* Wednesday, June 10th, 2071. And it's a bright summer's day in the city of New Atlanta, Georgia. Why's it called "New Atlanta"? Well, to make a long story short, it grew over the past 70 years. A lot. Skyscrapers attempt to brush against the clouds, metaphorically speaking, serving as a nexus for trade and commerce in the southern United States. And anywhere there's a population and building boom, with even more roads and places to go and documents to ship... there will be couriers to do the shipping.
* Ripley slides hard between two cars, doing a fast jump to clear to the sidewalk, weaving between three people. His legs pump down hard onto the petals, the composite frame thrumming with the motion. It's designed to flex, to add that extra bit of efficiency to the move. He grabs a lightpost to hard turn, kicking off the bike onto the stairs of the office building. No movement lost as he kick-folds the bike and loops it over the shoulder that doesn't have the pack on it, not to mention the map tube between.
* Various businessmen call out or go "Hey!" or generally dive out of the way of the courierguy! Fortunately, none are actually run over as he reaches the front sliding glass doors of the office building. (you know, if he'd been JUUUUST a second off, he would've gone -through- the sliding glass doors, but it's really fortunate someone was exiting and had activated the doors...)
* Ripley weaves through them. "Oneside! Courier! Hey Todd." {he flashes his credentials to the security guard} Heading to one-fourteen here's a sig have a good day hey like the new hairstyle.
* People weave! The security guard waves, and self-conciously runs his hand along his hair! And a few folks threaten to complain to the management! Aaaah, another busy workday....
* Ripley takes the third elevator, even though the first two are available. He stabs the button and nods to the cute girl in the power suit, before looking up at the numbers. Elevators. You look up at the numbers.
* Bing.... bing... bing... bing.... waiiiit. Bing... bing.... bing.... Waiiiiiit. (Well, it's the middle of the day. Lots of people use elevators if they want to go out for lunch or just getting back to work.) He just might have to... *gasp!* wait.
* Ripley knows he took the elevator that would take him there the fastest. So he is patient. Well, no he isn't, but his fidgeting isn't all that pronounced. He turns back to the girl in the powersuit. "Long day?"
* The girl in the powersuit hmmms?, looking at him and sizing him up and liking what she sees. "Oh? Yes, actually... got a proposal I'm working on, clearing it with the bigwigs." She looks wry.
## INServ rolled 3d6 = 13 (3 5 5).
{Ripley} Know the feeling, y'know? {he grins} In the meantime we wait. What floor?
{Businesswoman} Thirty-fifth. *she smiles*
* *ding!* The elevator reaches the ground floor!
* The doors open, and 'bout 5 passengers exit. The elevator is empty. Ripley and his current companion can enter.
{Ripley} Hey, have fun there. {he grins, sliding in and holding the doors for her}
* The businesswoman smiles as he holds the elevator. "Well now. A true southern gentleman. I thought they were extinct in this day 'n age." She winks, and presses the button for the 35th floor.
* Ripley pushes 114. "Hey -- there's no reason not to be polite, especially to a lovely lady with a lot on her mind.
* The businesswoman blushes. "And a flatterer, too. Does this make me Scarlet O'Hara, and you Rhett Buttler?" *wink*
* Several other passengers enter. The elevator doors close. The Elevator starts to aaaasssceeend....
## INServ rolled 3d6 = 8 (2 5 1).
{Ripley} I hope not. He's a scoundrel and a wastral. But you certainly have Miss O'Hara's fire. {he grins a quick grin}
* The businesswoman flutters her eyelashes, coquetishhly. "Why thank you, kind sir." *wink*
* The elevator ascends. Rather rapidly, in fact. Looks like Ripley chose right... the 35th floor arrives with a Ding!
{Ripley} You are *so* welcome, sweet lady. {he bows a bit} And good day and good luck.
* The businesswoman ohs. "Oh! This is my floor..."
{Ripley} So it is. So propose on -- but don't give them Tara. It's your strength, remember. {he winks}
* The businesswoman smiles, and waves as she exits. "That I will. And you too, fleet southern knight!" She heads out, and the elevator doors close, and several of the other guys in the elevator give Ripley sidelong jealous looks.
* Ripley arches eyebrows all around, and grins a bit, fidgeting a hair as he watches the numbers rise.
