light depending on how you looked at it.

Drawing close to one, you notice a shape somewhat akin to a firearm laying within on a pillow of softest velvet. Unlike a display, nobody had bothered to label it, even though the room was absolutely thick with that annoying golden light that seemed to cling and coil around every available object in the room. It wove through the air, trailing both out of the room and to the kneeling figures in it's center.

Alpha-Nought-5 seemed to have noticed you, steadily rising to his feet and turning his lumbering body around to approach you. The other techpriets with his raise their heads - or rather, what's left of them. They are - to a man - almost as heavily augmented as Tobias, with all of them having their skulls fighting for space with their eyes so that they could integrate more augmetics without going blind. Other techpriests? Senior techpriests, for sure.

Before you forget your manners, you curtsy deeply to Alpha-Nought-5, who nods his head stiffly as you approach. “Good day, A-414.” He says politely. “What brings you to our reliquary? We were just within data-communion with the spirits of this place, hoping for wisdom. Were you hoping to join us?”

>"I got lost. Looking for- ah, the kitchen."
>"I... wished to consult with you on spiritual matters."
>"I sort of wandered in here before I had a plan."
>"...yes."
>[Write-In]

>>5962067
>"I got lost. Looking for- ah, the kitchen."

>>5962067
>>"I got lost. Looking for- ah, the kitchen."

>>5962067
>>"I got lost. Looking for- ah, the kitchen."

>>5962067

>"I got lost. Looking for- ah, the kitchen."

Woops

>>5962067
>>"I got lost. Looking for- ah, the kitchen."

>>5962067
>"...yes."
All in.

>>5962067
>>"I got lost. Looking for- ah, the kitchen."

>"I got lost. Looking for- ah, the kitchen."
Writing.

“I got lost looking for the- ah.” You say, then realize how absurd you're about to sound. “...the kitchen."

Alpha-Nought-5's discs turned idly in his shoulders.

One of the techpriests with him spoke up, his vox-unit sounding as confused as his furrowed eyes looked. “Kitchen?”

“...yes, Eraxus.” One of the other techpriests seemed to give him a flat look, his voice almost offended. “We have a kitchen. Sustenance bay?”

“This was not stored within my vital memory.” The vox-unit rasped.

“You don't eat anything but nutrient paste anymore, of course you didn't know.”

“Then it is irrel[/]evant.”

“Query: Will this not rest?" A slightly more acerbic voice rang out. “Data communion is-”

Golden light shot between all techpriests present, dancing a furious series of leaps between two members in the back. Unlike what you'd seen before, this series didn't come to a stop before spoken conversation resumed, instead forming a light cloud between the two techpriests that flickered with the occasional interjection.

The irritable techpriest who had spoken before turned to you. “I've had enough apprentices who have disturbed me in my off-cycle meditations to know what you're after. Haven't had a good meal since you arrived, tankborn? What'll it be- the highborn yearning for a seared grox-steak? Homesick hiver yearning for something like mother's gruel? Rest assured, we can surpass that and more.” He had an odd sort of manic glint in his eyes at that.

>"Corpsestarch."
>"I can't say I've ever had a regular meal before."
>"Gruel? You mean soup?"
>"Actually, I think I'm fine..."
>[Write-In]

>>5963073
>>"I can't say I've ever had a regular meal before."

>>5963073
>"Corpsestarch."

Oh, man, I just noticed that problem.

...WELP, too late to fix it now.

>>5963073
>>"I can't say I've ever had a regular meal before."

File: 1617519905986.png (477 KB, 720x621)

477 KB PNG

>>5963073
>"I can't say I've ever had a regular meal before."
"If you would be so good, kind sirs... more?"

>>5963222
formatting worries us not. Hope you're keeping well QM. Happy Easter to all.

>>5963073
>>"Gruel? You mean soup?"

>"I can't say I've ever had a regular meal before."
Writing.

>>5963774
Also I'm doing well, if a touch busy recently. Happy Easter, everyone.

>>5964259
A Happy Easter to you too Bentus.

“I got lost looking for the- ah.” You say, then realize how absurd you're about to sound. “...the kitchen."

Alpha-Nought-5's discs turned idly in his shoulders.

One of the techpriests with him spoke up, his vox-unit sounding as confused as his furrowed eyes looked. “Kitchen?”

“...yes, Eraxus.” One of the other techpriests seemed to give him a flat look, his voice almost offended. “We have a kitchen. Sustenance bay?”

“This was not stored within my vital memory.” The vox-unit rasped.

“You don't eat anything but nutrient paste anymore, of course you didn't know.”

“Then it is irrelevant.”

“Query: Will this not rest?" A slightly more acerbic voice rang out. “Data communion is-”

Golden light shot between all techpriests present, dancing a furious series of leaps between two members in the back. Unlike what you'd seen before, this series didn't come to a stop before spoken conversation resumed, instead forming a light cloud between the two techpriests that flickered with the occasional interjection.

The irritable techpriest who had spoken before turned to you. “I've had enough apprentices who have disturbed me in my off-cycle meditations to know what you're after. Haven't had a good meal since you arrived, tankborn? What'll it be- the highborn yearning for a seared grox-steak? Homesick hiver yearning for something like mother's gruel? Rest assured, we can surpass that and more.” He had an odd sort of manic glint in his eyes at that.

>"I can't say I've ever had a regular meal before."

For posterity, one without broken formatting.

“I... can't say I've ever had a regular meal before.”

“Truly? Your previous masters never fed you?"

You couldn't help feeling mildly irked at his phrasing. It wasn't that it was untrue - after all, no tankborn got to choose their masters, but you couldn't help the feeling at his presumptuousness. “I have only eaten corpsestarch since I left the tank, magos.”

