maskormenacelogs | 15 👶 NO HUMAN IS THIS POTENT ALL ALONE;

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15 👶 NO HUMAN IS THIS POTENT ALL ALONE;

WHO: Unfortunate nerd lords roped into fake Porter shenanigans
WHERE: Heropa, city limits; secluded wooded area
WHEN: Groundhog Week, Day 3-7
WHAT: Ronan, Kavinsky, and a handful of volunteers try to juice up a false Porter in order to save people from the meteoric bomb threat.
WARNINGS: Bad words, stress, death/bombing.

In many ways, it's a day in Heropa like any other day. Humid and glaring, even in the earlier part of the morning.

In other ways, it's anything but typical. For one thing, it's the third or fourth time they've all lived this day, with the exception of those of us who have died.

The dreamers have set up just outside the city. Even at a distance from the road, the noise of traffic is chaotic. People trying to drive out to see meteor shower based on the pop culture surrounding once-in-a-lifetime! phenomena, people trying to drive out and evacuate based on rumors, and of course, people trying to drive in for their ordinary workday because the rumors are obviously ("obviously") bullshit and the fad of snapping low-quality cellphone photos of celestial bodies careening around in the sky is some hippy/millennial/choice of disagreeable insult nonsense.

But for Ronan, Kavinsky, and the handful of ImPorts rushing out to meet them, it's nothing of the kind.

They found a hangar up for sale and, for lack of a better term, broke in. The Porter sits in the center of the gloomy concrete space. Steps echo and words reverberate louder than they should.

Long before the bombs start to fall, it smells creepily of desperation in here. The day of the network post, Ronan and Kavinsky have already struggled— and failed twice alone. The boys look stressed to the point of ageing, and painfully sober despite the bottles of liquor already scattered around along with a handful of stolen furniture. A prize lab, this is not.

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Hange has no idea what she'll be facing, really, once she arrives at the given coordinates. She comes through the teleport dressed in the full 3DMG, and trots briskly through the streets of Heropa following her directions. Along the way she stops at a supermarket and buys a bag of oranges (raw material to grow things from) and a case of Gatorade (juice for her and anyone else who needs it).

One hand is full of orange-bag, and the case is propped up on her shoulder, so when she's arrived she begins kicking the door. She will continue kicking the door until she's granted entry. CLANG CLANG CLANG.

It's Ronan who answers, and he looks both older and younger than he's ever looked before. Though he's been doing a great deal of sleeping, none of it has involved resting, and every dream carves out a little bit more of him. Wordlessly, he pulls the door open and motions for Hange to follow him back to where Kavinsky is waiting. It feels like they're running out of time, which makes no sense, because this could go on infinitely.

Guess who wears glasses and is used to desperate, hopeless, life-or-death situations? Hange smiles amiably at Ronan and follows him in.

"Want some Gatorade, kiddo? I don't know what Glacier Freeze is supposed to taste like but I thought the blue color was interesting! You can also eat an orange, but you have to spit out the seeds for me."

Ronan shakes his head with a sigh. "I need to be asleep again soon," he explains dully, in a way that makes him sound either very tired or very drunk. "The sugar's just gonna keep me awake."

The three of them aren't alone, it turns out. Someone's already here and contributing energy: Adam Parrish, deep in meditation, just off to their right. When he gets into these magical trances, very little will catch his notice. He doesn't acknowledge Hange.

Ronan knows best what he needs to work, so Hange doesn't press the matter. She might eventually, depending on how he does.

Adam gets only an intent, interested glance. Once she's in work mode, Hange is not prone to getting distracted.

"Your friend suggested that I contribute to that other man's use of energy. Kylo Ren, I believe. I'm not sure how well it will work but it seems worth trying. Is there substrate around that I can use for the plants? I can go outside, or we can crack the floor, perhaps..."

