Multiple Settings The Goodfellow Inn [IC]

[Sir Les Paul]

In most worlds to most beings, time was a constant. It was the ever-moving, always-marching force that motivated the vast majority of biological life and was the sole metric by which all assortments of change could be measured. From physics to philosophy, the very idea of time was argued. Was time merely the minute shifts in atomic and waveform structures in countless physical universes? Did the immaterial change the concept of time itself; did a soul or magic shatter a scientific understanding of time? If so, did that matter in a world without those forces? Or, was time more fatalistic? Was it a singular moment from which all others could be changed and perceived or was it the culmination of all events and changes to ever occur?

All entirely valid questions didn't matter in the slightest at the Goodfellow Inn. Here, time was both effervescent and ethereal. Here, it was possible to enter the universe and return to your home universe in its past. Here, time being infinite and malleable was the only possibility that made sense. Because of that, the Goodfellow Inn had a system for calmly and politely taking in virtually any guest. Whether you arrived via a massive green portal or a space ship larger than most suns, the good caretakers at the Inn would make due.

For those guests just recently arriving, whether alone, in a vessel, or some other odd combination, they would be met by a Fae vallet capable of taking on an appropriate form from their memories and speaking their language. A type of Doppelgänger was responsible for this. Reviled in many worlds, many hundreds if not thousands depending on the moment made their home at the Inn. Here, they could live peacefully, serve a purpose, and exist without the revulsion or distaste they seemed to acquire in less enlightened worlds. Vessels could be parked, whether they needed to be underground, in water, or in space. Everyone was welcome at the Inn and the staff was more than competent.

To merely speak of the Inn itself would disregard the odd world it made home. In truth, it was this world that made all of the eccentricities of the Inn possible. Some universes were nexuses that connected various other worlds. Some were pivotal points that branched into nigh-infinite timelines all explaining alternate versions of one world. Some were echoes of lost worlds, some were entirely independent in their creation, some were the creations of frivolous Gods, and some just had no explanation. The Inn existed outside of the greater cosmology so far that bridging the gap to it was nearly the same effort no matter originating universe. Not that many outside of the most trivial scholars would understand that model, but it was important. This world was so unlike and so far from every other that existed that it was, in the grand scheme, equally close to all of them. In that way, it was not jaded by their rules. Not their mortal or divine understanding.

What actually was the Inn, then? Why was it the central point of this distant world? Well, no one knew, but there was a single understanding here. All paths lead to the Inn. No matter how far one flew, sailed, dug, or walked in this realm, they would eventually return to the Inn. And, one could go on for quite some time as aging itself was considerably slower within the Inn. Thus and therefore, the reason the Inn was the crux of this world is that there was no avoiding it. Yet, still, that does not describe it.

Just as no one man steps into the same river twice, no one patron steps into the same Inn twice. The Inn is always changing and rearranging, somehow doing so unnoticed even with patrons in it. The outside of the Inn has no gate or wall, and it is flat on most sides. It most closely resembles those archaic taverns of ancient times, of yore when wood was the most abundant and effective building material. One could not even truly describe it with stylistic descriptions as at some times it may appear Victorian with more regality and other times more plain and old world. Though, it was never shabby or run-down. Sometimes, even, there would be new structures for screened-in sections that were more outside than in, elevated structures like towers somehow supported by new mounds of stones and dirt, and the flower gardens constantly shifted in their designs, placements, and hues. The Inn was always changing, yet somehow always felt the same. It was mansion of sorts, larger than any manor ought to be, but like reuniting with an old friend, it always felt right no matter the changes.

Inside of the Inn were countless (perhaps literally) rooms one could wander off to, both above and below, the main portion of the Inn was its tavern. A massive room that spanned at least three stories high with various platforms to walk up and down through, but kept extremely tall ceilings for the larger of its guests. In truth, everything in the Inn was quite large. It perhaps did not strike one as a place made for giants, but it would likely strike one as odd how overbuilt some of its structures were. However, once one saw the patrons of the Inn, this made sense. There were, in fact, literal ogres and giants.

Most of the Inn was well-illuminated by a bright, but soft yellow lightning that played well with its wooden interior. Even in the tavern itself, there were multiple bars along the walls, each as large as one might expect in a regular instance of a tavern - a mere testament to the size of the place. There was no actual intended segregation of the people, though a discerning eye would see that most naturally drifted towards those they were most like. Magical, human, plain, cybernetic, alien, and onward. There were enough patrons to create some patterns, but not so many to make tribes of them. Plenty still intermingled. Which was an interesting experience in that no violence could be conducted in the Inn and all languages were translated as if the native tongue of the listener would come from the mouth (or proper orifice) of the individual speaking.

There were drinks and food of all kind. Merriment to be found in various ways. Magic and many more supernatural abilities were lessened, leaving only natural physical capabilities in place. Because of this (and perhaps the increased challenge), there were various games of all sorts being played through the tavern. Darts and axe throwing, billiards and dice, cards of all shapes and sizes. Some games might take some learning given that the norm of a fifty-two card deck wasn't a universal standard, but nonetheless, the environment of the tavern was one of festivity. Nowhere else in nearly any world were there so many highly diverse species and cultures managing to get along quite like this.

It did help that the wait staff could make virtually and food or drink in any portion required, no fee incurred. Perhaps that was the greatest oddity of the Inn. At face value, there was no cost its facilities.

BuggaBoo Lost Martian Specialist @Hard Boiled November Witch SCP-0029

 

[Lost Martian]

Ten days. It had been ten days since Dolan’s portal malfunctioned, causing Darius to fall through reality, literally falling onto the floor of the Goodfellow Inn. While normal protocol was for Dolan to return in three days time to retrieve a scout and return them to New Chicago, that had clearly not happened for Darius. In fact had been another week since he was supposed to be recovered.

With each passing day, Darius felt like his chances of returning to the world he called home were lessening and lessening. While he wasn’t particularly fond of living in New Chicago, that makeshift town was where everyone Darius knew and cherished were, his family probably going crazy awaiting his return.

But for the foreseeable future, Darius was calling the inn his home. While he had grown up in a world with paranormal powers, that was nothing compared to all the crazy things Darius had seen inhabiting the inn in these last few days. Science that would seem far off in the future to Darius before getting here was all around, cyborgs and aliens of various types just going about their business.

Then there was the fact that magic existed, Elves sitting in the corner of the tavern smoking pipes, Goblins running about the inn, and even Dragons being in residence here. The shock of magic actually being real was lessened by the knowledge that there was a dampening field in effect in the Goodfellow Inn, to prevent anything truly crazy from happening. Curiously, Darius had noted that the same dampening field was affecting his ability to generate crystals, it taking much more effort to create even a small one.

With all these new ideas in mind, Darius decided to finally get out of bed. Thick curtains kept most of the light from coming through the window, which is why Darius had not stirred, even with an awake mind. Another notion popped into his mind, wondering just why it always seemed to be day whenever he thought it was day, and why the sun went away as soon as he thought it was night.

It was one of the eccentricities of the inn, as it always seemed to be changing to match the needs of the people staying there. For instance, somehow every night once Darius got tired, his bedroom always just seemed to appear, shifting into whatever hallway he was in. As such Darius had no idea where exactly he would be in the inn after leaving his room.

Pulling a shirt and pants out of the cabinet next to his bed, Darius was grateful that the Pixies that worked here had been keeping his clothes washed and fresh. It seemed that the Fae who worked at the inn were ready to do anything to help out the guests. Darius briefly wondered how they supported this magical inn without charging anyone whatever currency was used here, but Darius decided that perhaps they just were communists.

Exiting his room, Darius found himself in a familiar hallway, a few doors down from a stairwell that led to the tavern proper. Deciding not to question it, Darius would descend the stairs. Waiting at the bottom of the stairs was a perfect duplicate of Dolan Granger, the leader of New Chicago.

But unfortunately this wasn’t the teleporter come back to rescue Darius, rather something called a Doppelgänger. First encountering Darius after he unceremoniously face planted in the inn on arrival, the Doppelgänger had taken the form of someone from Darius’s recent memories. Both a greeter and a guide, the not Dolan had shown Darius around, before granting him a bedroom. Since then he had greeted him every morning.

“Good morning Darius,” the not Dolan said, “I trust you slept well?”

“Of course. The sheets here are much more luxurious than what I’m used to,” replied Darius.

The not Dolan would simply nod, before walking away, his form shifting to someone else from another resident of the inn’s memories. Turning toward the dining area, Darius could see that whoever wanted breakfast currently was now eating. Walking past a Half-Giant slurping down a massive bowl of oatmeal, Darius would walk up to the counter that led to the inn’s kitchen.

As soon as he stopped in front of the counter, a chef, who was some variety of alien, popped up, a pencil and notepad in his hands. Despite seeing him for each meal since arriving here, Darius was still not used to him, as he strongly resembled the Swedish Chef from the Muppets, a series of movies Darius loved as a child.

“I’ll just have the big breakfast,” said Darius.

The chef would then scribble something onto his notepad, before suddenly disappearing. In truth Darius had almost ordered the same thing every morning, except for the odd day with pancakes, as this meal held some nostalgia for him. Prior to having to flee to New Chicago, the Wallace family would go to a breakfast buffet most Sundays, Darius always grabbing the same food. Thus eating it here in the inn was a way of connecting with his family, separated by literal countless worlds.

In less than a minute, a pixie with blue wings flew over to where Darius was sitting, a giant plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and fruit in their hands. Darius had decided to no longer question how something that small could lift something that heavy, just going with the fact that magic did it.

The pixie would wink at Darius as she placed the plate down, before fluttering away. Not really caring for decorum in eating such a nice meal, compared to the food in New Chicago, Darius would dig right in. In what could be considered speed eating time, Darius had consumed everything on the plate.

Wiping a little bit of bacon grease off his face, Darius would place the empty plate at the counter, a tentacle rising up to take it away. Having eaten, Darius wondered what exactly he would do to fill this day. He had given up a few days ago on trying to figure out the layout of the inn, it always shifting right as he started working out a mental map.

Looking around for something to do, Darius would see some of the alien traders who passed through the inn begin to leave through the front door. Darius had considered seeking passage off from the dimension the inn existed in, but had not done so for fear of getting even more lost among the universes. Darius had read enough sci-fi novels to know about the Multiverse, and how hard it would be to find his single home universe among the infinite amount that existed.

Still, something caused Darius to follow the traders outside. Greeted with a flat field of green grass, Darius would see various ships of different varieties parked outside the inn. As one of them lifted up off the field, Darius was stunned by its sheer enormity, easily as big as a city. The massive ship would then emit a blue energy, before blinking out of existence, or at least from existing among the Goodfellow Inn.

Still in awe, Darius wouldn’t hurt to inquire about possible travel amongst the universes. Maybe these super advanced aliens had a means of finding a specific home universe, like a scanner or something. But then Darius remembered that New Chicago wasn’t his home universe technically, so that wouldn’t work.

But Darius figured that he had spent enough days moping about the Goodfellow Inn, and he might as well show some initiative in finding a way home. As such he approached a group of going and coming aliens, ready to ask if they could provide some help.

 

[Daisie]

The ground was vibrating.

Of course, for a place like the Goodfellow, it wasn't the strangest thing to happen. Towering orcs, levitating masses of writhing tentacles, clockwork robots, every creature or object around every corner was far more notable than some hum tickling the soles of a few people's shoes. Nonetheless, that hum built upon itself in every moment, growing louder and more noticeable to every passerby. A static charge spread through the air in a small area, invisible yet prickling at every body hair.

The humming cut to silence after a hefty THUMP.

And all of a sudden, she was just... there. The electric charge snapped away with a final jolt up the spine, and there in the grass stood Reavis, fully armored and clutching a small device. She had just appeared out of thin air. No flash of light, no towering portal, nor any UFO hovering above to beam the alien woman down. It was a blink.

She was as stunned as one could expect, violet eyes flicking rapidly every which way. The sights that surrounded her weren't anything she personally found too odd. Giant beasts, magic in the air, behemoth spaceships... she could face down a god and be utterly unsurprised, but the sudden nature of her teleport still gave her obvious pause, her free hand already gripping handle of the gun at her thigh. She had a look about her that suggested the fingers around her weapon were a threat she was perfectly willing to follow through with, or at least make a darn good try, considering the nonviolent characteristics of the place.

"... What?" The one word was all she had to say, her eyes landing momentarily on the person who happened to be in front of her. That person being none other than Darius, whom she interrupted in his walk to request help. It was hardly a meaningful look though, her brain having already ground to a complete halt.

After a discerning glare round about yielded no immediate danger, she settled her angry look back down at the the device in her hand. All it was was a metal disc with a glowing blue button on the front. No larger around than a coaster, and with a tiny chain around it, like it was a pendant.

"What?" She asked again to no one in particular. After a haphazard look around again, she settled on the button and pressed it again. It had a satisfying click to it, but other than that, did nothing.

It was a button. That's all it was. And she couldn't describe how grating that was starting to get. Having spent the last however-long working with unbelievably complex technology she couldn't even begin to understand, yet still managed to use, something about the fact that she couldn't figure out a single, nondescript button got beneath her skin.

She clicked it again. Nothing. A couple more times in rapid succession, before she took a momentary break to look around again and return to her frantic button-mashing, this time with the side of her fist.

"Ava, the !@#$ just happened?" She barked to the air with an angry gesture, as if the response would simply come to her on its own. When no one answered her call, her head jerked up, the panic clear in her demeanour. "Ava?"

Her expression shifted. As unusual as her facial structure was, it was easy to see just how tense she got. Dread suddenly gripped its fingers through her chest. Wherever she was, Ava's outer module hadn't gotten blinked with her, or whatever that weird jump was. No module meant no Ava. No way to get aboard her. No way out of wherever she'd gotten herself stuck.

No way to her crew.

For the moment, she only stared ahead, mind rushing for solutions to a problem she had no idea the beginnings of. Whoever the man she warped in front of was, she paid little attention to him, wearing the distinctive look of a far newer patron than himself.

It was almost as if the Goodfellow Inn had a sense of humor. The second he tried to find help, it literally materialized someone directly in front of him who needed it more.

Lost Martian

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Sugar' - Cherisse Rianni

​

Arriving in GoodFellow...

...They were under attack. She had just hermetically sealed herself into her mecha suit. The blood rushed like a volcanic stormsurge through her veins, her heart pounding like railgun fire in her ears...

*Bz-zzt* *Bz-zzt* *Bz-zzt* Alert: Communications down... Power at 14.04%...

...The enemy had found them. It was an all out strike on her homeworld. An explosion rocked the compound sending her huge 12ft tall mecha warframe flying, impacting and denting the smooth alloyed walls...

... Alert: Nanite Regen Chambre: Locked Down...

...It wasn't the carpet bombing that they had to worry about. No. It was what they had dropped onto the surface... what was about to breach the impenetrable walls of the Matriarch's fortress. Suddenly the noble atmosphere was rocked by even more explosions...

...Weapons Systems: Locked Down...

...Another explosion. Screams. Railgun fire. Lots of it. An earshattering chorus of shrill demonic intent. Another explosion. Even more screams...

*Bz-zzt* *Bz-zzt* *Bz-zzt* Alert: Communications down... Power at 14.04%... Nanite--

...A shadow loomed large over her shoulder and despite fully sealed and fully armoured in Adavibrantium Biogen-Alloys, she could hear it breathing from behind her. But the smell... oh the smell. Sugar wheeled and unloaded her full magazine into it's hide. She missed. By Matriarch, she missed. And now it was going to kill her...

"Initiate Self-Destruct sequence immediately! Self-destruct! SELF-DESTRUCT!!" her normally purring smokey voice rose to its vertex, desperation taking it even higher, "I SAID BLOW THIS BITCH UP--"

*Tsk, tsk, tsk... awwww bad dreams, Princess... That's not how it went down and you know it... *sigh* just relax, Big Girlie. 'Are you not your Mother's Daughter...?', the smooth mellow voice slid through her comms. That question instantly trigggering a response in the giant woman. Completely deleted was the panic and skewed expression upon her green face.

"I am. I am my Mother's daughter. I know Her Face, Her Heart and Her Will..."

Blue eyes slid shut slowly and several breaths she took to slow her breathing. The voice over the comms made a soft cooing sound the moment her breathing steadied, *You awake now, eh sleepy Big Girlie? Why so dramatic? You weren't even there... Just relaaaax... You're in the here and now, Sugar.*

"Yeah. Yeaahhhh. Okay, okay... Bumba: cease vocal alarm," the Mecha silenced however the pulsating amber light in the interior 'husk' of her Mecha Warframe continued and glinted offa glowing, yet suddenly softened and sweetened blue eyes.