“You may address me as Cybertheurgist.” Before you can curtsy in acknowledgment, your words seem to process through him. “Wait, you're telling me you've never even eaten real food?”

“Corpsestarch is real food.” You couldn't help the slight defensive tone you took. “I... have consumed bread on occasion." You pause, then add. "It had meat in it.”

“Extraordinary. She is untouched by the sin of taste.” The Magos Cybertheurgist's voice was dry. You noticed a vox-unit mounted to the augmetic brace of his neck, but he chose to speak with flesh lips still. “In that case- skitarii?” He gestured to one of the guards at the perimeter of the reliquary, a figure robed in Mars red with the hood up, disguising his features from the harsh lights above. “Take her to the mess. See to it that she is suitably... impressed.”

You glance at Alpha-Nought-5, but he is already turning from you, seemingly satisfied by the outcome.

The skitarii turns promptly on it's heel, stalking towards the door with a purposeful stride marked by the regular whining of the motors in it's legs. You have to hurriedly curtsy to the assembled magi before turning to quickly follow after it, holding your skirt up slightly so you can take longer strides. It walked with speed and purpose, along with being taller than you like most people were. The total silence proved to be a slight blessing, as you were unable to properly stop and collect your breath even as it located one of the grand staircases of the temples and led you down it.

You follow the spiral, then turn left, right and follow a corridor straight. Keeping your mental map of the temple accurate was proving to be somewhat of a challenge - not from keeping the details clear, your memory was flawless - as it had clearly been renovated and rebuilt many times over the millennia. The corridor the skitarii was leading you down was clearly well-traveled, large and obvious, but you had passed entirely by it during your search. You hadn't even realized there was a corridor here, as it was connected to the first corridor you followed by what appeared to be occasional service doors.

Two thoroughfare-sized hallways running nearly parallel to each other, but never properly intersecting. It was logistical madness!

>>5964298
The skitarii makes an abrupt hard-left turn, and you need to spin on your heel to follow it. One of the large chambers that lined these sorts of high-traffic corridors had it's doors open, and a steady trickle of initiates, technomats, enginseers and even regular techpriests steadily trickled forth from it. Some yawned. Others clutched canisters of recaf to their chests, A faint aroma drifted out as you got closer - not something like that of the food stalls at the market you had visited, but a vague smell of sterile products, cold ceramics and something that faintly suggested heat. Not cooking, but a smell that made you merely imagine something warm was in that room.

It stirred faint memories within you from the waters. Half-complete lists of manners for different social occasions, what foods were healthy to consume and what foods must be consumed for appearances. The information was fragmented and disjointed, but this smell was something you knew, even if you couldn't place it beyond images of tables and spotted tile.

Turning into the room, you were greeted immediately by racks and racks of... sinks? No, dishwashing stations? They were bolted at regular intervals to the floor, leaving gaps for the adepts to leave, though, depositing their used trays and utensils on one of the counters in the process. Servitors manned the stations, accompanied by distinctly put-out looking acolytes. Some were barely old enough to shave, and you suspect they had disappointed their masters recently. Understandable since, of course, they weren't tankborn.

The skitarii marches onwards, weaving it's way through the assembled tables and benches. The layout of them somewhat surprised you- on some level, you had expected the Adeptus Mechanicus' idea of a dining hall to be filled with long tables from end to end, maximizing eating space, but instead they ate at small, square tables set with two seats to a side. They were arranged in a grid of course, but it was an oddly long and personable eating area, somewhat incongruous with what you'd expected. Glancing under one of the tables revealed that it was not merely set on the floor, but bolted onto it with a large teethed column, a gear for lowering the entire apparatus visible at the bottom. This hall must serve other functions, then.

With the pace of the skitarii, you don't have much time to think about it as you're led to the back of the room, where the kitchens are. A bolt of light shoots from the skitarii's head and into one of the windowed units that lines the hall, from which the constant clattering of pans and the faint whining of... engines was audible? Stopping to the side of one of the queues, the skitarii turned to you, arms locked for a moment. Then it turned, and left you as quickly as it had led you.

“Wait, am I-”

>>5964300
“No, no. Stay right there.” A weary voice comes from your side. You turn, and see a techpriest emerging from one of the kitchens, flanked by a prodigious number of mechadendrites - a dozen, at least. His face was heavily lined despite appearing fairly young, and strangely for a techpriest he had long hair that was tied behind his hood. “Said to get you something nice. Name and state?"

>"A-414. I'm the keeper of a relic."
>"A-414. I am a guest of the Forge Master."
>"Lebesnati. I'm nobody."
>"Lebesnati. I'm an initiate."
>"The Cybertheurgist wanted to impress me."
>[Write-In]

>>5964302
>"A-414. I'm the keeper of a relic."

>>5964302
>"A-414. I'm the keeper of a relic."

>>5964302
>>"A-414. I'm the keeper of a relic."

>>5964302
>"Lebesnati. I'm nobody."
>"The Cybertheurgist wanted to impress me."

>>5964302
>"A-414. I'm the keeper of a relic."

>>5964302
>"A-414. I'm the keeper of a relic."
>"The Cybertheurgist wanted to impress me."

>"A-414. I'm the keeper of a relic."
On those days when the update goes up so late it effectively overruns the clock for an update the next day, I invariably feel like I'm being shot forward in time. Writing.

“A-414. I'm the keeper of a relic.” You fold your hands in front of you and lower your head slightly to show deference. You turn your right arm inwards slightly, self-conscious of the burned parts of your sleeve. Maybe you should put on that fleece later...

“A guest, then.” He folds his arms, mechadendrites rippling around him in agitation. “Alright, let's hear it. I don't have long before I need to start on dinner for the magi, but I can work in a staff meal.”

“...the magi have dinner personally prepared for them?” What could they possibly eat?

“Why wouldn't they?” He shrugs.