## INServ rolled 3d6 = 9 (1 6 2).
* The numbers rise, rapidly. The businessmen there shake their heads as they get Ripley's patented Eyebrow-Arch, and conditioned as they are by big business, back down.
* Before he knows it, there's a 'ping!', and the 114th floor is reached.
* Ripley slides onto one-fourteen, making a beeline to the office suite the order's for.
* The office suite is open and waiting! A grey-haired lady is sitting behind the receptionist's desk.
{Ripley} Gooood afternoon, ma'am. Docu-Sent here with a delivery.
* The grey-haired lady looks up. "Mmm? Oh yes, let me see it, here...." She taps at the desk in front of her.
* Ripley slips his pack off, taking out the pouch for this address and checking the name on it.
* The grey-haired lady sits up a little straighter, and checks the name. She nods. "He works here, yes. Looks like you got it here just in time, young man." She smiles slightly. "Where do you want me to sign and 'print it?"
* Ripley double-checks that it's not overly securitied and that she can sign for it, then nods a bit. "Right here and here, please. {he grins} Long day?"
* The lady nods, brushing back a few stray strands of hair. "Oh yes... more people visiting today than we were expecting..." She gets up, and signs and thumbprints the signature-section for receipt.
{Ripley} Always the way. {he grins} And thank you very much -- remember, Docu-sent, for your documents.
* The grey-haired lady smiles, and nods. "Of course. With service like this, how could we not?" She waves. "And go, go, no doubt you've got places to be..."
{Ripley} Always. {he grins} And have a good day. {he waves and steps into the hall, reaching up to his bike helmet and tapping the commswitch. "Three-Forty-eight checking in. Baker-Jacob Nine Nine Three Seven Three Five Charlie clear. Open for new calls.
* A voice, the dispatcher from Docu-sent's central office, replies brusquely. "Acked, Three-Forty-Eight. Gotcha a new call, pick it up at central." Despite its brusqueness, the voice also sounds... amused?
* Ripley nods, and focuses on the c.o. for a moment....
## Ripley rolled 3d6 = 10 (3 4 3).
## Ripley rolled 3d6 = 14 (5 4 5).
{Ripley} Be there in fourteen minutes, plus elevator time. {he slaps the button}
* The dispatcher whistles. "Acked, Three-Forty-Eight." He signs off, though there can be heard right before the signal terminates somebody placing a bet on Ripley's time...
* Ripley bounces, waiting for the elevator.
* Ping! The elevator arrives! And... it's -empty-! Imagine that!
* Ripley slips in with a grin, pushing the button and waiting.
* The elevator descends. And descends. And descends. Looks like Ripley lucked out... nobody seems to have decided to get on at any of the interveining floors..
{Ripley} Mmm... perfect push....
* Ding! The elevator reaches the ground floor. The Lobby and the glass sliding doors await, like the gates of heaven...
* Ripley half-runs for them, sliding through the glass and *jumping* the long stone steps, snapping the bike out and hitting the ground at fifteen MPH, then kicking it up higher as his brain stays a quarter inch ahead of his place in the route.
* People dodge out of the way as the courier goes flying! A few almost look ready to call for medical assitance until their brains realize -he unfolded the bike and landed on it running-. And of course, by that time, it's too late to even react...
* Traffic is heavy this time of day, but fortunately it's not the evening rush-hour. But as it is, Ripley's senses tell him just where he can go to shave off the travel time, avoiding cars and semis and other people on the roads...
* Ripley does so, pushing hard and loving every second of it. *Bless* it's a good bike -- precisely what he has in mind.
* Lights are hit nigh-perfectly on time, making him either the first into the intersection, or the last. Gaps between vehicles are shot through like the eyes of needles. Corners are cut without loss of any human life, shaving precious seconds...
* Ripley angles for the loading dock, open as it always is, and knows *exactly* when to jump, kick-folding the bike to land on the dock and skid his way inside...
* A man looks up from his stopwatch, clicking it as Ripley slides in. "Thirteen-Thirty, Ripley." He turns, and yells further into the dispatch area of Docu-sent: "Hey, Lar! You owe me twenty!"
* A voice in the back yells back a muttered profanity, but it's good-natured.
* Ripley shrugs. "Lights and elevator were with me. Luck and God smiled on me, this time. Any coffee or am I on crash priority?
* The man jerks his thumb back at the central dispatch desk. "Ask Nigel, but I don't think it's priority. Not from the way he was talking." There's also coffee available, a fresh pot.