"Cres...! By Mother's Blood, Lil' Guy, what's good! Hahahahah!n Yeah just had a bad JumpLucy...! Sooooo what we gots goin' on...?! Oh -- wait. Wait. I'm dark. Bumba, power up... Bumba, voice recog: Cherisse Rianni, 2nd daughter of Matriarch Rianni of the Royal Satellite of Rhydan-05, Goddess of Rianni and her Loyal Territories... power up... Bumba, this royal decree, power up--"

*Not gunna do nothing, Princess... your Killtoy is cooked. Just relax, 'kay?*

"Buuuutt... but I can feel her moving. Marching. Ughs! Manual hatch is stuck. Rawr...! I cant even de-tap the Biogen harness... Grrrrrrr... Cres, boi, get me outta here...!"

*Stop... Stop it. It's gunna be okay. You're 'toy is just being brought to your spot offa the launch pads. Big Girlie...! Sugar! I said; relax. Stop struggling* the smooth voice sounded almost annoyed.

"Naaaaahhhh... Okay, okaaaaay. *sigh* sooooooo like how are you? Weren't you supposed to be in stasis? How you get out so fast?"

*Heeeyyyy... don't worry about that. We just need to get you reacquainted here, okay?*

"'Reacuainted'? What even does that mean? Anyways... But eyo! Where are you? I sooooo can't wait to see you! Are you in loading bay? I am soooooo blood-lettingly starved I could eat a Marhaduki whole hahahahah-- Wait. What's that sound? What is that buzz? Is that music...?! Crescent, where even are we?"

*Goodfellow. It's like a safe house. It's where we all can go. In time. And space. You just need to know how to get here... or in your case just be one of the 1-in-a-trillion-trillion of those that just randomly found their way here. Lucky you! Hahahahah!*

"Hahahahahahah... wait. I don't get it. What sector and star system is it? Are we planetside or carrierside? A Fed or Rogue station or satellite? And eyo, Cres wait. You knew about this GarshMellows all this time?!"

*Yup. All this time. And ease up with all the Q's. You'll find out soon. Oh and it's 'Goodfellow' by the way. Goodfellow Inn, actually.*

"What? In what? I don't get it. What's this good fella in?"

*sigh* It'll all make sense soon... just wait... okay we here. Unsealing your Killtoy... ready de-tap and Biogen release, Sugar. Ready...? Mark.*

A deep breath. Lashes gently fluttered closed over glowing azure eyes. The familar feel of the multitudes of tendrils quickly slipping out from her skull and back into her Warframe illicited that familiar shudder as if electrocuted by an angel. The harness whose instruments pierced her chest and abdomen retracted their tubes and syringes, freeing her of the chemicals and symbiotic enhancements to her and her mecha. With her next breath ended, she opened her eyes and the glow had vanished.

A grin broke free, flashing shiny and sharp canined teeth as the hatch hissed, slid up and out allowing the humid air out and the melody of the alien air inside the mecha's husk. Strange light... 'harmonious' light filtered into the interior of her Killtoy and a sense of calm settled her huge heart. Curious to see where their ship, The Ahvelina, had landed in this 'Goodfellow Territory', Sugar sat up whilst simulaneously shouldering her weapon. There was a loud echoing clap emanating from her, not unlike the applause of a goddess and suddenly, her massive 260lb body launched out of the mech and onto the Nexus Fae grassy grounds.

"What did I do wrong?! What did I dooooo?!" massive ham sized fists pounded yet again, hard enough to splinter a tree trunk. But try as she might, her violent and powerful strikes did absolutely nothing to the worn wooden door in front of her.

Sugar groaned as she tossed her head back. With her frustration at apex levels, she angrily ran a hand through her cherry black hair and loosened up one of her braids weaved tight against her scalp. A jet of hot frustrated air blew a loose pink highlighted lock of hair outta her face, normally cheery oceanic blue eyes now the cold hue of the frozen north. A sneer lilted up, flashing her big ivory canine overbite. Yeah, she was going to punch the door again since they somehow deleted her concussive force ability in here.

*Sugar... Sugar. Cease. It's no use, Princess... just relaaaaaxxx...* the smooth and mellow voice of her bomber co-pilot slipped in and gave her pause. Sugar's head darted this way and that trying to get a visual on the loudspeaker expertly hidden in this smooth-walled cubicle. Crescent's voice sounded like it came from all the walls truth be told.

"Cres! Lil' Guy, I was just defending myself! The Faeralis came outta no where!! You have to believe me!"

*Relaaaaax... I don't think they know you and her kind are at war. I don't think they even from the same Time/Space as you. Besides, in Goodfellow-- in this Territory there is a Zero Tolerance on Violence and Harm, exclusive exclusion to no one and executed with extreme expediency.*

"Ughs. Mother's blood, Cres, why so fancy with your words! And what does that even mean! And where are my guns?!"

*Sugar... You can't just punch anyone cuz you are your Mother's daughter. Let alone try to shoot any being upon first contact, Princess!*

"Why not?! I am Cherisse Rianni, 2nd daughter of Matriarch Rianni of the Royal Satellite of Rhydan-05, Goddess of Rianni and her Loyal Territories. And that... that vermin is my enemy!"

*Not here. Not in The Goodfellow Inn. Listen. Just calm down. Your Territory rules don't apply here. This is neutral ground. No violence, got it?*

"Grrrr... fine. Fine. Fiiiiiiine. So I just get to wear this? No formal attire to greet the leaders or representatives? Is it common for beings to wear just common attire here? I mean... Who even is this Goodpillows being anyways...?!"

*sighs* It's 'Goodfellow.' And no one really knows and besides it doesn't really matter. What matters is that you relax and don't hurt anyone--"

"--but my enemy, Cres!!"

*No! No enemies! You're not listening, Princess...! This is neutral ground. Your Ways are not this Territory's Ways. You will be fed and housed and welcomed. These are actually your quarters and it will be nicely furnished. But! Sugar, you need to calm down first and I'll explain everything when you outta here."

"Sooooooo like if I calm down, they'll let me outta here then?"

*Yes, that's right. Now calm down.*

"Well okay. I'm calm now."

*No. No you're not.*

"Okay, okay. I just took a few breaths. Look...! See? I'm calm now."

*No. No, you're not.*

"Look....! I'm smiiiiiiiiling... wow! Such serene...! That must mean I am sooooo calm--"

"No! No you're not!*

"Now?"

*No.*

"How about now...?"

*No...!*

1hr later the door swung open.

*Okay. Nooooowwww you're calm. Now let's get you to meet me in the common mess hall.*

Despite being put in time out for an hour, Sugar had managed to busy herself by exercising. Which eventually led to humming along to the ambient and aethereal music in the air and her 6'8" frame dancing around happily. And so a full sharp-toothy grin she gave and actually squealed in delight as she marched out of the punitive cube. "EATS?! By Matriarch, YES!! Let's goooooo!"

Big black shiny boots thudded away as she traipsed along in her tight common fit; the taut pink synthetic fabric barely covering up her inked-up and massively muscled green frame. Her braids undone now, she let her pink and black hair flow downward over huge tattooed shoulders. And despite the monstrous female's hulking form, her blue eyes sparkled, teeming with sweetness, and yes, simpleness too, as she made her way. Sniffing the air generously, she was guided by her nose towards the fantastic smells of the mess hall. A blessing to the weary traveller was the Fae kitchen.

Upon passing through the double doors and into the welcome sight of the mess hall, she completely ignored the hustle and bustle of the other aliens and their alien dishes and drink. No, blue eyes scanned and finally landed on the one she sought ever since she landed here. Another squeal as she rushed to scoop up and hug her beloved bomber co-piilot and friend, and fave Bugno, Crescent.

Little did she know that it was just an exceptionally done up simulacra of him. It was a doppelganger, a fake, a fraud. But the joy and love she felt was not. Her emotions were sooooo for real as she squeezed him and swung the little bugno around like a little girlie Orc and her first Diablar cub.

"Hey, Lil' Guy...!" purred her smokey voice. An actual giggle bubbled away from the huge, inked up muscular orc.

---

 

[Specialist]

VIT: 100%
LOC: "Goodfellow Inn", Room Hall, 1st Floor
INT: N/A
MNT: N/A​

Bands of light and wisps of color swirled into her vision as her eyelids fluttered. Her body ached with a sore, dull throbbing; intensifying through each minute twitch of muscle. Fighting through a wave of grogginess threatening to pull her back into unconsciousness, her state of drifting lucidity dissolved as soon as she realized she was not alone. A booming baritone voice, low and strangely accented, bellowed with as much quietness as it could muster from the furthest corner of the room.

"Oi, she iz wakin' up.."

"Perfect. She's stable from here?" Another voice asked. This one sounded normal. Composed. Disciplined. It reminded her of someone.

"Aye. Sheila 'ill be fine. No concussion, minor bruising. Sore ribs fer a couple o' days. Paracetamol's in that nook there."

"They don't need it. Trust me."

"Quit bein' an arse speakin' like you know wuz best fer 'em."

Had she been captured? These voices didn't sound like Covenant...

Slowly opening her eyes, Cora's vision flashed with flickers of yellow and grey as she blinked away the blurry haze that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat. Angling her head at the corner of the room, Cora was only able to make out the bipdeal form of something massive leaving the room, having stood upright at about nine feet and covered in thick black hair as a tiny, wiry tail trailed out behind the shutting door. This proved to be enough to sent her into maximum alert as her eyes shot open; her body scrambling to push herself upright as her hand flew to an empty space at her waist. Her weapons. Her jetpack?! Darting her head to the left, Cora was about to engage the figure that had approached with a coiled fist. One look at the man, and she stopped her plan instantly. Her voice squeaked as she spoke up in a light, hoarse tone as shock laced her exasperation.

"A-Ambrose?"

The man beside her, standing tall at 7'3, held up his hands as he moved to sit down on a nearby chair. "Easy, Cora. You've been out for a while." As relief swept over her hearing a familiar voice, she still couldn't ascertain why she was here- and why he was as well. Taking her eyes off of Kurt, she allowed herself to look around the area as she slowly twitched each muscle in her body. The room she was in had polished dark oak floors, smooth stone walls, and a host of antique furnishings that made the room seem archaic in comparison to the modern designs of UEG interiors. This wasn't a medbay, so it had to be a hotel, right?
Second to her vision and hearing, proprioception returned to verify she was indeed sitting on a bed, and still encased in her armor as well. How did-

The portal.

"The portal." Cora said aloud. A beat, and Kurt responded. "Seems like that's how you got here. Zaid found you outside and unconscious. How are you feeling?"

Cora suppressed a grimace as she further maneuvered herself to sit upright. The bed held firmly under the strain of the half-ton Spartan, who was expecting it to collapse by now. Disregarding the growing absurdity and turning her attention back to Kurt, her eyes darting over the Spartan II who hadn't stopped watching her since she woke. The man was dressed in a form-fitting black UNSC Tee and grey cargo pants; revealing an impeccably conditioned physique befitting of a Grecian athlete. The man's tapered brown hair and hazel eyes complemented a pale, weathered complexion with strong chiseled facial features. Just as she remembered when first meeting him as a kid.

Except.. his markings?

The various surgical scars, befitting the mechanical argumentations received to all Spartan II personnel, were virtually absent across all of his features. His skin was immaculate and clean from crown to heel, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion the longer she lingered on this absence of detail. Despite her subconscious screaming at her to question the obvious, Cora couldn't help but muster her response to the man almost involuntarily. "I'll be fine... where am I?" 'Kurt' folded his hands in his lap. "You're at the Goodfellow Inn. Think of it as a nexus between realms- universes, if you will. Did Deep Winter ever tell you about the multiverse theory?" Kurt asked. Cora slowly shook her head; her eidetic memory recalling no times she'd ever heard of it from the Smart AI. Ambrose was responsible for the physical training regimen as well as Mendoza; they wouldn't have had time to engage much less entertain improbable and implausible questions.

"N...No. He didn't. Nobody did- who are you?” Cora cautiously straightened up further, craning her head past his shoulder and spotting her helmet, MA5K and Magnum resting on the floor behind him.

If she timed it right...

'Kurt' sensed her agitation, but didn't make any subtle moves to counter her own. "Someone you need to trust, Cora. Just hear me out, and I'll answer any questions you have. I wouldn't advise leaving this room before you do."

Cora glanced to her gear behind her, then back to the false Ambrose. After a minute of silence, Cora steeled her jaw and decided to hear the man out. "...Fine."

---

For as long as she could remember, Cora never believed in anything other than what she could observe and deduce. She had never believed in fate, happenstance, luck, or universal coincidence. Tales of ancient myth, urban legends, and scary stories were summarily dismissed by her as whimsical entertainment as much as they were entwined into historical culture. The circumstances of her becoming a Spartan had all but ensured the horrific reality she occupied was absolute in destroying everything of her childhood innocence and suspension of disbelief. Years of training honed her into a weapon as lethal as the ones she carried, and there was simply no time to think of anything other than the present moment.

Now, she found herself contending with the defiance of her rejections. For every single question answered, another two took its place. 'Kurt' explained it as best as he could; she had ended up from her 'home' universe into the Goodfellow Inn; that of which served as a central hub connected to all universes, logical and illogical. Creatures of all types, sizes, shapes and needs were supported here- and the enigmatic resting point seemed to accommodate the multiple violations of universal law. Virtual impossibility became grounded possibility. Reality and unreality were one and the same. For the first time in her life, Cora was forced to separate herself from her nature, and that made her uncomfortable. After a moments' pause from this false Ambrose, she finally found her voice to speak up. "Have others passed through here? Other UNSC personnel, or Covenant?"

'Kurt' dipped his head in a nod. "Not frequent, but they've been here. Elites, Brutes, Grunts, Marines, Helljumpers, other Spartans.. Some from your company, others from different timelines. There's been no definite cohesion among the groups that have arrived, and their arrivals vary few and far between."

A pit knotted deep in her stomach. No way to get home, no operational protocol- she was entirely alone. Perhaps the only one of her kind. She couldn't speak for this facsimile of a renown Spartan II, but as uncanny as he was, his knowledge of this place and willingness to answer any questions she had served to rest her mind. A familiar face certainly helped to ease the shock of this new and potentially hostile environment. Before she could respond further, 'Kurt' held up a finger as he emphasized his next point, no doubt sensing her tension from earlier. "Whoever you find out there, Covenant or otherwise or anything that looks or acts or says anything intimidating, you cannot engage them in combat. Nothing capable of harm will work against others. House rules. I understand what happened, I understand your grievances toward them, your hatred, your anger, I get it. However, this place would be a damn warzone if people were able to freely attack others out of held grudges. The Inn is supposed to be a refuge, a resting place, somewhere to take the edge off- not a combat arena. 'Course that doesn't excuse people being assholes to each other and property damage, so.. try not to take it personally. or punch holes through walls. Clear?"

Cora's eyes darted to her gear, then back to Kurt once more. "Crystal.. Sir."

"Good." 'Kurt' said. "I'll leave you to it, then. Anything you need, just say my name. I'll find you." With that the man stood up, pushing the chair into the nearby desk as he offered her a nod before exiting the room. A second later and Cora was on her feet, moving over to grab her weapons and maglocking her MA5K across her chest and Magnum at her hip. Placing the SOLA pack onto her back and hearing the mounts automatically engage with the hardpoints on the suit, Cora picked up her Air Assault helmet and gave it a once-over. The headgear was spotless; the mint green visor polished to a shine and free of any dust, debris or scuffs she would have surely had incurred with that landing. Did he clean it? Flipping the helmet over, she placed it on her head as her HUD initialized with the MJOLNIR armor; showing a compass, shield meter and functioning motion tracker which was populated with dozens of pinprick-sized contacts far beyond the door.