“I would just assume most of them would have removed their ability to taste or digest food...”

“If they removed everything human about them, they'd just be servitors.” A single finger comes up from his arm. “Humans need that spark of desire. Also, I doubt most of them could hack it without a good steak every once in a while. Even the ones who can't eat normal food anymore can sample it with a sensor or just spit it out anymore.”

“Ah.” You think for a second. “And you're their personal chef?”

“They don't eat often enough to justify retaining an entire Artisan Delectica just for them. I control the kitchen servitors, oversee the staff, calculate the ratios in the nutrient paste and handle the special dietary needs of anyone who needs it - or dietary substitutes, for those who don't.” His mechadendrites were reaching back through the door he had stepped out of, doing something out of sight behind him in the kitchen. Several of them were tipped in sharp knives and what appeared to be modified vivisectors. “So, you gonna tell me what you want, or not?”

Your mind instantly goes to the foods you know of - mostly the food that you would be expected to politely eat when in polite company with your master. That was the food of highborn- fat grox steaks marinated in oil and herbs, delicately sliced exotic roots for the company of the High Marshall or modest creamed vegetables for polite company. It was generous, excessive and the thought of some of the dishes made your stomach turn slightly at the thought. You knew fried foods were popular down in the middle hives, especially boiled and fried tabba to the families that could get their hands on the corpses of the beasts. At least, you knew how to identify a tabba meant for general grinding versus a tabba meant for direct food preparation.

Then, of course, there had been the thin and watery stew that had been served down in the lower hives, along with sandwiches, inventive preparation of corpsestarch...

>Blurt out something to do with corpsestarch.
>Request a fine cut of meat.
>Ask for something simple and modest- seafood and a grain.
>Tell him you'd like a platter of fried foods.
>Ask to be surprised.
>[Write-In]

>>5966819
>>Tell him you'd like a platter of fried foods.

>>5966819
>Request a fine cut of meat.
Could I request one of those 'good steaks' you mentioned?

>>5966053
>Ask to be surprised.
We have only ever had corpse starch and sometimes bread.

>>5966819
>>Request a fine cut of meat.

>>5966819
>>Ask to be surprised.

>>5966819
>Ask to be surprised.

>Ask to be surprised.
Writing.

“I can't say anything comes to mind.” You say as politely as you can. “Perhaps you could surprise me.”

The techpriest- chef- Delectica looks at you carefully for a long moment, fingers in his apron and busy removing a vial of some kind of stimulant, which he inhales briefly before putting it away. A slight whiff of it hits your eyes and makes them sting. “I can make that happen.” He waves to the tables near the kitchens, somewhat removed from the rest of the hall by waist-high walls and coverings, but still part of the same room. “Make yourself comfortable, I'll just be a moment.”

You carefully sit down, tucking the hem of your gown forward so it wouldn't bunch up beneath your legs. An ear-piercing whine began in the room behind you, the sound of some sort of tiny drill that the Delectica was using. Whatever cooking application it had, you could only speculate, but the noise put your teeth on edge.

Outside, there was a constant stream of clergy and what appeared to be minor attendants coming in and out of the mess, sitting down to quickly eat their meals for the day before standing up and leaving. There wasn't much of the socializing you'd expect, although maybe it was simply happening via those bursts of golden light leaping between everyone. There were so many people in this place using them that it was forming something almost like a shimmering aurora hanging just above everyone's heads, present but not thick enough to truly obscure the walls behind it.

The idea of techpriests being social with each other struck you as odd, in a way, but it only made sense. They were still human, after all.

And even if they weren't, the younger members certainly were.

Interrupting your thoughts, a figure in tailored finery emerged from the crowd. His face and hair were dark, the curls pulled back into elaborate wired bundles that fed into the augmetics cresting the sides of his skull. Hands stuck in the pockets of his dress jacket, he stepped into the covered eating area without paying you much mind.

When his back turned, you lifted your head briefly to study his clothes. They were undeniably fine, but far too fine to be the clothes of a man in too great a position of power. They lacked the styled perfection of someone who was daily dressed and manicured, instead it was the best suit of a man who dressed himself with exacting precision. You look over his body carefully, but don't see any evidence of a hidden cogwheel, or some other article of faith. Not a friend of the Mechanicus, then? What was he doing here?

You lower your gaze slightly as the man turns again, his eyes roving through the private tables before landing on you. In a moment, his furrowed brow suddenly lights up, and he strides over to you with a friendly smile, booming in a slightly too-loud voice. “Ah! Scribe, I have need of your service, if you would.”

>"Excuse me?"
>"I'm not a scribe."
>"What would you ask of me, sir?"
>Ignore him.
>[Write-In]

>>5967971
>"What would you ask of me, sir?"
Taken off-guard, we default. We are supposed to be a scribe in service to nobility, after all.

>>5967971
>>"I'm not a scribe."

>>5967971
>"What would you ask of me, sir?"
This is our function

>>5967971
>>"What would you ask of me, sir?"

>"What would you ask of me, sir?"
Writing.

“What would you ask of me, sir?” You immediately rise to your feet, showing a polite level of deference, but not curtsying given his apparent lack of rank.

“I require a transcription and numerical analysis of some figures.” He nods down to you slightly, speaking in a direct, firm tone. “Specifically, I wish to dictate a request.”

“I must apologize, sir.” You bow your head. “But I am without auto-quill or parchment. I am unable to carry out your request at this time.”

“Bah!” He makes a face, turning slightly away from you and clicking his tongue against his open mouth. “That figures, man.” His tone almost immediately changes, a slight accent of some kind slipping in without him seeming to mean to. “Nothin' today is going right, first I hit up the wrong artisan, now everybody is actin' like I said something rude and I don't know what and the scribe's outta paper..."