{Ripley} Cool cool cool. {he drops his sign-pad and pulled tags on the desk, including the bonuses for extra-fast, grabs a cup, pours, and heads for the office. All in one graceful movement, really.
* Several of the female couriers more than visible appreciate Ripley's graceful movements. Spandex doesn't hurt, either.
* Nigel, one of the central dispatchers, is waiting for Ripley. Another one is relaying instructions, while a third is handing off a package to another one of the couriers.
* Ripley grins. He's a king of the fine skill of banter, though he's proven to be hard to crack. In part because he's not that easy to keep up with. He heads for Nigel. "Hi, Nig -- nice shirt. You have a date tonight?
* INServ looks down at his shirt. "What, this? No, I'm seeing my grandmother tonight." He grins. "Of course I am, after I get off-shift. And got something for you to 'deliver'." He tosses a card-sized envelope to Ripley.
* Nigel did, that is.
* Ripley arches his eyebrows, looking at the name and address on the tag. Assuming there's a tag.
* No tag, but the address is familiar. Because it's his name, "Ripley Davids", c/o Docu-Sent. The corner address is from the Historic Oakland Cemetary.
* And said cemetary is familiar to Ripley, for you see... he knows that it's a Tether to the Sword.
* Ripley arches his eyebrows one last time, opening the letter and checking.
* Ripley holds the card so that even Nigel can't see it.
* It's a single correspondance card, with the "Historic Oakland" crest printed on it, but inside is written in flowing script: "Dear Ripley Davids. Your presence is required at the Obelisk by 3:30 pm, EST. You will be given further orders then. Sincerely, George Horel."
* Ripley considers. "Am I clear for the day, Nigel?"
* Nigel checks his roster. "Looks like shipments have hit an ebb... and -you- handled all your deliveries ahead of sched... yeah, I'd say you're clear." He grins a bit. "I'll smooth it over with the higher-ups, Ripley."
{Ripley} Coolness. See you soon. {grin, and he taps his comm despite being in the room with his dispatch} Three-Forty-eight, off-clock and offline. Catch you on the flip side, Nigel!
* Ripley half-sprints for the loading dock, unlimbering his bike, but still carrying his stuff.
* The loading dock is wide open! Ripley manages to take the leap off the dock with verve and elan' and other french words.
* Ripley weaves and darts through traffic, heading for the Cemetary. Riding the edge and ekeing out that hair's extra speed. After all, orders are orders, however they're phrased.
* Fortunately, it is not that far to the center of the city... even with the past 70+ years of development, some swaths of greenery has survived... even an 88 acre cemetary near the intersection of two superhighways.
* Ripley makes it across one of those superhighways without causing accidents or killing anyone, kicking off the bike and folding it as he is thrown and lands on the other side of the fence, crouched. With that crouch, he pauses, and shifts into a genuflect, eyes cast down as he prays, for just a moment, for the souls of the honored dead.
* Discounting the honking motor-horns along the superhighway, Historic Oakland Cemetary is quite quiet and peaceful. One might even say blessed, for it serves also as a park, as the original designers had planned.
* Ripley rises, shouldering his folded bike and slipping off his bike helmet. He makes his way around the exhibits, looking here and there. His natural frentic nature is muted here, though his grace shines through as he weaves between paths and markers, towards the obelisk.
* Eventually, Ripley makes his way through the victorian-era grave markings and statuary, towards one section where uniform grave markers standing in rows, like soldiers standing at attention. In the center, a straight and tall obelisk cleaves the sky like a sword. There's at least one person wandering through glancing at the markers... and a stoop-shouldered groundskeeper, skewering trash, his white hair and moustache trimmed.
* Ripley takes another deep breath, making his way to the Obelisk and glancing around to see if anyone other than the groundskeeper is visible.
* The other person has moved on... only the groundskeeper remains, somehow ambling his way towards Ripley, still collecting trash.
* Ripley approaches the Obelisk, feeling the soothing thrum of the Sword, enough to keep even Ripley's drive to spin off into the Heavens at bay....
* The stoop-backed man looks up at Ripley behind his glasses. His nametag reads "G. Horel", flashing in the sun. "Paying your respects, young man?"
{Ripley} Always. {he grins a bit} I was taught to build the future by honoring the past, Sir.
* The groundskeeper nods in approval. "For how can we make said future without acknowledging and learning from our successes and failures in the past?" He chuckles. "You're a tribute to the service, young man."