With a steady breath, the Spartan looked back around the room one last time before exiting into the hallway. Much like a hotel, the hall was lined with rooms across either side separated with junctions and accompany signage to denote different areas of the building. Dark oakwood pillars, polished hardwood flooring and walls, vaulted ceilings, ornate paintings- just the hallway alone was noxiously luxurious for someone of her taste. Still, though, she wasn't going to change it on a wish- that much she knew to be true. Glancing around the area and approaching one of the navigation plaques, she took the outlet toward the central Tavern- exactly where the biggest congregation of contacts were. Perhaps there was a way out of this labyrinth after all, but it couldn't hurt to explore this bizarre place either.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

>>> Hallway en route to Tavern by Cora-III

Cora would not make it to the tavern. Not immediately, anyway. Not from lack of effort or getting lost, either. Instead, what halted her progress was a series of four immature pixies. Pixie was admittedly a fairly general term and hardly one that would be known to a Spartan. In the context of the Inn, pixies were relatively small Fae that appeared most similarly to the imagery of faeries one might be familiar with. Even in the futuristic world Cora was from, the general idea of a fairy wasn't entirely dead. Pixies were, in fact, not faeries, but it was something to work off of in this world of infinite new possibilities.

Pixies were brightly colored and could virtually be any color of the rainbow - if not multiple. Fast, pointed faces with wings somehow smaller than their body. Some of their wings glowed like neon, others were near transparent. With pixies, there wasn't a lot of rhyme or reason to their more magical traits. Plenty of diversity between them. What they did share was fast, pointed faces with more sharp contours that were never quite gaunt but were thin enough that it would make one wonder if they could cut glass. Most had shorter hair, almost nothing past their shoulders, and almost always a matching vibrant color. Perhaps most notably with pixies is that, unless they personally found fashion fun, they didn't directly wear clothing. Fine fur covered most of their body like felt, giving them a covered appearance anyway and often having patterns that somewhat resembled clothing, it just wasn't.

Two of the pixies were close in color. Blue-green hues with bodies that were mostly some type of aquamarine and turquoise wings. Short hair that looked like spikes. They might have been siblings, even. Another was red and yellow with much more contrast, her primary color being a yellow-gold color with very little orange hue. Instead, most of her contrasted coloration came from a sharp, vibrant red. The last of four was purple, darker in hue, and it seemed to both have the longest hair and the most colors on them; a dark purple body with violet legs and shoulders, but blue arms that transitioned into green hands and wings that had a similar violet-purple-blue-green transition going down them. Somehow, the more colors on their tiny frames, the more muddled they became, so this particular pixie didn't have the same type of neon-sprite appearance as the others.

Not that it mattered. All four of them buzzed around Cora, inspecting her. Ooo'ing, ahh'ing at her form and armor.

"A girl! A girl!" one shouted. Female Spartans were rarer.

"She has such pretty armor, too!" another one.

"Too bad it's old."

"What do you mean old? It's not just green!"

"This is obviously Gen I, dummy! The exoskeleton hasn't been streamlined yet, so it's not Gen II. No particle field, either, so it can't be Gen VI with the slipspace translocator." This comment, incredibly informed, came from the violet pixie; the one that spent more time still assessing Cora than the others that were flying around viewing her from multiple angles.

"Awwwww, I-really-like-the-new-ones!" the yellow one said, sharing her disappointment, "they're so much more fun when they can teleport!"

"Only if we go play in the slipstream room. The Inn doesn't have those nondimensions!" barked back one of the twins.

"Yeah, they're not as nice either. The III's and IV's are the nice ones," the purple pixie added, "but, you can't just judge them based on numbers. There are, like... sixteen thousand different timelines for her world." A daunting correction.

"Ja-ja-ja, we should check. Are you a nice lady-Spartan?" asked one of the twin pixies, flying right up in front of the face of the Spartan, who was a giant to most men and even more so to pixies.

>>> Tavern tables "Mess Hall"

Even for doppelgangers, there were times when how an individual reacted to their form amazed them. Sometimes it was mundane, but never did it truly cease. This was one of those times. Granted, being transformed into a pet or animal companion of some type was more common than one might guess. What did people trust more than their inhuman partners?

Crescent, or the imitation of them, didn't have a lot of time to respond to Sugar. Mostly because it was trying to formulate how best to deal with the situation. This particular doppelganger was tasked with helping Sugar due to their experience, and right now, experience was telling them to remain silent and read the situation. For several reasons, but the two that stood out being how the memories of this form might not have been accurate to how it actually was; the other reason simply being that the more time Sugar had to become comfortable with the form, the better. Doppelgangers were the slaves of memory, after all. It was not a true copy of her co-pilot, only a recreation from her memories. One would be surprised how often memories were... inaccurate to reality. Worse, how often those inaccuracies could ruin the trust this form was trying to build.

Trust would likely be an important factor in keeping Sugar calm.

Fortunately for the shapeshifter, their mettle wouldn't be immediately put to the test. There was someone else that wanted to talk to sugar.

Come rolling up to her, and in this case it being literal rolling, was what appeared to be a large wheel, not quite metal but not quite as hard as bone. It was a dark brown in color, nearly black with hints of red, and it made more sense once it reached her and finished rolling. The wheel opened like a bivalve shell and out from it formed a type of goop. In just a few moments, the goop took on a humanoid form, in fact trying to match some of the orc features Sugar had. A facsimile of the type of adaptive behavior a Doppelganger could perform. After this short while, what stood in front of Sugar was a version of herself, slightly altered to not be a true carbon copy, made of this purple substance that did at least seem to harden and take on a more physical form as to not be incredibly odd.

"You're the one with the new pink mech, right?" asked the creature. Being? Friend? Thing? It still wasn't sure. A rolling slime bivalve of a creature wasn't exactly a known entity.

"...it's fucking adorable."​

It wasn't clear whether this was school girl praise or some type of insult. Reading the tone from this creature was nigh-impossible, at least at first. Even with language comprehension being covered by the Inn, this thing failed with body language and verbal emphasis to make it clear how it meant what it said. Some people, and apparently some things, were just tone deaf.


>>> Near Darius & Reavis

In some worlds, it might mean something to be star-crossed in how your paths overlapped. In the Goodfellow Inn, it was a regular Tuesday. In fact, in the Goodfellow Inn, it was more rare to know it was Tuesday than it was to have your fate collide with someone of greater or lesser importance in the grand scheme of the chaotic universe. The world was built upon contradictions that formed senseless patterns that we only clung to because patterns brought us comfort in a world dominated by random happenstance.

Philosophy aside, Darius and Reavis did have a special type of connection in this circumstance. Amongst the group of random species and aliens exiting the Inn to go to their ships, they were the only ones to hear an loud, horrendously high-pitched scream from what sounded like a female.

A quick look over to the direction that it came from had a girl, human-looking with blond hair but pink-ish skin that most resembled a sunburn more than it did a skin tone. She was panicked. Flustered. Confused. Her eyes were directly on both Darius and Reavis, she clearly and intently meant to contact them. Who or even what she was--uncertainly. She pulled off the hood she wore, letting her golden locks fall down and revealing what looked like two fleshy antennae on her head, each about four inches long and pointed back into her hairline. She ran up to them, still shouting, but it didn't matter. She tried, bobbing and weaving through the crowd to get to them, but it was all in vain.

Her mouth had been vanished away. Not in the literal sense that she didn't have one, but as if the vision of both Darius and Reavis had been blurred. Not only could they not hear the unintelligible mumbling that came from her (which shouldn't have been a problem given the universal translation the Inn could provide), but her lips were impossible to make out for reading. It was fairly obvious, given what they saw, that something was censoring her message.

This phenomenon didn't last long. She couldn't dodge and weave between every single crowd, and eventually, a large party of blue-tinted aliens, humanoid in stature but with beaks and alien eyes, hauling a group of what appeared to be living slimes captured with their vacuum guns, completely blocked the way. They lost sight of the girl, and once it returned, she was gone. No trace, no word, no explanation. All that was left in her place... was a truly weird little item. Something Darius could recognize. A metallic medallion, truly a simple keychain, with a picture of the Chicago Bulls mascot on it. Even in his world, old sports memorabilia was recognizable. What made it weird, or at least more odd, is it appeared to have been converted into some type of necklace, dangling on the type of braided rope made from the synthetic, self-repairing fibers she knew were used for suit repairs. Strong stuff, quite valuable, could even patch plasma-resistance or vacuum-capable suits.



>>>>>> For All People in the Inn

From all areas of the inn, the voice of the inn herald could be heard. A woman, a true faery princess if you ever met her, was the voice of the Inn and made the periodic announcements for the day. Everyone, at all places aside from the most private rooms or those sleeping in the rooms, could hear her. A magical public announcement system, one might assume. It was too clear with too little distortion to be the PA system one would find on even the most premium ship.

"The cosmic wheel has shifted three point two-five degrees clockwise. This will close all wormholes and extradimensional spaces entered or exited since the last shift. Time dilation has subsequently between increased to a factor of two point one-three to one for all axial universes," she shared, providing updates from their observatory. In truth, there was only a small percentage of people that knew what this information meant, but it worked better to share it all while informing the bulk of visitors at the Inn that the window to return via the same means they visited was now gone. Once this cosmic wheel shifted clockwise or counterclockwise, one truly could not return along the exact same pathway. Given it changed about six times a day, people were pretty consistently marooned at the Inn. Plenty of people could make a return voyage if they knew the path, far fewer could do so without.

"Planeswalker Widald has asked for willing participants for one of his experiments. He is offering a return to home universe or single plane jump for any accepting parties. Details can be found at any of the post boards in the Tavern," she added, doing quite well to hide the scrutiny in her voice. She was a kind soul, the type that only ever meant well but sometimes was far too protective. She was chosen for this particular role not only because she could clearly communicate the points, but because how she did so seemed to sit well with the vast majority of occupants around. Many of her sisters were known for more sarcasm or distaste, which carried through the magic of the Inn.

That said, just because it was announced overhead didn't necessarily mean it was a great idea... just a rare opportunity.



BuggaBoo Lost Martian Specialist Daisie November Witch SCP-0029

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Sugar' - Cherisse Rianni

​

In the Tavern with Not-Crescent, a Not-space Orc and just not having it...

As was expected, none of the other aliens in the 'Tavern' paid the pair any mind despite the obvious constrast of their size and enthusiasm.

The initial rush of the enamoured and enthusiastic greeting was not even 2 heartbeats old when, instantly Sugar stood bolt upright, frozen. She held the not-bugno, Not-Crescent out at arm's length, a good 6 ft offa the ground. If one were to stare at her body language, one may think she looked like a new mommy whose baby was soiling itself and new mommy wanted it no where near new mommy's crisp white fit. Yet the huge female's face spoke something completely different.

Dark eyebrows slanted away, quivering over shiny wide blue eyes, a small pout forming neath a large canine'd overbite. Within those blue circlets was what one could easily assume as shame. Yet the pinks spanning up high upon heated cheeks confirmed it was actually embarassment. Soon enough, however, a sheepish smile began forming her apology.

"By Mother's Eyes.. oh Cres... I'm soooo sorry..." gingerly, yet so very tenderly for such an enormous being, Sugar placed not-Crescent back down the barstool. A huge green fist she pressed upon her forehead, then upon her heart then finally upon her lips. That same hand was then guided towards the not-bugno perched upon the frayed and worn, checkerboard seat-cushion. Long, powerful fingers unfurled, blossoming like the petals of a razor tipped orchid.

With the 'Daughters of the Matriarch Apology' complete, by royal decree, green chin lowered in a respectful bow worthy of another noble from across the galaxies. "I should know better. You should never be picked up, hugged and squeezed like a pet. I'm soooo sorry, Cres... Lil' Guy, we still pals?"

Not-Crescent seemed to be really silent now that they were in person together. A slight frown soured away the hopeful smile and shine in her eye. Sugar waited for the signature igniting of colours from his antennae to comfort her that he was still pals with his 'Big Girlie'. Yet when no such lux found their ways to those emotive tips dangling from his forehed, a full on pout befell the Orc's face.

But short lived was the expression.

Like parted waters, the crowd near the bar moved in fluid unison. Rolling in from the newly formed pathway was, what looked to Sugar, an all-terrain scouting drone. The spinning wheel-thing ceased, opened and whatever gloop it spat out took form. The huge sister-warrior snarled and lowered herself, ready for battle. Before her was that thing of which Matriarch had warned to be exceptionally wary to all her immediate daughters.

"ASSASSIN!! ASSASSIN!!"

As children they had been taught everything about who they were and whose daughter they were. Their identity meant everything. And even if they were to be killed, their legacy must always live on, their identity must be etched into the minds and hearts of the next in line of the Rianni lineage. And as such only the most insidious would ever try to take that from the Daughters of the Matriarch.

The assassins like this one were ones that would try to kill her and steal her identity. And only such insidious assassins deserved exactly what it had coming. As a born 'Warrior-Sister', Sugar, 2nd Daughter Cherisse Riani, had been genetically modified to control vibrations; a devastating concussive force when honed into a weapon. The Way of manipulating such force was by controlling emotions. Or not and letting the demolitions ensue.

Blue eyes lost the simple sadness within and immediately exploded into a glowing hot primal azure. Sugar was not about to control any single emotion as of now. No she would unleash it into a single shockwave worthy of the name 'Ms. Demolition'; a force powerful enough to topple buildings. Even if it meant exploding herself in the process, at least she would be remembered for this moment. Always.

"Wait. What the actual eff in the face...?"

Just as soon as the colossal once-in-a-lifetime sonic thunder clap was about to rock the entire establishment, it ended right then and there. Poof. No sound, no emotion. Nothing. No death. No demolitions.

Confusion made of all sorts of shapes and sizes spread like wildfires across her face, skewing it yet again. She had no idea how this was possible. This never happened before! Not once was the Fury of the Matriarchs Daughter ever quelled! Welllll except that one time when she first arrived here and tried to shoot that Faeralis. All her guns had disappeared and then she was immediately teleported, remanded to quarters-- wait. The width of her blue eyes widened as the ghosts of not-Crescent's voice echoed out across her cavernous and spacious mind; 'Neutral Ground. Goodfellow Inn is on Neutral Grounds.'

Still frozen upon the spot and blue eyes still wide, her gaze shifted over to the not-bugno upon the barstool. The look upon his face spoke volumes. No. No Sugar didn't want to be put in time out again.

The dumbfounded look slowly faded away from her green face, her jaw returning from the floor. Yet still, blue eyes remained vacant and wide. The spoken words of the not-space-Orc in front of her barely registered as her mind worked. Despite turned up all the way to 11, she still failed to figure out the combo to unlock the fleeting concept that eluded her. Which was a good thing; the fleeting concept, at its core, was made of irrationale fear.

"You're the one with the new pink mech, right?"

A simple grunt in response she offered the question.

"...it's fucking adorable."

Another grunt. But at least it was accompanied by a hint of a smile. Yeah, her mecha warframe was awesome alright. The Rianni called them; 'Killtoys,' named after the infamous discontinued training mecha that overheated, cooked the user, and then exploded.

Finally she came around and finally she accepted she was on neutral ground. No enemies. For now.

"Yeah....awesome. Appreciate you... 'sister'. That honourable mecha Warframe has been with me through countless battles. Her name is: 'Bumba'--"

A voice.

Sugar sighed, blue eyes fluttering closed. The voice... Just like how Crescent's voice came from outta all the walls in when she was in remand. But this one... this voice? No. It was That Voice:

The One made of more than mere waking moments of a babe in the morn, more than the songs of moutain brooks singing to the clouds, more than the joy of actually feeling alive for the first time and of course, more than the knowing heartbeats of a mother speaking words no one else ever could and never will again--

"--ummmm... Wait. I don't get it..."

Of course, she would blurt that out. To be honest not many would get all that techno-nexus babble. But that last part of That Voice's spiel? Despite her cranial shortcomings, that part Sugar did get.

Home universe? Home? There was a way home? That meant--

The elusive thought locked behind reason and logic finally befell the Daughter of Rianni; she was lost. But even more than that; she was going to be; Lost and Forgotten.

For the first time in her life, Cherisse felt... useless. It was as if she were part of a dream, not in it, but part of it and when the dreamer woke, like the dream itself, she too would disappear. The realization of her importance in the grand scheme of things hit her smack dab right in the middle of the face. She was more than lost wasn't she? She had been... erased from her world, her universe. The fear and primal instinct for survival kicked in. And yet in her heart ignited hope and unshakeable resolve.

Her sister, Korkiana was lost too. Sugar had to find her way home lest her sister... forget her and in time she forget her sister! And her family...! Matriarch. Mother... her mother was dead and the longer she stayed here the more she feared she would forget her mother. Her face. Her heart. Her will.

"Her love..." the smokey voice of the 2nd Daughter of Rianni whispered neath her breath. It was less of an affirmation than it was a prayer.

No. She would never forget. Ever.

