malnosso | [Locked to Residents]

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malnosso

[Locked to Residents]

[Appearing on the journals is a written message as follows. A voice option is provided for a computerized reading of the text.]

Attention Luceti Residents.

The following names are being called to participate in a strike against the cultist hordes:
[the names listed here appear on the journal.]

All subjects are required to arrive at the tunnels at 8AM on the 27th of March for deployment. All listed individuals are required to be present. Subjects will then be escorted to TERRACE for battle preparation and further details.

Target will be Region One, a former Malnosso stronghold, presently in cultist hands. Subjects are advised to prepare for combat in forested areas. Further information will be made available at TERRACE. Questions and answers will not be provided at this time.

[The Malnosso will not reply to this message, but everyone is free to use this post to discuss among themselves, whether using voice options on the journal or doing action threads.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

...I hate flying.

[ a soft sigh. his initial silence makes her wonder whether she should ask to discuss this in person. the filter, after all, had been to keep loving-but-prying eyes away from the knowledge that she was reaching out to the strategist. a precaution, really. or just paranoia. ]

Indeed. HALO entry seems likely, from preliminary knowledge. [The use of TERRACE. Taking back territory from the cultists.

His next words come a little softer.] I wonder if this will be like the jungle.

Let's hope not. [ she says with all the knee-jerk sadness of someone who's learned that discussing the jungle draft meant one should be sad, even if she had come out of that fight with some of the sweetest memories. purple orchids and cool nights spent stolen away from the main camp.

buffy takes all that sweetness and feeds her guilt. ]

At least they're once again giving us decent notice, huh? For a while there, it felt like emergency conscription was becoming the norm.

With the way the war seems to be going for the Organization now, we may see the return of this type of structure.

[At least, that was the impression Bil was leaving him with. He had a strong desire to observe the cultists during this battle -- to see if there would be any noticeable friction or lines drawn amongst the soldiers, lending credence to the information gathered from the General.]

...I'm trying to figure out if that's worth celebrating. Or, y'know, not.

[He sighs. Just a bit. His tone is noticeably wry.]

I would much rather have more than a day of preparation than a handful of hours.

[Not that they had much to go off of for preparations. They didn't know anything about the terrain they would be fighting in other than the warning of forests.]

You don't find the waiting just a bit...crazy-making?

[A quiet chuckle. Mirthless.]

I'm a strategist, Buffy. A lot of what I do is planning and waiting.

If waiting made me crazy, you would never have met me in sanity.

...At least one of us is sane. [ she picks at the corner of the page. she knows she should tell him about the sand. explain that she has it. that she's ostensibly ready whenever he is and perhaps it should be done before the draft, but she chickens out. ]

How much of a difference do you think your extra year and some change makes, Albert? Like -- is it a lot? Obviously, you have more intel. But you'd have that anyway. I'm not much with the...[ info-hoarding. ]

I guess I'm asking if there's that much of a leap from four years to five. [ because it'll be a full four for her, soon. ]

A lot can happen in a year. [Vagueness. Zompano had been there in that first year. Meeting a sympathizer and eventual traitor like Jacob in the flesh.

But there really wasn't that much of a difference, was there? ...Maybe he was trying to fool himself on that subject.

So he decides to use a sarcastic joke.]

You may receive a commemorative gift from the Organization upon reaching your fifth year.

Hear that, you Malnosso pricks? [ she speaks as if she's casting her voice far and wide, though the quip is only made to acknowledge the fact that she understands their conversation isn't as private as one might hope. ] When it comes to commemorating me, it'd better be Jimmy Choos or nothing.

[And that seems like a good place to finish up that filter, so he can smile a little bit.]

I feel like I am missing out on a reference here.

Designer heels. [ a soft sound. somewhere between exasperation and laughter. ] If I'm honest, they're more Dawn's thing than mine. Jimmy Choos are notoriously unhelpful while running. Too much stiletto and not enough chunk. Louboutin wedges, on the other hand...

[ how silly. talking shoes with so much looming war and so little settled sentimentality between the pair of them. and buffy is at long last struck by how petty it is that she should withhold information from a man who could very well benefit from what she had to offer.

she apologizes without actually saying sorry: ] I have the sand. And thanks. For the filter-aid.

[He listens quietly, relaxing minutely just listening to Buffy ramble about shoes. It was such a mundane topic, away from the seriousness they would soon be facing, and he would relish it before stepping away to face the upcoming problem.]

...We will have to make use of that sand, then. After all of this.

That'd be nice. It's just kinda sitting there, staring at me. Unused. Like the tell-tale heart. Do you know that one...?

[ and then, thinking that the allusion reveals just too much of her inner conflict: ] I think I'm gonna pack my boots, for this draft. Boots seem like a safe bet.

...The Telltale Heart. Poe. [He sounds a bit vague as he recalls that.] Ah, yes. I understand.

Boots seem a good deal more practical than running shoes, not knowing the weather or entirety of the terrain. [He's quite agreeable.]

Good, tractiony boots. Low heeled. Leather. Laced, likely, because zippers are temperamental.

[ a deep breath. ] The problem with forests is you never can tell there's a hidden root underfoot until you're already tripping on it. Blindsided.

Just be sure not to trip while anyone is around to notice. [Oh so helpful. Really.]

...Because the last thing our numbers need is for me to perish from embarrassment. Am I right?

It would be a rather disheartening way to go.

[Is he being serious? The unchanging tone really doesn't help.]

Mortifying. I can see it now: here rests Buffy Summers. She made the world laugh at her. A lot.

And for that, she receives an unflattering tombstone.

One of those ugly ones with a statue.

Timelessly out of fashion.

...Oh, jeez. Thank God the real deal was actually pretty tasteful. As tasteful as tombstones get.

[Locked to Residents]

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