* The groundskeeper spears another piece of trash with military precision, depositing it in his side-bag.
{Ripley} You honor *me* with your words, Sir. {he grins a bit more} And it's a beautiful day, isn't it? A perfect day for memories and hopes.;
* The groundskeeper nods, looking up at the sun, his hand shielding his eyes. "The sun burns like a the forge of a swordsmith's, yes." He chuckles more, and looks at Ripley directly. "If everybody in the service was as as perceptive and on-time as you were, we'd be a long way further towards carring out our Lord's Orders..."
{Ripley} I do what I can, in the name of our Lord, Sir. And have Faith in the service and our Lord. {he still smiles a bit at the compliment} I take it from the message that there are new orders, Hayyoth?
* The caretaker clucks his tounge, and nods. "Indeed." He pitches his voice for his and Ripley's ears alone. *q* "Ripley, Wheel of the Sword, you are to report to Kafziel, Most Holy of Saturn, Major of the Sword in his offices within the Cathedral of our Lord Commander for futher breifing. You are also to attend Kafziel's breifing in the company of Giri, Bright of our Lord Laurence, who is already waiting at the upper Tether Locus."
* Ripley straightens a hair. {vq} "Does the Hayyoth of the Obelisk know if I am to abandon my Role?"
* The groundskeeper shakes his head. *vq* "That I do not know, Wheel. My orders were simply to gather you for further debreifing." He chuckles a bit. "-Presumably-, said details will be elaborated on then."
{Ripley} {vq} Of course, Sir. {he grins a bit} And it will *never* be boring. {he straightens again} I hear, and obey -- in the name of the Sword, the Saints, the General and Our Lord. {he crosses himself}
* The groundskeeper crosses himself as well. *vq* "Very good, Ripley, and Amen to that." He then looks to Ripley. "You can drop your vessel within that copse of trees, there..." He nods a balding white-haired head towards said copse.
* Ripley nods, looking perhaps excited at the prospect of once more achieving *true* speed.
* Ripley then bows slightly. {vq} "Thank you, Sir. May I be excused."
* The groundskeeper nods, makign a 'dismissed' gesture with his free hand. *vq8 "Of course, of course. Godspeed to you."
{Ripley} {vq} And also to you. {he smiles, making a gesture of respect, before making his way into the copse. He looks around, grinning a bit, and with a deep breath of the Spirit lets his true self rise out with Essence, the spinning Wheels of fire in silver and blue, blazing as they whirl, forever in energy.}
* Nobody sees the burst of holy fire and calls for the fire department. Except perhaps for the groundskeeper, but in his case he just appears to tip his hat towards the copse, looking up towards the Obelisk that's the Tether Locus...
* Ripley rises, spinning in glorious, Heavenly, *Divine* **SPEED!** He circles the Locus before riding the pure stream of the Light of Heaven like a wave, following its beacon to the heights of Heaven.
* And to Ripley... the world CHANGES.... and he finds himself appearing in a small chapel, a single stained glass window illumiating it, depicting a confederate soldier in dress uniform and sabre, kneeling in prayer. A Mercurian stands near the entrance in formal garb of the Sword, and salutes. "Ripley, Wheel of our Lord Laurence?" There is also another figure standing there in the same small room....
{Ripley} Yes, YES! Reporting as ordered, Sir Intercessionist. {he bows. If an intersection of whirling wheels of fire can be said to bow}
* The other is a tall, lean humanoid figure that would be a dead ringer for the standard stereotypical Seraph vessel, save this is Heaven. There is a light rapier at his grey uniformed side, his fine ivory-white hair caught back in a ponytail. Which would be all well and good save that if Ripley takes enough time he can see the glint of an aura around the figure that is like light off steel if you took the steel and left the light...and a larger cloaking near his back, with a chrome shimmer there as well... He looks at Ripley, one aristocratic eyebrow arched in bemusement.
* Ripley seems to peer for a moment, his own gleaming sword vectoring around the wheel in a salute. "Sir."
* The Mercurian seems taken aback a bit at the Ofanite's enthusasim, and hides it well. "Very good. You and Giri here are to report to the Most Holy of Saturn's offices adjacent to the east transcept, soonest." He smiles slightly.
* Giri salutes back. "Good day, Ripley? Giri, Bright of our Lord Commander."