You manage to reseat your eyebrows before he turns back around. “I'm sorry, sir. I can still perform a verbal numerical analysis if you wish, although I will not be able to factor in market conditions as I do not possess the data."

He raises an eyebrow. “What, haven't you been paying attention- heeey... wait a sec...” One eyebrow slowly goes up. “You're... tankborn, ain'tcha?”

>"Yes."
>"Should I be something else?"
>"I'm an archmagos."
>"No."
>[Write-In]

>>5968763
>>"Yes."
>>"Should I be something else?"

>>5968763
>"Yes."

>>5968763
Is that relevant, Sir?

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Bit of a strange one to call. I'll say...
>"Yes."
And we'll do a rolloff to determine whether or not she comments further. 1 for commenting, 2 for not.

“Yes.” You reply, nodding. It made sense, actually. Even if he was a lower noble- especially if he was a lower noble, he should be familiar with the working scribes and officiants who helped him execute his duties on behalf of the Customs Houses. He couldn't afford to be distant.

“You are?” He breaks out into a broad smile. “First of all- big fan.”

“Sir?”

“I'm just saying, I appreciate the craft...” He puts his hands on his chest briefly, smiling broadly.

“Is this... relevant, sir?” You lean back a little- although mostly so you can continue to make eye contact with him. The sounds of sawing was now echoing from the kitchen behind you, and you resist the urge to turn back and look through the window to see what the Magos Delectica was doing.

“Always is- listen.” He claps his hands together and bends them down to point at you. “I've been wanting to get in touch with the tankborn department here for a few months, now... you guys keep rebuffing me. I just need to know who I need to talk to for the hookup, alright?”

>Tell him the truth- he must contact your creator if he wishes to acquire a tankborn.
>Be evasive- do not deny that you are tankborn, but deny that there is a source of you.
>Let your irritation show- you were not so pliant as to be turned with idle flattery.
>Play innocent- act as if you do not know what he's talking about.
>[Write-In]

>>5969551
>[Write-In]
Give him directions to the rafters we were lost in earlier.
Send this D bag on a goose chase, we got a surprise to eat

>>5969551
This guy seems like the kind of guy who just wants a sex slave.
>Sir if you are being rebuffed, it is not my place nor function to assist you in bypassing correct channels of communication.

>>5969551
>>Play innocent- act as if you do not know what he's talking about.

>>5969606

Support, send him in his way

>>5969551
Support >>5969627. Let's be professional about this.

Hum. Okay, I think I know how I can play this- we'll actually combine:
>Give him false directions to the rafters.
and
>Sir, if you are being rebuffed, it is not my place nor function to assist you in bypassing correct channels of communication.
for now.

It takes a moment for you to digest what he's actually asking, followed by you feeling suddenly indignant. You were not some trifling agent who could be so easily smooth-talked by a man with a winning smile and a disarming demeanor! And even if you were, you had no power over the creation or purchasing of any tankborn, much less ones far more perfected than you ever could be.

Your rising choler doesn't show on your face, which is as always impassive and unreadable. Smoothing down your dress, you think. “Sir, if the Mechanicus is refusing to treat with you, then it is not my place to decide otherwise or... assist you in bypassing that.”

“I'm not trying to bypass anything!” His hands go up, but his smile lingers only a second before his expression turns more somber. “Please. I'm stumbling across some sort of taboo here, because the second I bring it up, everyone finds a sudden interest in something else. If I could just get an introduction, smooth all of this over, say my piece, I'm sure it'll all go well.”

“Are you sure you even know what you are asking for?” Your expression stays neutral and polite, despite your urge to glower a little. “I am a precision tool, not a toy for the highborn.”

“Believe me, I know exactly what I'm asking for.” His somber expression twisted slightly. “And hey, don't call yourself that. I'm sure you're a wonderful lady.”

“...thanks?” You're unable to keep the confusion off your face this time, nor look as if you understand when he smiles and nods at you in return.

>"...alright. I'll tell you, but it's a secret. First, ascend to the top of the temple..."
>"Look. What you're asking is... rude. My creator is... not part of the mainstream Mechanicus."
>"You are saying something wrong, but it's mentioning ‘tankborn’ at all."
>"I can't say anything more."
>[Write-In]

>>5970313
>"...alright. I'll tell you, but it's a secret. First, ascend to the top of the temple..."
get trolled
I hope this is not a key plot hook

>>5970313
>"I can't say anything more."

>>5970313

>"...alright. I'll tell you, but it's a secret. First, ascend to the top of the temple..."

See ya later greaseball

>>5970313
>>"...alright. I'll tell you, but it's a secret. First, ascend to the top of the temple..."

>"...alright. I'll tell you, but it's a secret. First, ascend to the top of the temple..."
Writing.

>>5970332
No fear, my critical plot hooks are flagged with more flashing lights than this - or they involuntarily drag you along for a bit before you make your decision. Your new buddy here is just another political player.

You look to the side, then back over, then sigh. “...alright, I'll tell you, but it's a secret.”

The man raised an eyebrow and leaned in, his expression completely stoic and serious.

“...okay, first, you need to go up and keep going.”

“Oh, man." His face fell. "I don't know if I can walk up that many stairs... doesn't the hive go into orbit and stuff?”

“Not to the top of the tether.” You correct. “Just to the top of the temple, where the chambers start to end and give way to the uninhabited sections. It's in that place, away from the prying eyes of the priesthood that the tankborn are created.” You mentally search for something of further substance to add. “Speak not of your quest to the priests and technomats, they will refuse your requests. Instead, speak to the nobles, and the initiates too foolish to keep secrets-”

“I'm not sure I want to get a bunch of kids in trouble..."

“Then focus on the nobility.” Not that there would be any nobility in the maintenance halls of a Mechanicus temple. Well, except for this idiot.