"Before you stands; Cherisse Rianni, 2nd daughter of Matriarch Rianni of the Royal Satellite of Rhydan-05, Goddess of Rianni and her Loyal Territories. By royal decree, she requests you guide her to the post board area."

She needed to find this Widald and secure a position in the experimental Jump. She'd suffer 1001 Hyperjump Delusions, aka 'JumpLucy's', to secure that position.

Screw this 'Goodfapper Inn.' Sugar was going home.

---

 

[Lost Martian]

Darius would be approaching a pair of alien traders when suddenly someone popped into existence right between them and him, a loud thumping noise being audible. The magenta skinned alien would be wielding an advanced looking gun, Darius briefly backing away before remembering that violence wasn’t possible at the Goodfellow Inn. Though he wasn’t sure how exactly that was reinforced.

The newcomer would look confused, Darius betting that like him they hadn’t come here purposely. Muttering to themselves, the recently arrived alien would be clicking a button several times, whatever it was meant to do clearly not working. Darius would immediately feel bad for them, as while the Goodfellow Inn wasn’t the worst place to be, most people would rather be home.

And speaking of home, Darius would turn to look for the traders he meant to question, only to see them loading up into a spaceship, the hatch closing as Darius rushed over. Cussing, Darius would just miss the ship as it lifted up off the lawn and shot forth at a rapid speed, instantly disappearing.

“Seriously!” Darius would shout, not caring what the other people out here thought.

Defeated, Darius would begin walking back toward the inn, figuring that this meant he had to spend at least another full day in this dimension. While it had been a slim chance of finding a ride home, Darius was still upset that it didn’t work out.

Darius would then pass the newcomer again, not bothering to say anything to them. He would leave it to the Pixies who seemed to run this place to greet them. But as Darius sulked as he went back to the front door, he would hear a scream, a blood curdling one at that.

Instantly drawn out of his mopey state, Darius would turn to see a blond girl with pink skin, clearly disturbed by something. Darius would then approach her, not wanting to leave a woman in such a state of distress. The girl would then push back the hood she wore, revealing a pair of antennae. She would be shouting something as she weaved through a crowd of all kinds of beings coming and going, though Darius couldn’t make it out.

Then something odd happened, even for this inn. Darius’s vision began to blur, but only around the pink skinned girl’s mouth, as the words she also began to dissolve into nothingness. Darius wondered what exactly was happening, as magic was supposed to be dampened here, so that meant this was some other kind of phenomenon.

As Darius increased the speed of his approach, a large group of slime farmers would pass right in front of him, causing him to stop. Once they fully passed by, Darius would begin moving again, only to find that the pink skinned girl had disappeared.

Glancing back and forth looking for her, Darius had no clue where she went. He had only taken his eyes off her for five seconds and the only other place she could of gone was inside the inn, but he would surely of seen her if she passed him by. But then Darius would notice something shiny out of the corner of his eye.

Looking down at a patch of grass, Darius would be very surprised to see a Chicago Bulls key chain. While he wasn’t from the original Chicago, Darius knew enough about sports to know the team. But the question was how it got there. Given the fact that infinite universes existed, this probably didn’t come from Darius’s home universe, but it still stood out to him.

Reaching down and picking up the key chain, he know saw that it was attached to a string made out of some type of fiber, almost like a necklace. Did the disappearing girl drop it? It seemed like she was specifically headed towards Darius, so maybe she meant it for him.

Darius would be occupied with deep thought, only being broken when the voice of the inn began this morning’s announcements. Looking back at the inn, Darius would hear the booming voice talk about the cosmic wheel moving, jargon that Darius didn’t understand. But he would interested when he heard about the Planeswalker’s offer.

While Darius wasn’t in a rush to be a test subject, the notion of returning home was strong enough to risk it. So he would turn, ready to head back into the Goodfellow Inn and find the nearest post board, the need to find the girl fading at the prospect of going home.

 

[Specialist]

VIT: 100%

LOC: "Goodfellow Inn", Room Hall, 1st Floor

INT: Sir Les Paul (Faeries)

MNT: Sir Les Paul (Faeries)​

Even with 'Ambrose' explaining everything he could about the Inn prior to leaving, Cora still felt unprepared to face the reality of her circumstance. It felt.. wrong to be here. Outside from acknowledging the obvious that the place was a universal enigma that now also appeared to be non-euclidian in its construction, the very nature of her being here suddenly flooded her with a sense of purposelessness. She was a soldier through and through, always on the move from mission to mission as she was rarely given respite against the firestorm of a relentless alien enemy hellbent on total annihilation. Innocent people lost their lives, and homeworlds were burned to glass each day. Now here she was, effectively dropped in a universal grand Inn by the forces of the cosmos as if to say, "Shut up and chill out, you can afford to."


Did this place just decide to pull people and creatures at random? Perhaps they ended up here in a manner similar to how she did. Yet if the faint sounds were anything telling, the residents were well-adjusted to the unusual building. Echoing beyond the open frame to the tavern, she heard the faint drone of conversation across all manner of voices, the semi-occasional crash of something expensive, booming boisterous laughter, and the soothing notes of a melody unknown. Life had found a way to settle here, and she was sure that Humans in particular were a minority. She wondered how the patrons of the Inn would treat her- especially if she wasn't the first of her ilk to pass through. Hostility? Fear? Begrudging tolerance? Perhaps luckily, she didn't have to wait long.


A few dozen footfalls short of crossing the doorframe, her motion sensor pinged four contacts closely grouped together. The movements of the yellow blips followed an irregular series of aerobatic-looking dips and twists as they lapsed over each other, but they maintained enough cohesion in their flight pattern to suggest a path headed right for her. The second her eyes flicked back up, she saw them. Flying humanoids of varying height, no less than five or so inches tall. Light and Shadow played within their glistening reflective skin; casting flittering sparkles of iridescent hue that radiated a colorful prettiness her eyes simply couldn't ignore. They seemed to be heading about their way, until they saw her. At once they broke off and independently streaked toward her with phenomenal speed; their voices strangely audible and clear despite their tiny size. Cora stopped moving instantly as they swirled, twisted and danced around her armored form. Even if the polarized visor obscured her face, her head subtly moved to track the ones that fluttered within her view. Her armor's proximity warning gave off tiny chirps inside her helmet; signaling that these creatures were not affected at all by the electromagnetic energy field that ran parallel to her suit as they crossed the barrier- inspecting every detail with such precision it would put Misriah's most ace gunsmith to shame. Despite her armor's protest of an invasion of personal space, Cora didn't move. These creatures weren't a threat, and she didn't want to give that impression to them. Yet they weren't afraid of her, and that itself was affording to be a reciprocated curiosity.

"A girl, A girl!!" one said excitedly. So others of her ilk did come through after all. At least 'Ambrose' was honest. Though it seemed that women Spartans weren't as common. Wonder why that was?

Quite quickly, the violet-colored pixie of the gaggle proved to be much more knowledgeable and astute of her home universe than the other three; launching into a lecture after rebuking her friends of their ill-informed quips- and subsequently divulging state secrets that would all but guarantee a trip to an ONI black site.

Gen Two?

Gen SIX?!

Spartan Fours?

Did that mean Humanity won?


The torrent of new questions swirling in her mind made her nearly forget she was standing in the middle of a hallway. Cora blinked herself back to the present, staring at the blue-green pixie that was hovering patiently in front of her visor; the yellow-orange twins off to her left and the violet one on her right. The strangeness of that question at least was something she could answer for herself. Her helmet speakers crackled as she forced herself to find her words. "Yes, I am. Spartan One-Eleven, Beta Company.. Call me Cora. What are your names?" Hearing her own response left her voice feeling foreign as she attempted to mask her unease. Not at them- if the implied 'deer-in-headlights' tone in her voice and body language were of any indication. If anything, she absolutely had to know just how much more the violent pixie knew about her universe, and what became of her kin and the UNSC if they did indeed win the war.

 

[Daisie]

As the woman screamed, revealing a blurred-over mouth and a rapid approach, Reavis exacted her gaze upon her and braced herself for anything, whipping her pistol from its holster. She kept it directed at the ground, seeing as firing impulsively into a full crowd of what looked to be mostly civilians wasn't how she wanted to decorate her arrival. It was a smart move, despite her still not knowing that the gesture was completely useless.

Her gaze had a certain intensity behind it, uneasy and grappling to figure out what was happening in front of her, what the woman was trying to say, and most importantly, who was censoring it. Her edginess only heightened when the woman seemed to disappear, eliciting a step back. Reavis knew she had kept her eye on the woman well. She hadn't disappeared into the crowds, the crowds overtook her, and then she was simply gone.

Censored, and then wiped from the environment. Something was very wrong with this picture.

When Darius went ahead and picked up the medallion left in the stranger's place, Reavis also approached with much more caution. To her, the pendant looked tribal: some totem of a red, horned creature. Perhaps a god of some primitive culture. What was more intriguing to her was the advanced string it was attached to. She'd run across it before, and it was incredibly valuable towards not only the structural integrity of her equipment, but it was fantastic material to patch up the more important pieces of her ship.

She found herself standing next to Darius, both of them staring down the keychain. When she looked up at him to speak, the announcement talked over the top of her.

"The cosmic wheel has shifted three point two-five degrees clockwise. This will close all wormholes and extradimensional spaces entered or exited since the last shift. Time dilation has subsequently between increased to a factor of two point one-three to one for all axial universes,"

"... Well, shhh-...oot me, now." She worked her vulgarity around the memory of the censored woman being whisked out of sight, not wanting to test her own fate. While the specific phrasing surrounding the so-called "cosmic wheel" wasn't familiar, she'd picked up enough throughout her multiversal travels to catch on that her opportunity to return to Ava had passed. She raised a hand to rub at the roots of her mane, mind scrabbling for any way she could get around this.

But then it presented itself to her.

"Planeswalker Widald has asked for willing participants for one of his experiments. He is offering a return to home universe or single plane jump for any accepting parties. Details can be found at any of the post boards in the Tavern,"

The look on Reavis's face easily displayed how much she truly despised every new piece of information. Experiments. Really? The only thing she knew about "Planeswalker Widald" was that he was preying on those desperate to get out. To either a return to a different plane, or one's home universe-...

Home universe?

She froze up as she realized what that meant. She'd spent so many years aboard Ava, simply trying to survive, that a return home hadn't even crossed her mind for a very, very long time. She'd come to accept there was no way to get back to Nex. To her people. The prospect stunned her still.

But she didn't have her crew with her. They'd be stuck without her. Sure, she'd coached them well enough in universal travel, but with every hand of the crew vital, a permanent leave would mean almost certain death for the remaining members. If the announcement was saying what she suspected it was saying, this meant she had to pick between the two. Home universe, or transport into another plane.

That is, if this entire experiment wasn't some sleazy scam or psychotic mind-game. The risks weighed heavily in her stomach, but she knew one thing for certain:

She couldn't let the opportunity go.

With an apprehensive breath, she followed after Darius, who seemed to have much the same interest in the experiment as her. She figured there was no harm in at least looking, and he appeared to know where he was going. Besides, that medallion could still hold a clue as to what was happening. She needed information.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

>>> Tavern tables "Mess Hall"

The purple, gelatinous form of the creature in front of her extended its own swollen arm outward. Surprisingly humanoid given its natural form, nowhere near as amorphous as it started. Still, the soft light hit the sheen of its skin in such a way that it clearly wasn't the texture of a toned Ork arm. Nonetheless, the gesture was clear. It was pointing. Pointing much further down the tavern area to a large board that several hundred were slowly crowding around. It was the most nearby post board for proclamations and requests. Given now the crowd that was flocking around it, might have been hard to miss visually, but the general direction was fairly obvious.

"Shall you leave so soon?" the creature asked her, its tone still odd but at least colored with clear disappointment. "I pilot a large mech modeled after a leporidae. It is named Cotton," it explained, returning to its more flat tone.

"I would have liked to discuss more your Bumba," it told her, providing forthright what its interests were. Not her or the place, but the act of piloting a mechanized suit. In a world of infinite possibilities, finding those with similar hobbies was actually more rare than one might think.

Meanwhile, the doppelganger imitating Cres decided to finally take action. Once it was sat down and the sum total of exchanges between Sugar, this new creature, and the announcements had taken place, it decided to emulate the behavior most suitable for the creature. Not-Crescent stood tall. Tall, proud, and as regal as its feline form would allow. With bright, but focused eyes, it fixated on Sugar, who had just been pointed in the direction of the posting board.

The lights on its antennae began to glow, and as best it could, it mirrored the stances, phrases, and tone that the creature it was copying used per the memories Sugar had stored away.

"Pals, we are," it responded to her, somewhat stern but still forgiving.

"But, there is much about this place that you do not know," it continued, deciding to finally elucidate Sugar on the nature of the Inn. "As long as you are within the walls of this Inn, your memories are preserved. You shall never forget where you come from," it went on, that familiar voice echoing inside the oversized skull of its Ork companion.

"There is also no royalty in the Inn..." it tried to point out, but decided not to indulge in that specific point. It was too much to overthrow everything Sugar had known all at once.

The sense not-Cres was trying to talk into Sugar might have been for naught, given only moments later someone shouted out in frustration: 'Only looking for one hundred applicants?!'

>>> Hallway en route to Tavern by Cora-III

One of the twins was the first to introduce themselves. Darting forward with a bow, the pixie that had asked if Cora was nice offered their name. "Chartreuse, but you can call me Charter," he responded, his voice ever-so more masculine once he came in closer. Even if not, it was difficult to tell with these pixies regardless. Even the male pixies were androgynous at best and equally feminine in the most notable of cases. Gender norms didn't really exist for these Fae.

The purple one sighed, rolled his eyes, then introduced himself, as well, "I am Merlot. Our golden companion is Ries; she's unlikely to introduce herself. She's an Aurum Pixie even though that doesn't matter here." A tinge of frustration came from him and the female pixie he identified shot him a foul look. There was, admittedly, a type of smarmy atmosphere she radiated, and upon closer inspection, she was slightly larger with more pronounced wings than the others. What it meant to be Aurum or why that didn't matter was entirely lost.

Ries remained silent, her mood temporarily soured.

The final of the pixies, the other twin with a touch more green in their form, finally elected to introduce herself. "I'm Senna... nice to meet you, Cora," she told her, somewhat more bashful now that she was put on the spot. Irony being she was the first to speak up, noting that Cora was, in fact, a female Spartan.

Then rang through the announcement from the magical PA system. Merlot, demonstrating his sarcastic nature yet again, groaned.

"Widald is at it again..." he complained. It apparently wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

"What do you expect?" Ries barked back, mostly just to take a shot at Merlot. There was some spite in her tone and it seemed she primarily just wanted to undermine him. "You let a Planeswalker into the Inn and he thinks he can do whatever he wants," she spat, clearly not approving of the liberties the man took.

Which, in a way, made sense. There was some ethical questions to allowing someone that could transport people between universes some type of experimental authority in a world where most ended up away from their home world by accident.

Charter chimed in, not exactly keen on letting the two entirely cut down Widald. "He is one of the Greater Planeswalkers..." he added, "Not many can identify a home universe, even fewer can intentionally leap there..."

Senna popped in with another point, siding with her brother, "Y-Yeah, it's not always so easy. Some universes have soooo many timelines and alternate versions that mixing it up would be easy."

Merlot, at least, relented, "Yeah.. I suppose. Two versions of yourself in the same world can be problematic."

These pixies with their short attention spans were prone to going off on entire tangents right in front of Cora. Such was their nature.

>>> Near Darius & Reavis

The nearest post board for both Darius and Reavis was not the tavern near Sugar, but one of several boards comprised of a dark-stained wood that seemed to updated itself magically. Paper materialized on it, though it unironically wasn't in any outstanding fashion. It appeared very similarly to how files were dragged and dropped on old operating systems in both of their homeworlds. Antiquated, perhaps, but familiar enough that it didn't seem outlandish. Notably, in what appeared to be some type of portside trade hub of an area they were at, far fewer people were interested in the offer. Unbeknownst to them, this was for a simple reason: most of the people around them were already capable of interdimensional travel. Some offer from a Planeswalker simply meant less to them.

They were all surrounded by infinite possibility.