* Ripley peers, and whirls around Giri at all angles for a second, before regaining his decorum. "I am honored, Sir Bright." He then orients and bows to the Mercurian. "I hear and obey, Sir Intercessonist."
* The Mercurian chuckles, and waves the twosome out.
* Giri smiles a hair. "Understood, Intercessionist. And thank you, Wheel. I expect we need to make our way to the east transcept, now." {salutes the Mercurian, before heading out.}
* The small chapel opens out into the great galleries of the nave of the Cathedral of the Sword, its laquered pews standing like ranked soldiers, marching ever towards the High Altar and the cruciform sowrd-cross lit aflame by heavenly light. The entrance itself would appear to indicate that this tether isn't minor, but not major either, a little closer to the door than the absolute midway point would be. Angels kneel in prayer, or go about their business with the blessed souls.
* Giri takes a moment to observe as he walks, letting the peace of the place leak in a bit.
* Ripley kneels and crosses himself before he goes to the appointed place, looking everywhere at once.
* Giri mms and does as well, still walking, with great respect but not the same...hm...reverence. He seems a tadge less tense, though.
* A resonant pipe organ softly plays hymns. The scent of insence hangs in the air, tracing seraphic curves in the light of the stained glass windows. And Ripley and Giri's ultimate appointed place is an office adjacent to the East Transcept of the Cathedral, which would mean to the right of the High Altar and towards a side hallway exiting it...
* Giri knows the place, more or less, and takes that route.
* Ripley respectfully knocks, then gets distracted, looking at his own fires reflected in the stained glass for a moment. {pause} Yes, he got there before Giri did. Come on, what did you expect?
* The stained glass in the hallway reflects Ripley's fires, tracing the leading and pieces of glass, setting them alight like blazing lines...
* Giri didn't expect less, really, but does reshuffle wings a bit in prep, creating an even more interesting effect of light, and looks a bit wry at his companion. He then assumes parade rest, waiting decorously.
* By about the time Giri gets there, there's an answer to Ripley's knock, a quickly barked "Enter!", like the deadfall of a sword.
* Ripley slides in and kneels.
* Giri nods, and does, his strides quick and precise. He then salutes.
* The office within is precisely arranged, a single desk in the center, shelves along both side walls, a Clear-glassed window throwing spears of light across the furnishings, turning them amber and saffron. Behind the desk 'sits' a large, amber-scaled Seraph, his wings salmon and saffron, his eyes pink but clear, curled up on a 'Seraph Seat', bowl-cup and chest-support. He nods to the two as they enter, and salutes the two with one of his wings. "Giri, Ripley, at ease. And close the door."
* Giri nods and does. "Most Holy. You wished to see us?"
* Ripley rises, swirling in place respectfully.
* Kafziel nods, sitting up a little straighter. "Indeed I did, Bright." He glances at Ripley and Giri, and looks at his desk, where files and folders are arranged. "I will attempt to be brief, so the two of you can get to work as soon as possible." The seraph clears his throat. "There is a critical situation developing on the research and manufacturing station known as Citidas by the humans, orbiting the gas giant Saturn." A wingtip brushes against a control on the desk, and a hologram of the ringed giant appears, nearly matching the seraph's coloration.
* Ripley stares at the clouds and rings appreciatively, though he listens, also.
* Giri arches an eyebrow and listens, not seeming too surprised at all. "Worsening from before, Most Holy?"
{Ripley} Before, Bright?
* Giri nods. "Yes, Wheel. It was originally brought to my attention by a Roled angel there, and I brought it to the Sword's. But I believe the Most Holy is in process of clarifying."
* Kafziel nods. "Yes, Bright." He looks like he -might- be ready to comment on his interruption, but lets it be. "According to the information provided to us by members of the Host on the station, and extrapolated through trend analyis, if further action is not taken within two months... a Tether to the Void, or Nightmares, will form on the Station. Current evidence implies that there are diabolicals on the station, working towards this goal by subtly influencing the humans."
* Giri narrows his eyes, nodding, but keeping silient this time.
* Ripley considers this, whirling in place perhaps a bit faster.
* Kafziel taps another control, and the hologram zooms, showing the station, floating in orbit around Saturn proper, a stacked series of disks... -not- the usual long cylinders or spheres or torioids now commonly known for the shape of extra-terrestrial stations. "However, while our number there is dilligent, they have not yet determined -who- among them are infernals. The reports from Besodiah, who has a Role there as a Catholic Priest assigned to the station, collaborates the previous findings. We suspect, but have no hard evidence, that any demons on the station would have high Roles." He looks rather especially put-off at the thought of Demons on a station near Saturn... gee, perhaps it could be his Word in effect?