Putting a hand on his chin, he nodded sagely. “I know exactly how.”

You spare him a questioning look, but move on rather than encourage him. “Those will be the people who will know, but remember- go outside the temple and they won't have the, uh... hookup?”

He kept nodding. “I'm seeing it, I'm seeing it. And I know just where to begin. I'll need to bounce, little lady, but bless you. Bless you and your big, beautiful... brain." He looked just a touch dubious as he said it, then he flashes a grin. “Sorry to part so soon, but I know where I'm needed.” And with that, he turned on his heel and went charging out into the dinner rush.

...a few seconds later, he came charging back past you, catching the door of the kitchen and leaning in. “Hey, Amos? Y'better be adding a light salad or something in there if you want to feed her all that- yeah, I know she probably doesn't care, but do you want honest feedback or not- see, I always think that juice is too acidic to be a proper break- you think so? Maybe- actually, no, I have somewhere to be." He checked a chrono on his wrist reflexively. "I gotta catch you later.”

You watch him go charging off into the crowd again, disappearing alarmingly quickly despite his broad build. Your face felt like it was making a new expression, although you weren't quite sure what it was. Slowly, you sit back down in the chair, half-expecting him to appear again.

Wait, did he even tell you the numbers he had wanted crunched?

A shadow appeared at the door, and you looked up to see the Magos Delectica standing in the frame, looking down at you. “You want the meat or the grains first?”

>"Meat."
>"Grains."
>"Dessert."
>[Write-In]

>>5971119
>"Grains."
Is this a multiple course meal?? I suppose the grains would come first if that is the case, but the prospect of meat is certainly tempting. And they said something of a salad as well?

>>5971119

>"Grains."

…not sure how this is going to go, honestly

>>5971119
>>"Grains."

>>5971119
>>"Meat."
mankind brains begun to grow with the intake of meat so meat is the clean answer

Ran out of time today and I promised myself I'd burn the midnight oil less. Update tomorrow.

>>5971119
>>"Meat."

>>5971119
>>"Grains."

>"Grains."
Running a little short on time today too, buuut I think I have a clear enough idea of this one to sneak it in before I sleep.

I can't believe Bentus is fucking DEAD

>>5973648
DON'T YOU START

I just got a blue screen so hard it somehow sent my word processor back to yesterday despite saving and restarting twenty minutes ago. That took out the whole update.

Last time I listen to sea shanties while I work, I guess. That'll teach me. Give me a minute, here.

File: forgive me but literally (...).gif (1.28 MB, 640x283)

1.28 MB GIF

“Grains.” You reply automatically.

“Hold on.” The shadow vanishes back into the kitchen.

You wait patiently. What actually were grains, anyway? They were received as processed foodstuff at the port, usually in the form of flour. You knew bread was made from flour, which meant it was probably related to dough. If there was anything else to know, it wasn't part of your partial-indoctrination - although you suspect there wouldn't be much even were it complete - as it was hardly relevant to your duties.

A part of you was curious about what it'd taste like. You'd only had regular food a few times before, after all. Your metabolic rate was very precisely tuned to be close to your regular meals, so you rarely had cause to eat anything more than what you needed to maintain your bodily processes.

Something sweet wafted out to you. It reminded you pleasantly of leather wax. Or something close to it. The smell filled your nose far more than the stalls down in the underhive had, seemingly lingering with every breath.

The Magos Delectica emerged, setting a small plate down in front of you. A mass of curled ribbons the color of parchment lay on a dusting of some kind of herb which was ground over the top of the mass as well. This was... pasta, you think? You recall seeing an image of it once, you think. You furrow your brow. “I do not wish to sound ungrateful, but this is surprising me?”

For his part, he doesn't seem to take it as an insult. In fact, his face doesn't move at all, mechadendrites still extending behind him into the kitchen. “It's pasta with tabba chowder sauce and garnish."

“...tabba?” You tilt your head. “The meat?”

“No, their shells.”

“I thought the shells were inedible.”

“Unappealing, but not inedible.” He took a puff on a lho stick before turning around. “...anyway, enjoy.”

You watch the last of his mechadendrites pull around the corner, then nervously pick up the fork and knife left on the plate. Etiquette at least told you how to use them, as you delicately cut into part of the mass and carefully spun it on your fork. Bits of the dusting on the noodles glinted in the light, dark points against the white sauce. You raise it up to your nose experimentally. Mixed in with the sweetness was a... sharper smell? Something z... zesty? That was a smell, right?

Before you could hesitate any further, you pop it into your mouth and begin chewing. Immediately, your mouth was filled with a thick, acidic flavor. Like... battery acid? No, you didn't even know what that tasted like- it made your mouth feel like you had swallowed the smell that some cleaners left behind. Was that a good thing? Your chewing was slowly releasing a sweet flavor from within the curls, which mixed with the acidity of the sauce and the strange savory flavor that followed it. What did he call this, chowder?

>>5973839
One of your teeth grazed and crushed a fragment of whatever he had dusted it with- the tabba chitin. It crushed easily between your teeth, and your mouth instantly filled with an intense bitter flavor that still tasted slightly sweet as it mingled with the other flavors. Continuing to chew, the flavor turned sweeter over time, until you swallowed an oily mass of sweetness still tinged with bitter flavor.

>You think you just want corpsestarch...
>Hey, this is pretty good...
>You're tempted to spit this out.
>Not what you would have chosen, but it's not bad.
>[Write-In]

>>5973841
>Not what you would have chosen, but it's not bad.
Leb does not have a cultured palate. I feel she would be happier with candy.

>>5973841
>Hey, this is pretty good...

>>5973841
>>Not what you would have chosen, but it's not bad.

>>5973841
>Not what you would have chosen, but it's not bad.