Able to approach the board without crowding or complaint, these two would be able to see the offer as listed:

To Whom It May Concern:

I preface that I am a Planeswalker from the universe of Larwyn Hope, timeline 3A. I can travel with up to ten party members at a time and can identify the exact universe of origin of any individual I assess - even those that no longer exist. I am seeking one hundred individuals to offer their services in an experiment to explore a new world and complete an objective of terminating a specific plant. There will be no danger to your physical form. This exercise will occur in the universe dubbed N'nsee Sauft, timeline 14B. I will offer my services to all those that participate and offer one reasonable boon to any that complete the objective. Interested parties should seek the Eastern Sunroom known as the Golden Chapel. Ask any staff for guidance.

- Widald Gaitillon​

BuggaBoo Lost Martian Specialist Daisie November Witch SCP-0029

 

[Lost Martian]

The notion that there had been someone here at the Inn who could of sent Darius home already was one that Darius was mad at himself for not considering. He had it stuck in his mind that he needed a spaceship or something to travel the multiverse, forgetting that someone like Dolan could exist, able to open portals to other worlds.

While he hadn’t seen anyone specifically with that power, Darius hadn’t exactly searched it out either. In fact most of what he had been doing in the ten days he spent at the Inn was moping. Sure he had a lot of things to be down about, but that was just making getting home harder.

So Darius would stride quickly back into the Inn proper, determined to work on getting home. However out of the corner of his eye, he would notice that the recently arrived alien was following him. While in the past he was wary of anyone following him, the knowledge that violence couldn’t be done while at the Goodfellow Inn made Darius less concerned.

Darius would push his way past a gathering of Ogres clogging up the front door to the Inn, trying his best not to step up on the giant creatures’ feet. Once free of the congestion, Darius would see the stairs to the guest rooms and the tavern in front of him. Wondering where exactly he could find a post board, Darius would turn a corner, only to find a post board on the wall.

That was one of the great things about the Goodfellow Inn, the fact that you could find everything easily. It was almost as if the Inn itself could hear one’s thoughts, transforming to aid them with whatever they needed. Of course this also meant that there was no point in memorizing a layout, as the Inn kept on changing.

Attached to this post board would be a piece of old style parchment, the contents of the note written in thick black ink. Darius would ignore the jargon about universe names and such, as that went right over his head, instead reading the meat of the note.

Apparently this Planeswalker was looking for a hundred volunteers, which seemed like a lot to Darius, to go to another universe and deal with some kind of plant? Honestly Darius wasn’t sure what this note was asking, but since the Planeswalker was offering the use of his universe hopping powers, Darius was inclined to go along with it.

Now all Darius needed to do was find where exactly this Golden Chapel was. In his several days here, Darius hadn’t even come across a sun-room. But then again he had never sought one out, so perhaps the Inn had no reason to show him one.

So Darius would begin walking in a random direction, hoping that the Goodfellow Inn would do the rest. As he did so he wondered just what kind of creature this Widald was exactly, given that they were a traveler of the multiverse. But that question would be on hold as the Inn provided a new door on Darius’s right.

Clearly labeled Golden Chapel, Darius would be sure that this is what he was looking for. Opening the door, the term sun-room would prove accurate, as rays of light shot into Darius’s eyes. His vision going blurry for a second, eventually Darius would become alright with the light coming through the glass.

“I’m here for the job posted by Planeswalker Widald,” stated Darius, “I’m not early am I?”

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Sugar' - Cherisse Rianni

​

Leaving the Tavern with Not-Crescent, currently in the Golden Chapel...

Blue eyes cooly regarded the not-Orc in front of her. It was asking her if she was leaving. It had just rolled up on her. Literally. What did she owe it? Decades of training and more than mild case of xenophobia propaganda would not die so easily. Yes, she still had to come to grips that this was neutral ground and that there were no enemies here. But still the ghostly voices of Matriarch's sisters worked their pithy sayings into her mind; Not an enemy? Not a friend either.

And so to the question another simple grunt was her response.

"I pilot a large mech modeled after a leporidae. It is named Cotton, I would have liked to discuss more your Bumba."

Bumba. Cute-Bumba, actually. A hint of a smile could not be helped once the Not-Space-Orc mentioned her hot pink Killtoy. That warframe was certainly a soft spot for her. The smile then further widened when she relented and looked upon the 'face' of the being before her. Once more heated pinks hotter than the hue of her skimpy top flushed her cheeks. Not a friend. Buuttttt... It would be an utter lie to not mention that seeing another Orc-ish face did spurn on the hope burning in her heart; her sister was still out there. Somewhere.

That and Sugar almost felt she was not alone. She almost felt she was not the last of her kind.

Almost. There was another whisper unheard from the ghost Aunties inside her vast and vacuous mind, yet for now, the 2nd Daughter of Rianni could not unlock it. But Sugar being Sugar, her immense size compared little to the size of the sweet heart that beat within her massive chest, "What is your name... 'sister'? Because, yes. Yes, I would reeeeeeally liked to have chatted about our WarFrames. Soooo like perhaps I'll see you again? But I reeeeeeally must get home. I have... 'someone' waiting for me. By royal decree..."

"Pals, we are," it responded to her, somewhat stern but still forgiving.

"But, there is much about this place that you do not know," it continued, deciding to finally elucidate Sugar on the nature of the Inn. "As long as you are within the walls of this Inn, your memories are preserved. You shall never forget where you come from."

His antennae had finally lit up and Sugar was set at ease. That and knowing she would not forget her home truly was comforting good news, "Very well, Cres. Shall we proceed to the whatchamacallsit? The... the... the 'posting board'? But ughs... that crowd. Please announce the 2nd Daughter of Rianni and have the crowd make way, please--"

"There is also no royalty in the Inn..."

Dark eyebrows drove downward and instantly blew away the pleasant expression upon her face. Blue eyes glinted and narrowed with indignation as she stared a the not-Bugno. This was perhaps a bridge too far. An ivory white, sneer threatened to lilt upwards. He just finished allaying her fears that she would never forget her lineage and then in the next breath he dared deny her of its very existence here. Oh, but Sugar could feel the anger boiling and churning up within--

"Only looking for one hundred applicants?!"

Blue eyes shot wide. Instantly the cauldron of raging emotions was blown over, all its contents no longer of any matter. Near panic settled in as several other aliens made their way out of the tavern. All at post haste speed.

"Crescent! Hurry! We must be 2 of the hundred lest we remain trapped here! C'mon!"

Sugar leapt from her spot and out the door following along with the smattering of aliens. Alarmingly many others fell in line and joined the convoy. This was a legit crowd now. By the time they all reached the entryway to the Golden Chapel, Sugar had ushered both she and Crescent to the front of the line by sheer force and will.

The golden radiance shone offa her enormous grin as they entered, "Ready to go home, Cres...?!"

---

 

[November Witch]

L.A.I.P.E.I

~{Malfunction?}~​

Status: Confused
Location: ???
Mentions: Sir Les Paul

Everything was dark for a moment. This was completely normal when it came to teleportation. As her atoms were disassembled and reassembled elsewhere. A momentary loss of all consciousness and internal processes. Such was the consequence for immediate travel, but it didn’t bother the android. However, she could tell even before her eyelids opened that something wasn’t right. She had lost all connection to the internet. Something that had only ever happened once when she had something inside her break. Internet was a constant everywhere she went on her planet. So something had to be wrong with her, right?

After opening her eyes, she felt even more inclined to believe it. Around her was something odd. A place she had never been before or seen. Perhaps the teleporter had messed up. Sent her to the wrong destination and messed her up somehow? She looked down at her feet and around her, but no teleportation machinery could be seen nearby… Was she moved from where she was teleported to? She checked her internal clock, but basically no time had passed. So, what was this? Laipei started a self-diagnostic on her internal hardware and software, but it would take a minute or two to complete.

Until it was finished, she would head to the nearest chair, bench, or stool and would take a seat while she waited for her diagnostic to complete. Everything seemed fine so far, which was concerning… Meanwhile, her eyes studied the people, things, and happenings around her. This only served to confuse her more. Her CPU hadn’t been this hot in a long time… She had things to do and couldn't be late for her show. Her bosses would kill her. Well, not really. But she would just have to work more to get herself out from under this company.

 

[SCP-0029]

Nora’s boots clicked against marble, her footsteps echoed faintly through the halls of the Goodfellow Inn, each step deliberate and slightly hesitant. She wore the same polyfiber suit she had landed in when the Inn had accepted her–no flashy new clothes, no quirks or eccentricities to dress herself up in, not yet at least. It wasn’t that she didn’t like variety, for she adored it, but something about the simplicity of her original suit grounded her. She had only been here for two days. Ever since she had encountered the Inn, many things once thought unreal had become surreal. Reality felt like it was balancing precariously on a wooden block, etched with the title of an old world game: Jenga.

Plus, when Nora was hungry, she found a mess hall of sorts, and when she longed for rest, she somehow found a room to rest in–or rather it found her.
It was strange . . .
. . . and also very convenient.

Clad in her utilitarian outfit–the woman was five feet six inches tall with an athletic build, her skin a warm brown tone that shimmered slightly in the ambient light of the Inn, while her jet black hair framed her face in sharp contrast. However, she believed the most unique portion of her was those bright and sharp amber eyes, a constant reminder of the consciousness she now inhabited—one that stared back at her in every reflective surface. Nora barely paid attention to the intricate architecture that seemed to shift at the corners of her vision. In this place, the constant change had become almost familiar in the short time she had been here. The environment shifted almost as often as her mother switched sleeves. And yet, it wasn’t the ever-shifting surroundings that gave her pause, but rather the realization that this body was the only one she had. In just two days, she had witnessed near-death encounters between two different species. The question lingered: what next?

If something should happen to her, then she wouldn’t be able to live recklessly. Surely, there was some way to get back to her universe, but then this posed another question: how does she get there?

A green apple rolled between her open palms as her gaze drifted, lost in thought. A spritely pixie or a dreadful doppelgänger—was that where her answers lay? All the while, such questions lingered, and a voice spoke up overhead. It would be a lie to say that this didn’t startle Nora. She hadn’t expected intercoms to be a regular occurrence here; and while she figured she’d grow accustomed to it by tomorrow—she wasn’t sure she wanted there to be a tomorrow.

“The cosmic wheel has shifted three point two-five degrees clockwise. This will close all wormholes and extradimensional spaces entered or exited since the last shift. Time dilation has subsequ–” Nora bit into the apple she had in her hand right as she came across an opening in the hallway. She had thought of wanting to be near people versus exploring a theoretical hallway, for this place felt as though it was playing off of the mere constructs of her imagination. She wanted to stroll, and so she strolled along a long stretch of ever-changing hallways. Now, she could see creatures again, life again, and this caused her eyes to dilate like an overexcited child. Eventually, such a sight would be boring to her, but right now, it was fascinating.

“Planeswalker Widald has asked willing participants for one of his experiments–” oh, experiments? This caused Nora to perk up, a smirk was playing on her lips unbeknownst to her as she searched the crowd. “He is offering a return to home universe or single plane jump for any accepting parties. Details can be found at any of the post boards in the Tavern.” The mechanical updates sounded dull with a clarity that lacked bias.

“Color me interested,” Nora said to no one in particular, her body turning on her heels as the Inn conjured up the tavern post board–right beside the tavern entrance that just formulated there in just five paces. “Fuck, this is so fascinating.” Had it not been for Nora only having one sleeve she would’ve imagined herself living here, and maybe she could, although the idea itself didn’t excite her the way experiment, return to home universe, and parties did.

Anyways, what was on the board was a letter, a piece of paper she hadn’t seen in a long time in. . . “Hm, so worlds and universes are called planes?” She wasn’t sure she was comprehending this right, a sudden thought that came to mind as her eyes skimmed over the piece of paper briefly. Nora’s curls tumbled over her shoulders as she leaned forward, a comfort that provided warmth on her neck. She read how this ‘Planeswalker’ wanted over a hundred individuals to offer their services to terminate a plant. This humored her almost immediately, a giggle escaping, as she thought, “What the fuck kind of plant requires a hundred people?” A pause. There will be no danger to your physical form. Who knew how many times her eyes reread this statement, for she hadn’t been so aware of herself before she made up her mind. By the time she was done reading it an nth time, Nora’s teeth had taken another bite out of the apple in her hand, and then she turned left and walked nowhere in particular. She wanted the Golden Chapel, and lo and behold, the Golden Chapel appeared with a label plastered on the wall beside the door frame. Nora’s hands gripped the brass handle, a hesitance that wasn’t familiar to her as she stared at her gloved hand. She hadn’t known hesitation in a long while. After what might’ve been half a minute, her hands twisted and pulled the door toward her, only for those almond eyes to squint at what might’ve been sunlight blinding her.

“Shit.”

 

[Specialist]

View attachment 1221311

VIT: 100%

LOC: "Goodfellow Inn", Room Hall, 1st Floor

INT: Sir Les Paul (Faeries)

MNT: Sir Les Paul (Faeries)​

'Charter, Merlot, Ries, and Senna.' Cora had mistaken the lot of them for being all female, yet it seemed there was a lack of defining characteristics with these beings. The announcement caused her to tilt her head upward and around at the bizarre level of clarity as her gaze swept the halls to scan for a speaker; then looking back down to the Fae as they began to diverge into another topic set entirely. Despite the relatively short attention spans of these beings, she didn't mind. At least they were conversational, and that would serve to be her information from what "Ambrose" didn't tell her. Cora reached up, placing both hands on her helmet as she lifted it up and off her head. What lay beneath was a heart-shaped face, with an angular jawline and gaunt cheeks contrasted against a slightly tan, freckled complexion. Her brown hair, evidently at one point short and regulation cut, was beginning to lengthen around her ears and develop wild frills; the front parted at the right. Piercing, unnaturally gray eyes now looked among the four Fae, and her thin and slightly downward eyebrows gave her expression an aura of focus and duty. The most notable feature, however, were several jagged scars that marked her face. One ran horizontally from the lower corner of her right eye down and across the bridge of her nose, seemingly nixing a divot of bone at the middle bridge before being repaired. Another ran vertically down her right cheek, displaying a clean cut that had healed relatively well. Yet another lined up along her jawline, and two smaller ones had occurred within inches of each other on her left cheek. Free from the speakers of the helmet, her voice came in much clearer now- light yet firm as her questions came with an undertone of intrigue and suspicion.

"What's a Plainswalker? Are you saying someone let them in and they were responsible for my being brought here?" Cora asked. This changed much of what she thought; previously under the assumption that the device the Covenant had been guarding on Onyx had been largely responsible for her circumstance. Well, perhaps that was still true. For all she knew, if could have been an open doorway, and when she fell 'through', this Plainswalker could have simply just reached out and pulled her into this place.


'All for some damn experiment..'

 

[Sir Les Paul]

>>> The Golden Chapel, arrival

Sunrooms were not uncommon within the enigmatic confines of the Goodfellow Inn. Many species had specific requirements or even constant-light requirements, making a room designed to take in constant sunlight a valuable commodity. The Inn, however, took this a step further. There were sunrooms scattered all about that could most easily found simply by getting lost, and said sunrooms not only came in different sizes and intensities, but colors and life stages of the star they watched. That is what the sunrooms of the Goodfellow Inn both incredible and impossible. Despite there being only moons (which themselves reflected lights from non-existent stars) illuminating the natural surface of the Goodfellow Inn, these sunrooms had their own unique stars to them.

A yellow dwarf, like that of the sun a regular Earth circled around? Can do. Red dwarf? Possible, too. From supergiants to white dwarfs, the Goodfellow Inn had a sunroom for every type of star you could need. It even had rooms for pulsars and black holes, with all the space radiation necessary from them. All isolated to the room, of course.
Anyone with a lick of insight to astrology or space-fairing would know full-well how absurd this reality was. It brought up a million questions: was the Goodfellow Inn somehow conjuring and sustaining those stars or was it merely viewing into the realms of other universes? No one really knew. No one could bust the glass in the sunrooms to check it out, either. It had just become one of the many mysteries of the Inn that became an accepted fact over time.

The Golden Chapel was another one of those mysteries. A mystery within a mystery, if you would. It was considerably different than most sunrooms. It was a place designed with a clear intent, though now it became a semi-permanent installment of the Inn that served a long-forgotten purpose.

Upon entering the room that would be labeled 'Golden Chapel', most beings would be briefly blinded by the light. That is because their eyes, on an evolutionary basis, would not be developed in such a way they could properly receive either the intensity or wavelengths of light present in the room. This was a situation where yet again, the Inn provided. Before the retinas or sensory organs of any such creature in the room would be singed or burned or even their skin might mutated from the rays, the magic of the Inn itself would attune their body to the intense rays of the Golden Chapel. Not only that, it would remember the attunement, so that they may never be blinded again - at least from that room.

