((This thread (at least to start with) is for IA, Jack, Lilly, Radon, and Roy. Other threads will be created, split, and combined as necessary.))
Walk the Line, Chapter I: Tipping PointWhere does one story end, and the next begin? Sometimes the threads tie together across stories, weaving a tapestry more rich and varied than the participants even comprehend.
And sometimes, the whole mess goes up in flames.
The girl who hurries into the Acquisitions, Inc. office looks completely unprepared -- for one thing, she's wearing a tank top, and the blue lips and chattering teeth aren't great signs either. She stumbles as she comes in, then slinks over to the heating unit in the corner to thaw. Radon notices that she's in sandals, for chrissake. She must have come straight from the beach in Sylvatium and hadn't stopped to change.
Once some color has come back into her face, he can tell that she's actually kind of pretty. At the very least, she obviously takes great care with her appearance, though with a longer look she doesn't have a ton to work with. She looks around the room, noting the just-this-side-of-dingy decor, and a dubious expression crosses her face, but she straightens up bravely and steps up to the counter.
"Hi... um... you can get stuff? I mean, I need, um... I need something to keep me warm, ya know? I thought the dome meant it would be warm here, ya know? As long as I stayed in the dome I'd be fine, ya know?? But it's cold!" She pouts, as if the weather were a personal affront.
"Anyways, I need something to keep me warm but it can't be a jacket or anything 'cause I just got this tan and I'm starting a new job and what's the point if I can't look good doing it, ya know? So can you, ya know, 'acquire' something like that for me?" She bats her eyelashes at Radon and smiles, showing slightly gapped, bright-white teeth.
Lilly sighs at yet another dead end. Edward Rokoff was the last name on her list of paroled felons, and it turned out he was an 84-year-old man who went insane and killed his wife and daughter with a shovel 4 decades ago... and died of old age last week. No luck.
The early-winter air in North is quite chill, but the sky ripples with a diaphanous multicolored aurora, making up for the promised six months of night. The miracle of natural holomancy provides enough light to see by; as Lilly leaves the Office of Public Records and ducks into the alley nearby for a smoke, it's hard not to be somewhat comforted by the sight. She takes a drag on the cigarette, feeling the micro-lubricants loosen the titanium vertebra that keeps creaking -- she'll have to get that checked out next time she meets up with the Jobs.
"Hey, kid. Hey metalhead! I've got somethin' for ya." A battered Lifetorn dressed in dirty sweats and combat boots grins toothlessly at her, holding up a matte black vial about two inches long.
"First one's on the house, just for you."
IA steps out of the terminal, shivering involuntarily at the cold. Well, the sky is quite beautiful, but 6 months of darkness isn't her thing. How will she know when to wake up in the morning if there's no morning to wake up to? She drags the bag along behind her, checking the paper with the address of the boarding house her mother researched. Not that the address will help, with no map... maybe it's time to ask for directions.
She looks up, searching for someone helpful-looking, but the street is deserted. Great. Well, there should be a Visitor's Center or something nearby, right? She continues down the street, aimlessly looking at building signs for anything useful.
Finally IA turns a corner and sees someone, a punk kid standing in the middle of the street, staring up at the aurora. Not the brightest prospect, but at least it's someone. She begins to approach, and suddenly the kid convulses and drops to the ground, seizing.
Jack has always liked winter -- the darkness is peaceful out on the glaciers, and everything gets real quiet. There's nothing much going on but the crunch of his boots in the snow, and the silent ghosting of the wolves. Sure, it's even colder, but when you're up North, who gives a damn if it's freezing or freezinger?
Jack's also always been a loner, and it's served him well on the ice. Not many like to come out here, unless they're hunting Remorhaz or Purple Worms. But none of those tonight, Jack can feel it in his bones.
Except... he can see a shadow up ahead, behind a curve of the ice. Looks to be humanoid, and not moving.
"Hey rook! Did they teach you how to bring me coffee at the big ol' Academy?" Several of the veterans bust out laughing at Miles's lame snark, just like they have the last 20 times today. Roy sighs wearily -- being at the bottom of the food chain is just one of those things you have to put up with.
He stands and wanders into the break room, pouring a cup for Miles and tipping a good measure of salt into it. He'll pay for that eventually, but it'll be worth it to see the expression on Miles's face when he tastes it.
On his way back, the department Tabletop chimes, and a chorus of
"Rook! Get that!" arises from the rest of the cubicles. Roy shakes his head and puts the coffee down, using his uplink to access the call from his desk.
There's no video to the call, just audio. Before he can say a word of greeting, Roy hears the sound of rough coughing and swallowing. Then it stops, and a high-pitched, nasal male voice says,
"I have a riddle for you: what do you get if you look a dragon in the eye?" The voice gives a piercing laugh, which cuts off abruptly, followed by a loud thud. The call ends.