>>5973657
Thanks for the good work, despite your machine spirits. Be sure to offer them incense next time

>>5973841
>>Hey, this is pretty good...

>Not what you would have chosen, but it's not bad.
Writing.

>>5974009
I've never gotten closer to just quitting than writing the first half back down again and realizing that I lost all of the great little tidbits and insights into her thinking that I'd spent five hours refining over two days. Thankfully I speedran the stages of grief.

File: egypt.jpg (129 KB, 674x673)

129 KB JPG

>>5974400
It's appreciated, this is a comfy quest

File: omnissiah.jpg (23 KB, 326x273)

23 KB JPG

>>5974465
That's not what I meant to post. This is

Your chewing slows down, and you carefully spin another forkful of the pasta.

It... wasn't bad, honestly. There was something about it- the warmth of the food, the slight resistance as you chewed. It fulfilled a primal need deep within your mind, appeasing a part of you in the same way your daily corpsestarch bars did. Just... warmer. Even the flavor was pleasant, even if it wasn't what you imagined when you tried to think about good food - that mental image was mostly dominated by corpsestarch of just the right give and chew - and you were surprised each time your fork automatically went down for another mouthful.

“How is it?”

You reflexively sit bolt upright, hands snapping to either side of the plate before realizing it's just the Delectica again. Blinking a few times, you gather your thoughts. “It's... good?” You begin slowly, unsure of whether you actually cared or not about the flavor. “It's not what I would have picked, I... think. I want to keep eating it, though, so I think I like it.”

“The garnish isn't off putting?”

“It's slightly bitter, yes, but... was it supposed to be?” You tilt your head slightly.

The Delectica - Amos, that weird man had called him - rubbed his chin with a free hand, fumbling with an injector to press into one of his augmetic ports with a mechadendrite. “Here, I have something else I want you to try.”

“Yes?” You lean back slightly as he removes the small plate and replaces it with an equally small plate of-

Something smelled good...

An odd, smoky smell hit your nose, along with the smell of a corpse incinerator. Normally, it wouldn't even be worth acknowledging, but something about it was different. Your mouth began watering on it's own, and you inhaled deeply.

Set down in front of you was a small slab of meat. It slowly weeped some kind of marinade onto the plate, but you were mostly distracted by how badly you wanted to eat it. It almost looked like corpsestarch.

You nearly begin eating before Amos can explain the dish. “Imitation grox flank in marinade.”

“Imitation?” It certainly didn't seem like imitation from your point of view.

“It's made from tabba marrow, but reconstructed as muscle fiber.” At your blank look, he clarifies. “It's like steak-” He looked up mid sentence.

Following his gaze, you see a lone technomat running up to your tiny table. “A-414, I-” He pauses at the threshold to the eating area, bracing against the low wall to breathe heavily for a moment. “Apologies, your presence is requested at-” He took a breath. “The laboratorium. The magi have completed their data-meditations and require your... presence?" He hesitates briefly, as if unsure of his phrasing.

>Calmly begin eating your meal.
>Look at Amos, down at the plate, then pick it up and run off with it.
>[Conditioning/Strain] Shove the entire thing down your mouth in a few seconds.
>Regretfully leave it behind and get up.
>Get up immediately.
>[Write-In]

>>5974465
The sheer dissonance between the first and second images is what makes this post for me.

>>5974627
>[Write-In]
Cut of the largest slice we can feasibly fit in our mouth, shove it in, and leave with haste

>>5974634
I wanted to make a De Nile joke about the stage of grief but then reconsidered

>>5974627
>>Look at Amos, down at the plate, then pick it up and run off with it.

>>5974627
>>Look at Amos, down at the plate, then pick it up and run off with it.

>>5974627
>>Look at Amos, down at the plate, then pick it up and run off with it.

>>5974627
>>[Conditioning/Strain] Shove the entire thing down your mouth in a few seconds.

>>5974627
Supporting >>5974707
Maybe tell the chef "sorry I couldn't eat the rest, it smells/tastes very nice though” before running off.

>>5974627
>>5974707
Support

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Really, I think this comes down to one question:
Do you take the entire plate for 1, or do you take as big a piece as you can for two?

>>5976031
Halfway through that sentence my brain went 'a meal for two' instead of 'for 2' and honestly that's gonna bother me.

OKAY I PROMISED MYSELF I'D STOP STAYING UP SO LATE AND I NEED TO KEEP THAT PROMISE

You slowly look up at Amos. The smell of the food was intoxicating, things that certainly seemed like spices mingling with what you assumed was the natural scent of the meat. You wanted to eat it so badly, but you didn't want to stuff it all down your face. You wanted to know what spices really tasted like if you ate them slowly.

You look up and meet Amos' eyes.

Slowly, you put the fork and knife on the plate and grip the sides.

Amos blinks a few times, brow furrowing.

You lift the plate up and take off at full speed.

The shorter traveling cut of your gown was proving to be an asset, as you were able to practically run without the plate in your hand tipping and spilling any of the precious food. A combat model you were not, but you were hardly running at breakneck speed. In fact, considering your height, you were moving rather slowly, which gave you plenty of time to maneuver out of the way of the crowd as you ran to the entrance. You passed the servitors, which dumbly held their hands out for your plate, only for you to breeze past them through the doors.

Skidding to a halt, you began moving down the hallway as fast as you can, warm plate between your hands. Actually, it was quite hot- your single uncovered hand was beginning to feel numb and just a touch loose, but you ignore the feeling as you spiral down the stairs, across the halls and to the forges. The great doors were cranking closed for a passing party as you came in, letting you dart through the whirling mechanisms as they slid shut and begin taking the stairs two at a time down.

The techpriests were standing around, talking amongst themselves with flesh voices and looking distinctly impatient as you came running in. They turned to look at you, then looked at the steaming plate in your hands.