The Golden Chapel admittedly was somewhat of a misnomer. The room itself actually contained a building that was a chapel, but it was surrounded by a court area akin to a ballroom. The chapel was effectively a building inside a room much like it was a mystery inside a mystery.

That didn't actually take away from the splendor. Even those that traveled space often only saw it and subsequently the world of light they perceived through the lens of their own organic eye. Even some with augmentation only saw an adapted version. Here, what they saw was the light in its true form. Floating in the sky behind a glass pane larger than the front side of any Imperial-class ship was a floating white ball of young gas: an O-type star. One of the rarest, heaviest, and hottest known to astrology. More so, in its orbit were several smaller red dwarf variants. Not an impossible arrangement in most universes, but rare enough that it would almost always be marked as a point of interest.

What the arrangement did for this room went far beyond being a rare sight. The Golden Chapel was truly made of shimmering gold, or at least a comparable alloy. The light from the main star was a bright, white light with blue tinges around its edges. This reflected off of the golden chapel and onto the floor. There, it danced and mixed with the more faint, somewhat yellow-tinged soft lights from the red dwarves. It made the white marble stone appear as a canvas to the constant swirls of purples and blues along the border of the chapel. As if an eternal flame was lit around the perimeter of the building. A sight only possible to see because the Inn had dulled the absorption of light through their eyes, though this was an intentional effect all along.

While one might have thought the Chapel was the centerpiece of the room, they would be incorrect. Despite being a building all its own, it was just a placeholder for the incredible and oddly large room it was housed in.

>>> Hallway en route to Tavern by Cora-III Specialist

Cora had questions and the Pixies had answers. Quite excitedly so, at least from Merlot. This particular pixie delighted in sharing his admittedly extensive knowledge. If not for how helpful he was, there could be an argument made he was just as arrogant as Ries, the Aurum pixie, just for wholly different reasons. In either case, he would be the first to explain, and probably for the better; his explanation would cover more than what the other three could drum up anyway.

"Planeswalker is an old, old term for people that can willingly move between planes of reality. Before I explain that, I should tell you that, uh..." he trailed off, trying to piece together this part of his explanation and simply failing at procuring the words. Even great minds like Merlot and Widald didn't have all the answers.

"Sometimes the world just fucks up," Charter injected, flying up to Merlot and pacing his hand on the shoulder of the other pixie. "You don't have to be perfect or polite all the time," he added, reassuring his fellow pixie.

Ries scoffed, but it was enough reassurance for Merlot.

"Yeah... it fucks up. Some people that work with technology call it a glitch. The people that believe in it call it fate. It happens in countless ways: teleporting, falling in a dark hole, submerging into water, hyperspace jumps, magical portals--the list goes on. Point is, Cora, the world itself is flawed and in its errors--at the creases we make when we try to bend it--sometimes you slip through. If you're lucky, you just end up at the Inn," he told her, raising his finger right after his whole explanation, "so it's doubtful Widald or any Planeswalker had anything to do with your arrival."

"Then we get back to Planes. Mmm, so I'm sure you know how space travel works. Conventionally, there are galaxy, galaxy clusters, super clusters... those are just normal space, though. There are subspaces, like the slipstream, but those only exist in their home universe. There are parallel spaces, too, all generally connected to the same place. When you look at all the subspaces and parallel spaces of a single place combined, we call it a universe. But, it's almost never that simple. Sometimes, subspaces or parallel worlds are shared. Sometimes, there's some weird relationship between them. Sometimes, they're actually mirrors or branching timelines of each other. All of those things are called multiverses. This is where things get a little complicated. Planes are generally places that have different laws of reality to them. Light or gravity may be different, for example. Sometimes, these planes are just part of a universe. That's how Planeswalkers first got their name," he told her, then stopped, yet again needing to pause to consolidate his words.

"It gets a little weird, especially if you only ever thought there was your universe," Charter told her, being fairly considerate in knowing this was a lot for Merlot to have to unfold in a short time.

"Y-Yeah..." Senna added, "Most people at the Inn don't even get it." Shy, but another truth shared. A good majority of the people at the Inn never figured out quite how all of this world structure worked.

"I don't blame them. There are all these words the scholars use. Like, uh... okay, Cora, listen to this. There are technically two domains above multiverse: Omniverse and a Plane of Existence. But, the terms are antiquated. Just like how an Elemental Plane of Fire isn't the same as a whole different Plane of Existence. An Omniverse is meant to encompass all connected multiverses, abstract ideas, and laws of reality. Buuuuut, there are millions of known omniverses. A god-like ability in one might not affect the other at all. Then, there are outerversal powers that should have the ability to affect space or abstract ideas out of their home universe or omniverse, but sometimes don't. Everything is relative. To avoid the issue of just making things bigger and adding -verse at the end, scholars made a Plane of Existence the hard cut-off point. Those Planes are when verses stop affecting each other at all. Even powers that are allegedly outerversal can't breach Planes," Merlot told her, half-incredulous with a tone of disapproval at how things were organized in the hierarchy of worlds. Not that he could do anything about it.

"That's the difference between a normal Planeswalker and a Greater Planeswalker. There are tons of people that can travel through multiverses, but very few that can just stroll between Planes of Existence," Charted injected, adding some clarity to a term they used earlier.

"That doesn't even begin to cover travel. Since Planes of Existence have different laws of reality, you need instruments that can measure the differences and adjust. That's just space travel; magic is even more fucky," Merlot added on, halting his further explanation upon the realization that it would be even longer than the first. This shift in tone was obvious in how he dialed back his cadence and became less formal in the latter half of his statement.

"That's what the announced change was. A looong time ago, a council of Planeswalkers invented the Planar Axis Scope. It uses the Inn as a constant and measures every axis needed for transport to a specific location. It makes sure you get the right universe and timeline by confirming each point of variance. When axes shift, and they do pretty often, all the old paths that were traveled on it are gone," Charter told her, hopping off of the point Merlot made and switching over to a more practical application.

Ries huffed. It was hard to tell, but her nose was pinched up at the dull, lengthy explanations the others were providing. "What they reaaaaally mean," Ries corrected, "is that you can't just go home the same way you got here anymore."


>>> L.A.I.P.E.I response November Witch

Was she an android? A cyborg? Or, just a plain robot? It didn't matter. Not anymore. In the Inn, she was just another girl. In truth, in the Inn, she could be whatever she wanted, but now she was no longer shackled by the restraints of her former life.

While she took a moment to cool down her CPU and try to piece together some sense of what was going on, her new partner was trying to do something similar. These all-cybernetic types were always a challenge. Only a handful of Doppelgangers went through the surgery to have a neural net adapter in place to effectively read the minds of these robots. Once installed, their powers would work all the same, just with additional strain and the need for greater interpretation on the end of the doppelganger.

Shift once, an overweight man in his mid thirties. An overweigh beard, bent glasses frame, and outfit in propaganda masquerading as merchandise.

Shift twice, a young human girl of fourteen or fifteen, lithe with braces and starry-eyed. Oddly, wearing that same merch, this time just better fitting.

Shift thrice, an older woman, perhaps the mother of one of those starry-eyed little girls, perhaps a secret fan in her own right.

A groan. None this would do.

A fourth and final shift to a familiar face, albeit not a well known one. One of the engineers that worked on her frame. During her early stages, there were tweaks and adjustments that needed made to help with her on-stage range of motion. Alterations that made her movements more fluid and seem more human. While nameless to her, this particular engineer was one that had been around long enough to deeply embed his face into her facial recognition software. It was also mundane enough that the doppelganger could tolerate it.

The greatest benefit was that this girl had came from a world of constant internet access. Her superiors could already read her mind at any time. Breaching that level of personal security, thus, shouldn't come as any surprise to her.

"I hate to disappoint, but you won't making any of your appointments," the Engineer told her, his voice slowly morphing as it finally took on a form that was also... oddly familiar. As if it were 'Default_Male_Voice_1' from her databanks, just the first fitting thing that would work. Not the neckbeard, the little girl, or the older one, though their voices echoed briefly in the first words he said. No, this man was trying to be as mundane as he could.

"If I were you, I would treat this as if you were in LAZARUS protocol," the Engineer suggested, somewhat smugly. Of course, there was reason for that. Due to the neural interface he had, he could pry around in her mind however he saw fit. There was a lot of information, but he prided himself on wasting no time on the minutia and narrowing things down to what mattered. LARARUS protocol was the commands for if she was ever to be booted up by an enemy of the state or in a foreign land after a prolonged period of downtime. The purpose of the protocol was to set her priority to returning to manufacturer and refusal to divulge any state secrets. More so, she would reboot with the goal to learn as much as possible about the nation or country she was in, as well as its secrets and technology. She was only ever instructed to terminate if she could confirm the destruction of her home country. Clearly, that wasn't the case.

"The choice is yours, though," he pivoted, "I just wouldn't want you to fry your sockets when you learn magic and aliens exist."

Given nothing about this environment made sense and the girl had just came in from a platform near the docks (designed to safely receive many teleportation-related failures), there wasn't a lot to go on beyond what this shape-shifter had told her.

>>> Sugar Response BuggaBoo

"Ducata," answered the gelatinous bivalve of a creature. There was some disappointment from it as it watched Sugar leave, but such was common amongst many of the newcomers. Hopefully, if the Ork ever returned, she would remember the name and perhaps seek her out. Then again, the chance of ever meeting someone twice in the Inn was sometimes questionable. Nevertheless, it was pretty clear the large green woman had some place important to be. Off to the mechanisms of Widald. It was hard to convey any of their concerns given their form, voice, and how quick Sugar was to act anyway.

Cres would accompany Sugar through all the wandering it took to eventually get to the Golden Chapel. Imposter or not, most of the suggestions and questions that came from Sugar were less of questions and more of announcement of what she was doing. Instead of trying to make any fuss about, the imposter known as Cres went along with it, supporting her endeavors until they finally reached the Golden Chapel.

Once they had, Cres did finally offer an actual response to Sugar. It had to, if only to explain that it didn't intend on going through with the experiment. It just had to somehow deliver that notion without deeply upsetting its companion. "Maybe. It depends on what this Widald fellow would have you do," it answered, teasing the hope that came with the possibility of a return. "I'm not so keen to subject myself to being an experiment, but that should be fine. I'll be there with you when you get home, one way or another," it explained. Not so much a convenient lie; in truth, the creature had no way of knowing if the real Cres would be there and alive by the time Sugar made it home. It was at least an easier pill to swallow than his outright rejection.

>>> The Golden Chapel, greeting

With the immediate blinding light gone and a moment to soak in the Chapel, what was actually going on in the room would become more clear. Dozens if not already over a hundred applicants were present, though determining who was who would prove a task to anyone that would try. Widald had an assortment of assistants ranging from locals to multiversal vagabonds even to other Planeswalkers seeking to learn from him. Quirky though he was and questionable were his ethics, he had a following. Not quite a cult following, but close enough.

Many of these assistants were guiding applicants to what appeared to be massive heads of lettuce, which at first were entirely unfurled, but when someone entered, conformed to their shape. Most of these plants were over twelve foot tall, capable of encapsulating most average races. The advertisement never did say giants need not apply, but perhaps it should have. The network was interesting, though. Upon closer inspection, a root system connected each one these pods to a cluster of vines that ran along the wall. The exact count of pods was unclear, especially as the actual length of the room was huge. The tricks the light played and fact all the pods were the same color of green eventually made them blend together into a homogenous mixture that painted the wall a verdant hue. At the very least, the room had the pleasant smell of a salad, watery and almost fresh. A smell most would associate with life itself, as water was a common denominator amongst most species.

Not that anyone arriving wouldn't be greeted.

Darius, for example, would find himself greeted by some type of avian race. Still humanoid in many ways, but her skin was coated in a downy material of a rustic brown and her hair was replaced with a mane of short, furled feathers closer to a red. She did have actual wings that entirely changed the structure of her ribcage, but most of how it did that was covered by a well tailored coat of a lighter brown that complimented her base color. Her mouth and nose were instead a beak and her eyes larger with slits, but all in all, still humanoid enough in shape. Though awkwardly short, she even had arms capable of scribbling notes and holding a clip board. "No, no! You're right on time," she replied, her voice high pitched. There was no weird bird-like squawk, but a slight click as her beak opened. It also never moved as she spoke, unlike lips.

Everyone entering the room would be greeted by some type of individual in much the same way. Nora was met with the most human of all perhaps, only slightly different in that the sclera of his eyes were more yellow and his eyes pinpoint, alongside more pinkish skin. He consoled her, telling her that almost everyone reacted to the light that way.

Sugar was greeted by a feline humanoid. A woman coated in a dark, thick fur of navy hue with two long tendrils sprouted off her back that had some type of suction-cup type design. As if a displacer beast given human form, and similarly, unable to speak because of it. To greet Sugar, she had to press her hand to a metallic box situated in a harness in the center of her chest, which did her speaking for her. It wasn't quite clear how it worked, but it worked well enough for Sugar to understand. Luckily, Sugar wouldn't need to learn how any of that worked for the next portion of this task.

Once greeted, everyone was given a sheet of paper and instructed to answer the questions, with the help of an assistant if need be. Much like the post boards, these papers were soups of random scribbles and letters to most, but with the magic of the Inn, took form to their native language. The list of questions were relatively simple: name, age (and how age is measured), gender or gender-equivalent term, home world if known, description of body to best ability, notable skills, and reason for partaking in the experiment. After filling out that form, the rest would be explained.

GM Note
This is meant to be read as arrival at the Golden Chapel into the greeting. Because there are six of you, I'm covering a lot of ground to give you all unique introductions before we get to the Widald experiment. Daisie has yet to post, but we're going to assume that Reavis, like Darius, made it to the Golden Chapel. That essentially leaves Cora and Laipei to show up, but they'll get the same treatment as everyone in this post.

 

[Lost Martian]

As Darius opened the door to the sun room, a blinding light would overtake him. Immediately his eyes stung, Darius not able to see anything past the light. But then the magic of the Inn would kick in, a weird sensation passing through Darius’s eyes briefly, changing something about their makeup.

With these newly enchanted eyes, Darius’s newly changed vision would adjust to the lighting in the chapel. However he would not be prepared for what he saw in the room, there being what looked like a galaxy spread out across the ceiling. Various different colored stars would float around from behind a glass pane, a white one in the center of the ceiling.

Initially Darius thought that perhaps it was some kind of magic, a little image meant to make the room seem fancier. But something else was telling Darius that this could perhaps be actual stars, as he still had no clue how the Goodfellow Inn worked exactly. Darius briefly wished that he had watched more Star Trek to know more about this stuff.

Stepping into the chapel, Darius would then note the fact that this Golden Chapel was actually made of gold. Once more he wondered how exactly the mysterious owners of the Inn could afford just how ridiculously expensive everything they owned would cost. Darius did almost consider taking off his shoes as to not dirty the ornate room.

But before any decisions could be made, a bird person approached, telling him that he was indeed on time. Darius would suddenly become aware that the room was already crowded, a quick partial head count telling Darius that there was definitely already more than a hundred people present.

Darius would begin worrying about the selection process, as he really wanted to return home. He would doubt his own worth compared to the muscled Orcs, heavily armed Cyborgs or any of the other adventuring types present in the room. The only thing that Darius really had going for him in being picked for this experiment was that he was a Human genetic off-shoot, special powers like his not seeming the norm here at the Inn.

The bird lady would then hand Darius a form and a fountain pen, telling him to fill out the entire questionnaire. Despite the room being packed, Darius was still able to find a chair. Once sitting down, Darius would look over the questions, the paper filled with what looked like a mix of runes, hieroglyphics, and just a series of dots. But then the enchantment would kick in, the symbols shifting into English.

The first couple of questions would be easy, Darius putting down his name, gender, and age, noting that it was based on the time taken for his home planet to orbit its sun. Then things would get harder to answer, like home universe. Darius wasn’t sure if they wanted his universe of birth or the one he was currently living in before coming to the Inn. Either way he didn’t know any kind of filing system for his world, so he just put unknown.

Darius would then speed through the rest of the form, making sure to note his genetic variation in order to seem like a more interesting applicant for the experiment. Getting up, Darius would find that the bird lady hadn’t wandered too far away. Walking over, Darius would hand her back the sheet and pen.

“So what now? Do I wait for this Planeswalker guy to make his pick on who is accepted?” asked Darius.