* Giri rather suspects it would be, but keeps his mouth shut. He waits for more clarification.
{Ripley} {vvq} The Blade is Truth. The Thrust is Holy. The Sword defends, when Demon-flesh Rends.
* Kafziel nods, slightly, at Ripley's words. "The Sword has tasked me with preventing this Infernal Tether from forming, to eliminate the demonic presence on the Station, and to protect the humans there. I have gone over our records, and come to the conclusion that you two, Bright and Wheel, are best situated for this task, to assist those angels on the station and those arriving, in these tasks."
* Giri nods, acknowledging.
{Ripley} {q} I hear, and obey, Sir Most Holy, now and forevermore.
{Giri} Understood, Most Holy.
* Kafziel nudges two folders towards Giri and Ripley, with angelic script highlighting their names on them. He nods at the two of them. "Take these folders, and memorize their contents. They contain basic information on the angels and their roles, on the station, as well as those who are on route. They also contain the details on your own temporary roles for the duration of this mission." He looks a bit put-off at the thought of 'temp' roles, thanks to him being a seraph, but deals with it. "You have forty-eight hours on Earth to get your own affairs for your current Roles in order, and contact information for the same is provided... Lord Willing, you will be able to return to them; if not, they will either be retired quietly or handed off to other Servitors of the Sword."
* Ripley accepts, riffling through it for a moment, before looking up. "Of course. Um... may this Wheel be permitted a question, Sir Most Holy?"
* Giri inclines his head, gracefully, taking his dossier. "I understand, Most Holy...my thanks. What will the means of transit to Citidas be?" He pauses and waits for Ripley's question.
{Ripley} Actually, the Sir Bright anticipated my question, Major."
* Giri smiles a bit, very slightly but seemingly genuine.
* Kafziel smiles, just a tad. "Of course, Wheel, Bright. We have made arrangements with Lightning to use one of their primary Tethers within two days... the one centered on the Jupiterian moon of Io. From there, you will be shuttled to the human station Rhadamanthys, for space-training and acclimitization for your new, temporary, Roles. Then finally, you will book passage on a TriOp corporation shuttle that makes a bi-weekly circuit between Rhadamanthys and Citidas."
* Giri inclines his head, listening, grey eyes intent.
{Ripley} {vvvvq} Two... wee... {pause, straighten, flare of fire in his wheels} Of course, Sir Most Holy. As you command.
* Kafziel nods again, and looks at Ripley, and then at Giri. "Good. In the absence of superior orders, from myself or others of the Sword, you are to take your orders and guidence from Giri, Ripley."
* Ripley bobs, turns and bows to Giri, then back straightened. "As you command, Sir Most Holy."
* Giri inclines his head again. "Understood, Most Holy." He salutes.
* Kafziel returns the salute with one of his wings. "If there are no other questions or comments, you are dismissed. If there is such afterwards, send them through channels. Go in Honor, Giri and Ripley of the Sword."
{Ripley} We obey.
{Giri} Aye, sir.
* Kafziel nods again, and starts going through his paperwork again, his wings and posture indicating this breifing is finished, and it's up for the two angels to head out.
* Giri nods, turns on his heel, and heads out, already mulling the preparations he'll have to make for the trip out.
* Ripley rockets out, arcing around Giri. "We'll need to plan of course, Sir, and figure out what kind of manifests are involved. And we'll need polymer resin blades because of the weight restriction, with gyroscopes in the hilts to create proper heft, and I'll need to examine the steller maps -- there are routes that can reduce the transit time while conserving fuel...."
{Giri} True, and true. Will you be able to manage two weeks relatively confined without treading on dissonance?
* Giri meanwhile keeps riffling through his own dossier, for a quick overview of goodies and other angels possibly involved.
{Ripley} I... don't know. It depends on things. The size of the ship. How well I can ingratiate myself with the piloting staff that I can orient myself onto the trip more than the ship... but I will endure if need be.
* The listing of reported angels are as follows, by Word and name:
* Ripley looks through his own briefing as they talk.
{Giri} Understood...Obviously, with you, coldsleep will likely not be wise. I can manage it, with a few qualms. Presumably they made some kind of accomodation for that given your Choir....