You wondered why they were staring, then realized they were expecting a different plate.

Setting it down on a nearby console, you reach under your gown and unhook the pouch, pulling it out from under your skirt and holding it out to them.

Unfazed, one of the adepts stepped forward and carefully pulled the flap open, extracting the piece of metal from within and letting the now empty pouch sag in your hands. Without a word, he turned to his colleagues and away from you.

...it was kind of a shame. You could have used it as a tray for your plate.

Sitting just out of sight, you set the cooling plate on your lap, pick up the fork and knife and carefully cut into the steak. It gives with a surprising firmness, the spun fibers splitting as you saw through them one way, and then the other to make a small cube of meat which weeped a pale brown liquid as you cut it.

>>5976963
Biting down, the fibers split between your teeth, oddly stringy and with an initial bitterness that immediately gave way to an overpowering savory taste. It was like a corpsestarch bar, except... more. Not savory in an unpleasant way, as corpsestarch became when it was too old and began to sweat, but comforting. You found yourself slowing down a bit, trying to extend the time the meat was in your mouth before you felt the urge to swallow. You took another piece automatically, frowning a little in disappointment at how quickly the steak was disappearing. It was a shame you hadn't been able to eat it hot.

>It's basically corpsestarch prior to processing, so of course it's perfect.
>A nice treat, but you think you prefer corpsestarch...
>Honestly, the grain pasta was better.
>Regular meals seem like kind of a hassle, huh?
>[Write-In]

>>5976964
>It's basically corpsestarch prior to processing, so of course it's perfect.

>>5976964
>It's basically corpsestarch prior to processing, so of course it's perfect.

>>5976964
>>It's basically corpsestarch prior to processing, so of course it's perfect.

>It's basically corpsestarch prior to processing, so of course it's perfect.

>>5976964
>>It's basically corpsestarch prior to processing, so of course it's perfect.

>>5976964
>It's basically corpsestarch prior to processing, so of course it's perfect.

>>5976963
>A nice treat, but you think you prefer corpsestarch...
Corpsestarch bars seem to have the advantage of convenience in rationbars format, long preservation and eating on the run. All things that would be appreciated right now

>>5976964
>>Honestly, the grain pasta was better.

>It's basically corpsestarch prior to processing, so of course it's perfect.
Confirmed for a corpsestarch enjoyer. Writing.

Your eyes close, and you make a noise that's something between a whimper and a sigh.

Just like corpsestarch, it was savory, melted in your mouth and had a pleasant chew, but all of those qualities were in their purest, strongest form. It was like produce straight from the agri-complex- or... what you imagined fresh produce tasted like. It tasted... clean, right? Wet...? Natural- there was just something about it. Clearly.

You got that same feeling from this steak, and you felt disappointed when it was all gone.

Corpsestarch in contrast was all of it's best qualities, but sterilized and preserved at the cost of some of the taste. In that way, you suppose corpsestarch was just meat preserves, the essence of the meal condensed and stored for later. That seemed appropriate.

With some disappointment, you set the plate aside and lean back. The techpriests were hard at work, inserting the founding plate into the same machine as they had the day before. Were they running the same test? It probably was capable of more than one test. Or they were checking their work from before.

You fold your hands on your lap.

...you should probably find something to do.

>Go and bother the techpriests.
>Pull out your sewing. You can probably get it done today.
>[Write-In]

>>5978352
>>Pull out your sewing. You can probably get it done today.

>>5978352
>Pull out your sewing. You can probably get it done today.
Meditate on the beef

>>5978352
>Go and bother the techpriests.

>>5978352
>>Pull out your sewing. You can probably get it done today.

>>5978352
>>Pull out your sewing. You can probably get it done today.
That reminds me, we never did get our prayer to the Omnissiah done, did we?

>>5978908
>"'Initiate' with no mods has completed half a prayer to the Omnissiah, is granted the title of relic keeper, total load of Groxcrap"

>Pull out your sewing. You can probably get it done today.
Writing.

>>5978931
Who the hell got a spike into the local noosphere?

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Slipping on your auto-needle, you carefully adjust the glove's fit on your hands. Flexing your fingers, you retrieve your bag from where you'd left it in the corner of the laboratorium, pull the bundle of leather goods out of it. The whole thing felt significantly lighter with all the material you'd removed from it to make the pouch, and you carefully unroll your project.

Sleeves still needed adjusting, looking large and billowy next to the now shorter and smaller cut of the jacket. You also needed to just adjust the fit all over- there was still plenty of room for a man's larger shoulders, plus for someone a good foot taller than you. It'd be a pain to restitch everything, and you didn't know if you could do it while preserving the material and embroidery, but-

Footsteps - slightly heavier of tread than that of the initiates - come up behind you. Turning, you're surprised to see a techpriestess approaching you- no, the same techpriestess from yesterday. Had you caught her name?

She approaches you, and then carefully kneels down, servo arm stretching out behind her and pushing against the floor, taking some of her weight. “How are you settling in?” She asks.

“I am fine.” You reply softly. “I'm sorry, do I know your name?”

“Ah... I suppose you don't?” She smiles slightly behind her respirator. “Trisa-Cant-8. II heard you barged into the reliquary today?” She leaned forward.

“I got lost.” You explain simply. “I thought the most important-looking room would be the best place to get directions.”

“...you aren't wrong." Trisa-Cant-8 mused, then seemed to remember something. “I did want to ask: how's that sweater fitting you?”

>"I haven't actually worn it yet."
>"Fine."
>"It's a bit too... Mechanicus for me."
>"It's fine, although it can't exactly cover up the state of glove."
>[Write-In]

>>5979133
>"I haven't actually worn it yet."
What with the attitude around here being less focused on physical appearances, and myself not being initiated into the cult, I didn't feel like it was my place to bear the cogskull. I would like to hold on to it as I fear any more wear to my current garment will render me indecent, but if something more... appropriate for a scribe were to become available, I would be deeply grateful.