Darius really hoped that he would be one of them. While he was indifferent to the whole experiment part of it, the whole one free return to a home universe was the thing that had brought him here. While his time so far at the Goodfellow Inn was not unpleasant, ten days was long enough away from his family that Darius greatly missed them.

 

[Specialist]

VIT: 100%

LOC: "Goodfellow Inn", Room Hall, 1st Floor > Golden Chapel

INT: Sir Les Paul (Pixies) [OPEN]

MNT: Sir Les Paul (Pixies)
​

Through the entire explanation offered between the various Pixies, Cora's attention never faltered. Her attention was captured; honed in on each being with the practiced gaze of a well attuned listener. Yet, she did have her limits. The grander hierarchy of this "multiversal magnitude" began to muddle her understanding, her comprehension of such things beyond. However confusing, it did make sense why so many here chose to abandon the life they once held in favor of countless gratifications. Even more so when considering that simply returning home was no definite option. Seconds could tick into years, and once the home universe was out of alignment, all was lost- perhaps until the next rotation, and who knows how long that was. Regardless of her circumstance of arrival and the explanations thereof, she was trapped here and quite literally dependent on the extended offer of this 'Widald' to get home to her correct universal timeline. As forced as her hand was, the experience wasn't negative. All things considered, it could be so much worse. After the group finished their explination, Cora studied each of them; her eyes softening as she spoke. "Right.. Well, this 'Widald' won't wait forever, as much as I would like to stay and chat. You can come along if you want, but I don't expect you to." With that, Cora slipped her helmet back on her head, the HUD re-initializing as her speakers crackled to life once more. "In the event this whole thing goes sideways and I'm truly stranded here, I'm not quite done knowing about all that classified UNSC information. That'll be for another time, though." Cora jerked her head to the side; politely sidestepping the group as she strode down the hall, out to the tavern, and went in the direction of the Golden Chapel.

---

True to its name, the blinding light caused her visor to polarize to its full tint the moment she pushed past the ornate set of vaulted oakwood double doors. The chapel was astounding; grand chandeliers, rows of hardwood pews, and stained mosaic glass paintings lining the windows with rays of golden light streaking down and painting their marks across the burgundy carpet. Cora herself had never been religious- she wasn't even sure that her parents were. Yet stepping into the Chapel filled her with a strange sense of warmth; as if only a multiversal church itself could radiate a genuine holy authority better than Earthen priests. The amalgamation of yellow blips on her motion sensor turned into a blob; the innumerable count of aspiring applications, clergy, and other staff milling about the room had caused the sensor suite itself to stutter for a few seconds. Though, her eyes weren't drawn to the sensor. At the center past the crowd was a large lectern, and situated slightly off to the right of the elevated platform that separated the preacher from the crowd had to have been Widald themselves- currently immersed in side conversations with others of similar stature around him as their eyes briefly flicked from prospective members of the audience back to their own side conversation.

They sure knew how to draw a crowd, that was for damn sure. As Cora advanced along the center path and up past the rows and rows of pews, her mind wondered the thoughts of everyone present. Did they help out of fervor? Devotion? Seeking to be in good graces? Or did they help our of desperation to go back to where they belonged; worried about the fate of their respective universe like she was? There was a war going on, and each second still here could mean the difference between victory and defeat for the Human race. What were Widald's true intentions, and those shadowing him? Could they be trusted? Hell, she trusted "Ambrose" and those Pixies more than this being using their own universes as a bargaining chip. A few strides more, and she was now at the back of the crowd. It didn't help that she was tall and armor-clad- and that the damn light rays were glinting off her armor like she was a disco ball either.

 

[November Witch]

L.A.I.P.E.I

~{A Test, Perhaps?}~​

Status: Confused & Suspicious
Location: ???
Mentions: Sir Les Paul

Her eyes widened in surprise and concern. She’d seen him around before… Why was he here, and how? There hadn’t been a mass teleportation accident for hundreds of years, if she remembered correctly… How could someone else end up here with her? But his words and demeanor surprised her more. He didn’t seem concerned or worried about the situation at hand. More importantly, there was a smug undertone to his words… Was this some test that was being run on her? It was the thing that made the most sense at the moment.

Her eyes narrowed and she looked him up and down. “It would depend on your definition of magic. But aliens wouldn’t surprise me.” The robot replied calmly. While her tone was more confused, and possibly even showing a bit of concern, there was a hint of annoyance and suspicion there. If this was a test being performed, it wasn’t funny. Her guard was coming up now. She stood and moved to pass him. Maybe getting a look at this place would help her make head or tails of her current situation. If he wanted to be all vague and mysterious, then fine. She didn't need anyone's help anyway.

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Sugar' - Cherisse Rianni

​

Blinded, Abandoned, Defeated...

Oh how she wished she had her suit right now. That darling nano-alloyed beauty would've saved causing an unnecessary scene.

Immediately she screeched, eyes scorched by what felt like the absolute brilliance of 1001 golden suns. The pain would be akin to searing hot liquid salt poured directly in to a recently re- opened wound and rubbed in vigourously with steel wool for good measure. Without her tech to protect her keen vision, she instead had befallen to the weakness inherited by every Orc that came before her; light sensitivity.

Down to the intricate and immaculately kept flooring was the massive she-beast felled. Although not completely fallen and out of it, still a single knee landed heavily and painfully with a resounding thud.

"Cres. Assist me please! Enact; Alleviate Anguish--"

"I'm not so keen to subject myself to being an experiment, but that should be fine. I'll be there with you when you get home, one way or another."

"Wait! Cres! Crescent don't go! Please don't go! I don't want to be alone! Cres, Please...!" A huge green hand clutched desperately at her burning eyes, the other reached out blindly, shaking and waving, imploring the little Bugno to return. Bitter salty waters threatened to fall from the corners of her eyes.

But those tears weren't ones made of purely abandonment were they? No, they were ones made of denial being broken down, finally seen and finally admitted. The Rianni Royal was humiliated because she chose to believe the lie. Had she truly believed that this 'Crescent' was her loverly and loyal Bugno co-pilot and confidante? After all the obvious signs that he was not who he really was, she chose to lead herself towards the opposite of the logical thing to do; she had put faith in hope beyond reason. Such a thing was something that only the desperate would ever do.

And yet no tears fell. As humilated as she was, kneeling with head bowed low now, hands clasped meekly upon her lap, Sugar was born too proud to cry. She was still 2nd daughter of the Rianni Matriarch; royal blooded to represent her family, her mother, her name. No tears even if she was the last of her kind.

2 deep breaths she took. Mettle steeled again, the Orc dared to open her eyes.

It was no surprise that fate would send in a feline lifeform. It was no surprise then that when she opened her eyes, vision cleared now, she looked up at the face of her mortal enemy as she knelt. And despite every fibre of her being screaming for her to absolutely eviscerate and devastate this... this vermin, that would not come to pass.

For as much of a speciesist as she was towards the Faeralis peoples something had clicked inside her brain as she stared into the vertical slit eyes of the feline lifeform before her; not everything is as it seems. In fact trailing that thought was literally; 'I could be dreaming or even living a near death experience right now.'

Massive tattooed shoulders heaved up and down slowly in time with her just as massive sigh. The beast of a woman rose up onto both feet, towering over the feline lifeform. Blue eyes that always sparkled with the sweetness and mirth of a little girl seated at the head of her birthday party table was non existen as of now. Only the icy hue of the cold north remained. But there would be no violence, yet she still believed it was as her Aunts had stated;

Not enemy? Not friend either.

But at least she acknowleged and afforded a nod to the being who was not-an-ugly-assed-fuzzy-Faeralis-worthless-and-disgusting-lower-lifeform-Vermin.

"Hmph. Well, it would appear my confidante and scribe is no longer present. Right. I will dictate and you will scribble with your very ancient and just as inefficient... 'implements of communication tech' for me. Now. Listen carefully..."

---

 

[SCP-0029]

When Nora opened the chapel door, light crashed over her like a tidal wave. It was blinding, unrelenting, obscuring her vision before her brain could catch up with what was before her. Her pupils had shrunk into pinpricks, and for a moment, the world was nothing but a white void, swallowing everything whole in a way that was briefly familiar to her. Then, shapes began to emerge slowly, maybe a bit too slowly, for Nora found it all displeasing, and then suddenly the sting faded. Nevertheless, the ghost of the blinding light lingered, and Nora couldn’t help but blink once–twice.

“Everyone reacts to the light this way.”

That’s when she heard him, a human-looking person. His voice was surprisingly gentle, and her eyes squinted to focus on him more clearly. Once they’d dilated, her amber eyes met yellow, and his skin was pinkish. She couldn’t quite believe what she was looking at for a moment because Nora hadn’t seen someone with pinkish skin before, and the woman wasn’t expecting her first conversation to be with someone who looked like a character she had seen children scribble on their tablets. Yet, he wasn’t as two-dimensional as he was three-dimensional, for he was a real person that existed before her. . . or was he?

“Trippie,” she heard herself say, still disoriented from entering the room. Even though she was speaking to him, her eyes immediately shot up to take in the source of her sensory discomfort, only to be distracted by The Golden Chapel, precisely as the name implied: it was golden. Light from a rare star, an O-type to be exact, had been refracted and bounced off of the shimmering walls and floor alongside the red dwarves that accompanied it in the glass that entrapped it. At this point there was no telling if she meant the room or the pink man who spoke to her.

It wasn’t long before the smell of vegetation and a faint smell of musk, likely from the hundreds of individuals crowded in the Chapel, began to overwhelm another sense of hers.

Another distraction. A deep inhale. Then exhale.

Verdant leaves clung to vines along the wall, and upon closer inspection, an intricate root system connecting to what appeared to be pods that filled the ample space before her. Despite its spaciousness, Nora was overwhelmed as she felt like her bubble was beginning to feel smaller. It reminded her of when she first came across the Inn two days ago and how the place had knocked her off her kilter. She was not expecting the Golden Chapel to be so ornate, otherworldly, surreal, but then again, what did she expect? Maybe she had expected it to take on a fanatic flare, mimicking an Ancient Roman Catholic Church with ornate structural designs or museums with their pension for regal flare and ivory marble flooring. Something simple, yet that was her mistake, for the Goodfellow Inn was anything but, and its peculiarity made itself known as beings filed in to partake in Widald’s experiment.

Almost as if the room itself wasn’t enough, Nora was provided a sheet of paper by the enigmatic pink man before her, and unfortunately, she quickly realized that she was expected to write on this. “Okay, when was the last time I wrote on paper,” she asked no one in particular.

“Shit,” she mumbled.

Staring down at the piece of paper between her fingers, Nora read what was asked of her before her visage contorted into skepticism. Then it changed yet again, as she realized just how simple the questions were in contrast to the room she was standing in. Taking a deep breath, Nora steadied herself, her heart racing at the prospect of this happening. She would be engaging in yet another experiment, and the fact that she was an experiment in and of itself brought a smirk to her face. It was daunting; the young woman hadn’t expected any of this to happen, but she lived partaking in the unexpected.

With a hum, Nora ran a hand through her dark curls, her wild hair collecting halfway down her back as she finished reading, the feel of the grainy parchment a strange comfort between her forefingers. Then, there was that light humidity, the sense of the spectral light touching her face, and she briefly pondered if she was like one of the strange plants on the wall. Strangely enough, there was just something about how her body was reacting that made her feel energized, and though she was beginning to brim with anxiety, there was also the anticipation of experiencing something more.

“Do you happen to have something to write with?” She then asked the man, her hand tossing her dark curls over her shoulder before she held it out expectantly. With a determination to get this done, Nora was now much more curious about what this expedition, or better yet, ‘experiment,’ would entail once again. Her amber eyes gleamed with a child's restrained excitement and curiosity. Surely destroying a plant wasn’t all that Widald wanted, right?

 

[Sir Les Paul]

Darius

---

The assistant that had first greeted Darius had taken another set of applicants. Another humanoid much like himself with only minor patches of keratinized skin that looked like scales and one much larger with porcine features and pallid skin. Neither of importance, just others under her wing. No pun intended. It was simply that the flow of applicants was steady, even though it had well exceeded the original one hundred mark. It made more than a fair amount of sense that Darius would be curious, if not a bit confused, about the recruitment methods.

The avian woman turned back to Darius, receiving the sheet he had offered. She didn't even look at it. Her attention was on him. Not in any concerned way, but in an oddly empathetic one. Due to the enchantments of the inn, she did well enough in picking up his concerns. Reading between the lines, so to speak. This was more of her personal skill than it was the magic of the Inn. Just because the language barrier was dissolved didn't necessarily mean everyone was suddenly good with communication. Darius was likely still too new to the Inn to have learned that lesson in earnest.

She could not smile. In the most literal sense, she had a beak. Instead, the pupils of her eyes dilated slightly and her head tilted itself.

"Ahh, I should explain," she said, a hint of guilt in her voice. Her beak barely opened, it only needed a tiny slit for her to annunciate. Her tiny arms crossed, an odd sight that might bring visions of a sassy velociraptor to mind. That said, it wasn't incredibly clear what that body language was attempting to convey.

"The experiment is not limited to just one hundred applicants," she informed him, "the wording in the advertisement is somewhat misleading... Widald calls it marketing. In short, we want at least one hundred applicants."

Now that made sense. Traders even in a post apocalyptic Chicago used similar grimy techniques. A false sense of urgency, inflate the value of goods or services. Same concept just in the greater multiverse. It didn't change the stakes, though it most definitely might leave a bad taste in the mouth of someone that was particularly sensitive to the feeling of being deceived. This particular assistant didn't seem entirely approving of the method. That, or she didn't particularly understand exactly what was going on. A situation where both outcomes netted the same result.

"Your biological form and conscious mind are compatible with the task, so you're already accepted," she further explained, "the paperwork is for analysis performed after we complete the experiment. Once you are finished, we would like you to describe your experience - either written or dictated."

With that, her head straightened out and she finally uncurled her arms and pointed down the long walk that was the full courtyard of the golden chapel. Dozens more assistants and hundreds of the open plants that appeared like hundreds of layers of crisp lettuce. "As long as you're still willing, you'll walk down the row until someone instructs you to enter an empty pod. You'll be placed in a brief stasis to assure your body remains safe at all times," she informed him, this time more matter-of-fact. These were just the necessary steps to complete such an experiment on this wide of a scale. Of course, she could be asked more questions, but it was much more clear now. This was more of a Ford-style assembly line for applicants.

She did add, somewhat ominously, "what goes on after is extremely complicated magic. Only Widald knows exactly how it works."



Cora

---

The pixies didn't intend on stopping her or pursuing her. That chance encounter for Cora with a new species was just one of hundreds if not thousands they had experienced in their lifetimes. As if some type of Fae entomologists, Cora was but another type of ant for them to view in the wilderness that was the Goodfellow Inn. Long gone were the days that playing God with ants was interesting. Now, these moments were but quick moments of entertainment in their days. They would, of course, always meet another Spartan.

A small conversation sparked between them once they believed Cora out of earshot. Or, perhaps they didn't. "It's always so cute that they think the UNSC matters so much..." Ries said to her companions, though her tone was somewhat demeaning. A fact that didn't help when Merlot coldly responded, "It's all they know, Ries. They have no idea that at least a few Endless always esca..." but finally, the end of her hearing was truly exceeded.

. . .​

Much like all those that came before her, Cora was met by an assistant after having spent some time in the line. Being slightly late to the party did that, but it wouldn't diminish her chances of getting in. She was met by a humanoid creature that resembled an admittedly well groomed combination of a Jiralhanae brute and a lion or tiger of some sort. He was no ape-like brute, but instead a fairly well refined albeit rugged and hearty feline. His slit eyes scanned her over for a moment and a gruff huff of a sound came from him. She wouldn't know it, but it was the closest thing his race could do to chuckle.

"Another Spartan?" he asked. Rhetorical. If he were more humanoid, it might have been obvious. In truth, rhetorical questions were considered bad manners and poor form in the Goodfellow Inn. Questions and sarcasm didn't always work well with the automatic translations and combining those two elements only made it worse.

"You're the third I've seen alone," he told her, a follow-up that was quick enough to dismiss any potential confusion. He confirmed yet again that her kind were oddly common within the Inn.

Exactly had he had done with all the others, he provided her a pen, some paper, and walked her well away from the central hallway she had just entered and back into some arranged seating in the courtyard. Here is where the various light spectrums from the suns danced and fused together, but more so, it was closer to where the verdant pods that looked like countless rows of massive lettuce grown in hydroponic sterility were lined along the walls. A taste of what was actually to come.