* Of Lightning, On-Station: Ian, Malakite. En-route: Muon, Kyriotate. Tau, Kyriotate. Tiphareth, Bright Lilim. Valanna, Seraph.
* Of The Sword, On-Station: Besodiah, Elohite.
{Giri} And I have our Lord's Scabbard attunement, so the bit on the resin blades isn't as pertinent to me, though I certainly see your point on the polymer blades... Aahhhh... Interesting mix for Jean's...
{Ripley} Coldsleep... {he shudders} I met a Wheel once who took Coldsleep. He was of Stone. His discord riddled him like a plague of boils...
{Ripley} And yes -- a broad assemblage of Lightning. Interesting. I wonder how many are permanently there versus working on this crisis.
* Of Flowers, On-Station: Irpeel, Mercurian. En-Route: Kyoko, Malakite Master of Peace. Orael, Elohite.
{Ripley} Mm. Flowers.
* Ripley's own documentation includes notes on his temp-role -- Courier and Pilot-trainee. It also includes medical information stating he has a "Rare Condition" that makes the coldsleep treatment dangerous.
* Giri closes his eyes, wincing an ascetic bit at Ripley's depiction. {q} "No, obviously that is not an option and I'm certain our Lord Commander is more than aware of that. {louder} And mm. Ian is, that I know. I know not of the others, save that my younger Sister Tiphareth is involved romantically with him. And don't underestimate Novalis's.
* Ripley looks sidelong with a crosswheel at Giri, then back. "Well, the Virtue of Flowers is Distincted... for what it's worth. And once I saw a Wheel of Flowers dance. She was beautiful. But still -- you'll forgive me if I yearned for Stone or War instead of Flowers at our back?
{Giri} I will. Still, they will fight if no other option is needed, and aye, she is, and Virtue to boot. Check and balance. I think they are as concerned about their sister in service on board Citidas as we are about Bedsodiah. Furthermore...my own nature... {ruffles wings of mirror-mirage, in point} makes me a bit reserved on generalizing.
{Ripley} And ah! I'm allergic to coldsleep and a Courier and Pilot-trainee! Wonderful wonderful! To hear the singing of the engines in speed!
{Ripley} Your nature? But Sir Bright, you are the shining testement to the rightness of our General and Our Lord. You've naught to be ashamed of. And... um... well, I would never speak ill of the Host, but have you ever *worked* with Flowers?
* Giri pokes through his dossier for his own temporary role. "Good, and good, there..."
{Giri} Once or twice, on a couple of cases, Ripley, admittedly fairly minor, as our Superiors obviously don't mix adgendas often. But quite a few of those I have met came nowhere near the ah, stereotypes we often have of them. They can be quite serious and dedicated. Their manner of execution is merely different.
* Giri looks at his temp assignment and mutters about roles in roles, shaking his head wryly.
{Ripley} Mm?
{Ripley} Mm.
{Giri} I'm also security. {pause} And for more entertainment, under *that*, an InterSpace investigator using that for cover, Wheel.
{Ripley} {dryly} You are my Commander, Sir Bright. I hear and obey... {pause} so... you are an Intelligence Agent for the Host, acting as an Intelligence Agent for InterSpace, with a Security posting as a cover role for your Role?
* Giri arches an eyebrow at the first statement, but makes no mention just then. "And yes. At least I'm not *quite* alone in that predicament."
{Giri} {pause} Needless to say, no spreading the fine details about.
{Ripley} Of course not. So! I must descend and figure out how to tell my supervisor I'm off for the next however how long. Mm. Dead Aunt. Dead Aunt and Upset Mothers do wonders.
{Giri} Hm. Ill relatives. In my case, temporary restationing by my supervising officers in the NROTC.
{Ripley} Of course. Of course! Then I'll see you soon!
{Giri} Indeed, Wheel. {slight smile} In two day's time.
{Ripley} Yes yes!
{Ripley} I take my leave then, Sir Bright, and will see you soooooon!
* Ripley rockets off, darting between pews without coming close to hitting any of them or anything. And from there, he rockets to the Tether's Locus, to go down...
* Giri watches the Ofanite go, leaving room for a very slight, resigned sigh, to Himself, above.
* Giri then follows in the wake of the young angel, back to the Locus himself.
* And as Giri descends.... we Fade. For now.