>>5979133
>>"I haven't actually worn it yet."

>>5979133
>"I haven't actually worn it yet."
>"Though it looks fine, it can't exactly cover up the state of the glove."
Also of all things, why did she ask? Is it her favourite sweater?

>>5979133
>>"I haven't actually worn it yet."

>"I haven't actually worn it yet."
Writing.

“I haven't actually worn it yet.” You murmur back.

“Huh?” Trisa-Cant-8 seemed taken aback, one of her mechadendrites twitching oddly. “I'm sorry, is there something wrong with it?”

“Nothing's wrong with it. I think."

“But then...” She floundered slightly. “...why?”

“...why do you ask?” You tilt your head.

“I'm sorry-” She shakes her head, trying to avoid raising her voice above a soft rasp. “It's just that the Forge Master had me run across half the temple to grab things out of our temporary reclamation buffers for you. Was what I brought upsetting?” She gestured to your burnt right glove, still exposing most of your wrist and forearm beneath the auto-needle.. “I thought you'd want to cover that up.”

You glance at your torn sleeve and casually cover the patch with a hand. “It's not that."

>"I don't want to look like I'm a techpriest. Or initiate."
>"When it was presented, it seemed as if I was being pressured to pledge allegiance."
>"It's just not my style."
>"How do I say this... a jumper- it's not very elegant."
>"I feel as if I have done too many favors and not done enough to earn them."
>[Write-In]

>>5979931
>>"I don't want to look like I'm a techpriest. Or initiate."

>>5979931
>"When it was presented, it seemed as if I was being pressured to pledge allegiance."

>>5978931

A memory recalled: A flash shoots between Alpha-Nought-5 and her. “U-uh- Artisan Trisa-Cant-8, by the way.”

>[Write-In]Apologies, changing purposes is stressful.

>>5979931
>"I don't want to look like I'm a techpriest. Or initiate."

>>5979931
>>"It's just not my style."

>>5979931
>>5980069
support, something like "if I don your insignia am I now bound by your rules?"
I think it's fair to say that this is not the first time, as Leb put on the suns outfit fresh from the grinder and then got the jacket from the convoy leader without understanding the factional play. Here with the Adeptus is something that would be encoded into her mind, so there is more consideration.

Two tied in the vote, but I think I can put both of these in.
>"When it was presented, it seemed as if I was being pressured to pledge allegiance."
>"I don't want to look like I'm a techpriest. Or initiate."

“When you showed up with that stuff, it seemed...” You lapse for a moment. “It seemed like I was being pressured to pledge allegiance.” You brush your gown with your fingers. “I don't want to look like I'm a techpriest. Or initiate, as it would be.”

Trisa-Cant-8 laughed. “Why would it seem like you were? It's just a jumper.”

“Because I'd be covering up with the Mechanicus colors." You glance back. “...one of the other options was just outright an adept's robes.” You shrug as casually as you can.

“Sure, but...” Trisa-Cant-8 seemed to be opening her mouth behind her respirator for a moment before her brow furrows. “Huh. I might see your point on that one...”

“I'm just not sure I'm comfortable pretending like I'm really a part of the Mechanicus.” You roll your thumb over the housing of the needle on your index finger.

Trisa-Cant-8 scratched her neck and leaned forward. “...if it helps, I don't think it was seen that way by anyone else? You're tankborn, and even if your creator is... er, wayward, that doesn't mean you are. We wouldn't offer Martian red to someone who wasn't one of us, after all. You have to earn that.” She made an odd sound- a short wheeze of her respirator that caught you off guard. “...and it's not like the reclamation buffers have clothes that aren't in our colors. Not many Ecclesiarchy priests losing their robes in this place.”

Your eyebrows go up slightly at that.

“And... pardon my bias, but would it really be so bad to be one of us?” Trisa-Cant-8 cocks her head, looking at you from beneath her bangs. A part of you wonders how she kept the hair out of her eyes, but then you suppose whatever implants she had likely compensated or simply weren't irritated by her hair.

>"Yes."
>"It wouldn't be... unwelcome."
>"A part of me would like to very much."
>"I'm a scribe first. Everything else is secondary, even faith."
>"The first time I tried praying to the Omnissiah, I couldn't even do a prayer correctly. What have I even done to earn that?"
>"Even if you see me as part of the Mechanicus, I don't."
>"It's just too sudden."
>[Write-In]

>>5980727
>"It wouldn't be... unwelcome."
>"A part of me would like to very much."

>>5980727
>"It's just too sudden."
>"A part of me would like to very much."

>>5980727
>"The first time I tried praying to the Omnissiah, I couldn't even do a prayer correctly. What have I even done to earn that?"

>>5980727
>>"It's just too sudden."

>>5980727
>"The first time I tried praying to the Omnissiah, I couldn't even do a prayer correctly. What have I even done to earn that?"
>"It's just too sudden."

Hum. It's... been a hot minute since I've seen a vote so split. Tell you what, we'll narrow it and recount:
>A part of you yearns at the idea... but you can't help but feel unworthy, in both skill and deed. All you did was pull out a plaque.
>You've only been alive for nine days. What would you know about any of this? You're still grappling with the concept of pasta.
>All you hear when she asks that is a unintelligible stream of conflicting thoughts.

>>5981448
>A part of you yearns at the idea... but you can't help but feel unworthy, in both skill and deed. All you did was pull out a plaque.

>>5981448
>A part of you yearns at the idea... but you can't help but feel unworthy, in both skill and deed. All you did was pull out a plaque.

And our pact with the titan

>>5981448
>You've only been alive for nine days. What would you know about any of this? You're still grappling with the concept of pasta.