The soup of symbols on the paper merged together in a quick vortex until they stabilized in lines of black into into a language Cora could comprehend. The paper, as it would turn out, would contain a rather simple set of instructions: name, age (and how age is measured), gender or gender-equivalent term, home world if known, description of body to best ability, notable skills, and reason for partaking in the experiment.

"Under your description, you can put down what generation you are and if any experimental or prototype augments or genetic sequences were used on you - to your knowledge, of course," he told her, knowing full-well that Spartans like her often came with a thousand letters for pre-defined changes made to their body types. A fact that could actually be used for better assessment later, but in the moment was far too much information for any one single individual to know about across all the different universes Spartans could hail from. If not for how well-informed the pixies were but a moment ago, how much this feline humanoid knew about Spartans might have been off-putting. Combined even more with the fact the slightly puffy fur around his mouth didn't match the words he seemed to say in the slightest.

Sometimes the magic of the Inn didn't play well with something like a relatively archaic HUD from a single-universe species.

"Have you fought the Flood yet?" he asked, genuinely. Mostly because, from what he knew, she might end up feeling right at home in this experiment if so.



L.A.I.P.E.I

---

Lai wouldn't find any resistance in her attempt to walk past the visage of a lowly engineer. In fact, he wouldn't even continue talking to her for some time. Just beyond him was the entrance to one of the main taverns in the entirety of the Inn. If there were ever a place the android would be hit with information-overload, it would be there. Ushering herself into the room would show her a world she was never programmed for. In her defense, at least, it was a world that virtually no organic life form was made for, either. The Goodfellow Inn defied the laws of many planes of reality and derailed most trains of reason. It just was.

The tavern area was in fact huge. Immediate attempts to get an idea of its exact size using points of reference and various mathematical models had to stop and begin recalculating once more data was brought in. A football field? An aircraft carrier? A space station? The calculations continued to grow until she was hit with an error that the pixel density of her visual sensors were simply inadequate to get an accurate size of the place. Never in her short, synthetic life had that happened before. Then again, she had also never met an an actual alien, yet in front of her were thousands of not tens of thousands. Biological life existed around her that no database she had ever had access to possessed an explanation for.

"Go on," the engineer told her, this time as a simulated voice in her neural net uplink. It was similar to, albeit more lively than the way her handlers had sent her long-distance text instructions. Wireless communications were often interpreted more as Boolean commands with specific parameters from a trained programmer, assuring Lai received accurate instructions coded to her programmed mind. What she received now was some type of bastardization of that system. The doppelganger was using a psionic ability - essentially magic - that was being converted not only into a signal that Lai could receive, but a set of data she could interpret. It was never intended to be used as a replacement for voice comms, but here she was. Stuck with him in her head, apparently.

"Everyone is an alien here," he told her, his tone somewhat haughty. He was intentionally playing on the annoyance she portrayed. He wasn't sure if her AI was so well-developed she was essentially sentient or if it was merely a decent approximation, but it didn't matter. If she spent long in the Inn, someone would likely upgrade her to true sentience anyway. He might as well treat her like so.

"Including yourself," he added, which actually made logical sense. If she was, in fact, not in her home nation on her home planet or potentially in her home world, then she would be an alien by definition.

He could continue on with these relatively thought provoking comments, mostly trying to push her processing power to the absolute limit. He doubted she would be willing to accept what was truly going on until she had effectively given up and given in to the realization of what this world truly was. That being, nothing like anything she was ever built for.

In the tavern alone, she perceived hundreds of thousands of potential threats ranging from the traits of certain species to the food some were being served. Caustic even to her resistant metal frame made of multi-layer composite alloys. Countless form factors ranging from the humanoids she saw in her home world to races described in literary tales she had once reviewed to impossible or even amorphous forms that she couldn't immediately create an explanation for on a scientific level. She saw creatures that towered twice over her, leaning into the second or even third story of this incredibly tall open tavern format, to tiny creatures like pixies and even smaller. Her auditory processing was equally overwhelmed, hearing thousands of conversations all overlapping in languages she couldn't parse. Her mind, digital as it was, had not settled into the magic of the Inn. Whereas she was designed to listen to hundreds of conversations simultaneously and draw data from them before, now she couldn't even decipher a single language from far more. It wasn't even clear whether it was the complexity of learning a new language simply by hearing it or the overwhelming amount of new data being presented to her.

"You don't even know it, but you've already seen magic," he told her. It was true. She had. Over in a far-off distance she could barely perceive, a group of what looked like short-statured, rat-like humanoids around a target throwing knives. Kobolds were what they were. An older variant, not the draconic bloodline from many other realms. These ones were just having fun in their little rat pack, though little did they know one was already cheating. Using a minor form of telekinesis to move a thrown dagger into place on a target. Said knife didn't match trajectory.

Various beings using magic to heat up or cool their foods to their liking.

Some even doing parlor tricks such as small fireballs or sparklers that meager technology could recreate. Feats so small they could slip by the suppression of the Inn and things that could be explained away by the mental gymnastics of someone determined to deny the existence of magic.

He didn't continue. Instead, he intended to let her explore as long as she wanted. She would, he rationalized, have to come back eventually. That or begin a conversation with someone else; and, in such case, he could listen in on. It would be interesting to see how she would attempt to explain away the magic that translated languages in the Inn, if she were so persistent. In truth, the more data she collected, the more be believed she could only come to the conclusion he told her being truth. In which case, the most logical decision would be to return to him; the only sentient life that had greeted her thus far.



Sugar

---

Whether she cared to admit it or not, this Faeralis had dictated every answer Sugar had provided fairly quickly, and the questions were simple enough. What occurred as the woman wrote was an odd dance of the letters and characters she scribed onto the paper taking form of a native language Sugar could understand. Which, in turn, meant that the orc could quite easily determine that every word, no matter how superfluous, was being written down for her exactly as she said it. Auto-translators weren't exactly uncommon for space-fairing species, though most simply learned a series of common languages to help bridge gaps. What happened to her here was a little different than anything she had seen previously, at least on such an archaic option such as pen and paper.

"You should be an interesting one," said the feline woman, using the voice box she had implanted to communicate now that the writing portion was over. Though it created a low hum when activated, the magic of the Inn assured each word she said came out clear. Magic and technology working hand-in-hand, even if not immediately understood as such. "I wonder how well your ability to control forces will be replicated," she added, "and if it will be as strong as you described." In part, this was a genuine curiosity. This was also an attempt to slightly flatter the orc, if only to help ease the process.

The yellow eyes of the panthera face from the woman locked onto Sugar. She had tried to avoid making too much eye contact with her. For various reasons, ranging from the fact she did still look predatory, but also the fact that it seemed Sugar just plain inherently didn't like her. Still, this next bit was important, and it was truthfully the end of their transaction anyway.

"You are suitable for the experiment, so from here you will follow the line to enter a pod," she informed, "then, it will close and essentially place your body in stasis while you conduct the experiment."

It was perhaps somewhat odd to see the pods in this case appearing to be massive sprouts of plant-matter. Thin layers of green and white that folded onto to each other, not like petals but more like countless crisp leaves. Stasis pods generally had far more to them, some form of life support, various points of control and monitoring. Not these. These were entirely unlike the standard medical or transport stasis found on both the oldest of ships and the newest technologies of even the most bleeding-edge cultures.

"It's how we keep you safe," she added, trying to add a final sense of assurance before Sugar made the walk to whichever pod she was directed to.

Probably an extra large one.


Nora

Of course he had something to write with. It wasn't quite the standard mass-produced pen found on most Earth-analog worlds, but it was close enough. A long handle made of a smooth, plastic-like material. It had a dull, almost dry interior, more like a pencil, but it wrote somewhat grainy. As if a mix of graphite and charcoal, though much more durable. Interesting little items, in truth, that wrote on damn-near anything and were mostly-permanent outside of a few means of chemical removal. Excluding magic, of course.

It was most often called a pen, but that wasn't quite accurate. Either way, it was the same writing utensil virtually everyone had been using in the room.

Once more, since Nora was the one writing out the answer, it was in a language she understood. She didn't have to see the process of the words shifting into a new one. Granted, if she had spent any reasonable amount of time in the Inn, she had likely already experienced that automatic phenomenon anyway. Some even said that once visiting in the Inn, those that left it had a persistent understanding of languages, especially those used by species similar to their own. How true that was would yet to be seen.

Once completed, the form would be turned in, and Nora would be given the same basic instructions as all those who had come before her.

"Mmmm, well I see no reason you aren't compatible," said the assistant that had helped her, "your mind and body are well within the parameters Widald outlined."

He slid her paper into a black, clamshell-like apparatus that acted somewhat like a cross between a briefcase in a folder, then he extended his arm to point down the row of verdant pods that ran down the left side of the Chapel courtyard.

"You'll just walk down the way until another assistant directs you to a pod," he told her, "then you enter, go in stasis, and wait for the experiment to begin."

Not that Nora hadn't spend her fair amount of time in pods and experiments, though stasis might be more of a new one. Chemically-induced coma, perhaps, but suspended animation wasn't as much of an option in her home world. With the familiar, it seemed, came uncharted territory. Though, in the realms of the multiverse that was The Goodfellow Inn, the uncharted often far outweighed the familiar.

"Simple as that," he reassured, "we keep your body safe while you nab us data."




For Those Entering Pods

---

Entering the pod is the "transition" to the next sub-plot. Once you enter it, your portion of the RP will be on pause until everyone gets in one so we can all start again at the same time and be much less disjointed. Much like entering the Golden Chapel, this next section will act as a description for everyone that ultimately does go into a pod.

The walk down the left side of the courtyard served to prove a handful of points. Some interesting, some perhaps frustrating. The first was that one of many optical illusions had taken place within this courtyard. Though gradual, the opening of the solar observatory that acted as the background for the chapel was a semi-sphere and expanded outward at a rate that very nearly matched how most organic eyes would perceive distance. Because only infinite space and stars were behind it, this made the actual depth of the courtyard appear much shorter than it was.

In truth, this courtyard likely went on for miles if not longer. It was nigh impossible to tell. This also only made the Golden Chapel itself larger as it seemed to run the whole length of the observatory. Had anyone seen the outside of the Inn, they would never guess something this large would be inside it. Then again, the size discrepancy was the least of the impossible traits of the situation given the solar system one could see in this room that didn't match the outside night sky in the slightest.

The second was that there were probably thousands, if not more, of these pods in various sizes and even colors. The walk to get to one was actually fairly lengthy given that the first few hundred were already taken. The ad called for a hundred applicants, but in truth, it never suggested there would be only one hundred applicants. Widald was apparently a wordsmith as much as a Planeswalker. Still technically, not a lie.

Finding a pod was mostly about sizing. Some pods were small, most were a fairly average humanoid shape, some were much larger, and there even seemed to be some suitable for giants, as seen in the taverns. Even when open pods were visible, one would just continue walking the line until an assistant pulled them over and pointed at a specific pod. They were separated enough this would prove pretty difficult to confuse. And, even if one did, it likely wouldn't matter much so long as a body could fit. In general, it didn't take long before seeing open pods that an assistant on the right side of the walk way would usher you over and mark the pod.

The pods were, in a word, fresh. Their smell was aqueous, with cool, high humidity around them. Almost comparable to the cool bins one might pluck out a head of lettuce or broccoli at a grocery store from aisles where they were misted and stored. At a distance, they might have very well been mistaken for lettuce or a similar analog vegetable from someone's homeworld, but up close, they were much more. Only their outer edges were this lush green. Inside, they were mostly white or off-white with veins that coursed through them carrying what looked like a blue and red set of substances. Their very core was a smooth chamber, like the heart of many vegetables, but it was full of a thick, viscous substance that, unfortunately, could probably best be compared to a mucous membrane. As instructed by the assistants, all one had to do was sit down in the pool like a chair and the pod would close. The rest would just happen shortly after.

Still, up close, this experiment began to look less and less like the standard sciences most people were likely accustomed to in their homeworlds... it was time to come to terms with the fact magic and science merged in the Goodfellow Inn.


SCP-0029 BuggaBoo Specialist November Witch Lost Martian

 

[November Witch]

L.A.I.P.E.I

~{Coming To Terms}~​

Status: Frustrated & Paranoid
Location: ???
Mentions: Sir Les Paul

Laipei’s eyes narrowed as she realized she couldn’t make sense of the scene before her. The beings, the structure, being completely cut off from everything… The evidence pointed towards some sort of malfunction, possibly with her being damaged in some way. Unless she’d actually ended somewhere that defied the known laws of the universe… She pondered on the possibilities as she looked out over the ever-expansive room.

If it was a test, she’d know that she was neutered in some way. Parts of her would have to be shut off or deactivated in order to not have access to any sort of signals. Technology was so prevalent in her world, that there was always some sort of signals that could be picked up anywhere. But here, she couldn’t sense anything. No ambient radio waves, microwaves, nothing. There was nothing of familiarity at all. All her systems were green and online, meaning she would sense something, anything she was familiar with. But everything here was alien, foreign, unknown. She would need to be in some enclosed facility deep underground with completely different architecture and unfamiliar signals being played for this to be a test. Something that would also entirely confuse her. What would her creators go to such lengths for?

But going back to the other possibility. She really had ended up somewhere else. It could easily explain everything she was seeing now. Well, to some extent. Say she had ended up on some other planet, or ship, or whatever… It would explain everything going on now. But it wouldn’t explain him… A finger twitched as she heard his voice in her head. Something she disliked. But her company and its creators could do whatever they wanted. They didn’t need her to like it. But that stuff was so invasive. Peering into her thoughts and speaking directly in her head.

The only problem with her second theory is him. What are the odds her teleporter would malfunction? Infinitesimally small. She had a better chance of bringing about global peace and becoming the world president than her teleporter malfunctioning. That could be chalked up to pure, unlucky, coincidence. But him being here too? Well, there was a better chance of flipping a coin and landing tails 100 times in a row than them both being teleported to the same place, let alone at the same time. Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down, looking for any indication it was a disguise, not a human, an illusion, or something to say he wasn’t actually the engineer she knew.

The second theory seemed the most likely… If not for him. If this man wasn’t the real engineer, it would be much much more believable. But the statistics couldn’t allow her to believe they both arrived here out of some malfunction. It was just too improbable. But thankfully, his demeanor made it easy for her. If he really was that man, and had just ended up on another planet, he wouldn’t be this calm. He’d likely be in more of a state of shock, confusion and grief than Laipei was. But if he had been here for some time, he likely would have shown relief, joy, and hope at the sight of a familiar face…

So, this all led the girl to believe this was real. She ended up somewhere with laws of the universe that seemed to be better understood, or that perhaps had no laws. Somewhere where alien life and magic existed. Magic, being a word to explain the unknown. Laipei still believed they could be explained by some laws of science. But without access to the internet, she couldn’t even begin trying to explain it away. So, she set it aside for now. The man said she had already seen magic, and what had she mainly seen so far? Him. She already decided he wasn’t the real one, so there was only one conclusion… He was something else. Probably using magic to look this way, mess with her, and get into her head. Something that immediately made her lock herself up and put her hardware and software on the highest security mode. How could he be doing this if he wasn’t the real one? It made her worry but also pissed her off. Not only his smugness, but the situation.

So, she’d somehow managed to be teleported away from the company that owned her. That she wanted to get away from. Become independent and gain privacy from. But the place she goes still has people who can trample all over that? How poetic. It’s like she couldn’t escape it no matter how the universe tried to help her. She was getting more and more frustrated as she came to her own conclusions in her head. More and more mad. But thankfully, she could still reason just as well as any machine. Reaction violently, whether physically or verbally, would get them nowhere. So, she just turned on her heel and walked away.

She wanted more information to confirm her theory. So, as she walked, she kept a close eye on everything. The dimensions of the room, the creatures around her, the languages being spoken bouncing off the objects in the room… The more she walked, the more this idea cemented itself in her head. She was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. Somewhere that didn’t follow the laws she knew to be fundamental… Laipei didn’t exactly know what to think anymore. Well, she knew she wasn’t going to trust anyone else here. That man seemed smug. He must have been enjoying seeing Laipei like this. Like it was a game. If he could disguise himself, as she thought, what's to say the other creatures here aren’t like him? Just getting joy out of seeing people react?

As she jumped to conclusions in her mind, she decided she wasn’t going to trust anyone else in this place. Especially not anyone she recognized. With no real goal in mind, the paranoid android just kept walking and walking, no destination in mind.