On the far side of the room, Kavinsky is sitting on a beat-up armchair. His narrow shoulders are slumped, his feet spaced apart. He's rubbing red spots into his nose and cheeks with one hand, holding his cellphone in the other, staring intently at the screen. It takes him a couple seconds to notice the voices of others, which come to him through a thick fog. But eventually, he looks up, blinking like someone disoriented from sleep.

"Hi there, kiddo!" Hange can't really wave with her hands full, but recognizes him from the video and smiles amiably. Amiability practically wafts off of her, actually. "Gatorade? Orange? You have to spit out the seeds for me."

Used to be, Kavinsky didn't know what to do with amiable people aside from make snarling enemies out of them. But these days, terror arms him with a reasonable attitude toward having allies. He fits a small, worried smile on his face, pulls himself out of the chair slowly, like an old man instead of the young one he is.

"Thanks," he says. "I'mma hope and pray you're joking about the seeds. Unless Gatorade's real different in this world from where I come from."

That's a wise tendency to have shed, in Hange's opinion. Of course, soldiers from her branch of the military are trained to put aside differences to the point where they're ready to die for each other at a moment's notice.

"No seeds in the Gatorade! Only seeds in the oranges, which I will be growing. I can't grow them in your stomach, or I could, but it would probably not be pretty. Now that I say it, perhaps you should wait to eat an orange! I'll grow a tree for us! Did you want Gatorade?"

There's a beat's hesitation. Kavinsky spent most of his life so unhealthy that it would probably give Zoe a heart attack, or at least an expression of considerable consternation, and it's not entirely gone from him yet. Gatorade?! Rebalancing your electrolytes?! That sounds suspiciously good for you.

But Dr. Chilton's Home for Lost Boys did actually have some real true good benefits.

"Gatorade would be great," he says. "And I think long as you're over ten feet from the Porter," he gestures at the machine (which I OOCly have no idea how it looks), "your orange tree gonna be great." A beat. "You ever grown a tree in someone?" Morbid curiosity ok

She drops the case on the floor (dust and detritus puffs up from it) and crouches to start wrenching a Gatorade free. These packages! They could be used to restrain prisoners! But she'll get one for him, and toss it his way once she has it.

"I have never grown a tree in somebody, and can't think of an occasion when I would ever!" That's not true: if someone were an enemy of humanity, she'd grow a tree in them if necessary to stop them. "I suppose in that case, their body might serve as the substrate... but that's a morbid idea, don't you think? No trees growing in anybody for now. I'll go out back, or break the floor for me, or provide soil..."

(Restrain prisoners!! Zoe what is your life.) Kavinsky catches the Gatorade and raises it at her in thanks. He unscrews the cap and drinks down a big orange mouthful, hulp, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks at her energetic disagreement re: murder farming, and nods his head.

"Maybe for self-defense," he suggests. "Just saying, be good to have some kind of power you can use to look out for yourself. Specially in this town. Too bad you can't grow some fucking oranges out of flying missiles, you know?" Jk he was definitely not 'just saying.' He was at least a little bit invested in the concept. But she's putting on great overtures of being a good person, so he isn't about to try and talk her into nonsense.

Make no mistake, Zoe Hange puts on the black hat sometimes and when she does, get out of the way, kids! Because when she does, it's torture and mutilation time. But that's a rare side of her, a side she dislikes, and one that's completely inappropriate when it comes to dealing with these two tired, scared kids. So no one will be seeing that today.

"You're right," she says, smiling amiably. Kavinsky if you only knew. "But don't you worry about me. Right now, let's all worry about this! Want to see me grow a tree? Then you can eat one of those oranges."

"That sounds way too healthy for my bullshit lifestyle," Kavinsky mutters. But it's a half-hearted protest, fueled mostly by the fact he can imagine Murphy's flat look of irritation that here he is, living it up with the world's freshest most magical fruit, while the other boy might be dying for the nth time.

"Sure. Let's check this out. Could be a metaphor for our incredible success." He tosses out his skinny arms, and looks expectantly at the ugly patch of concrete. Which is so ugly.

"Substrate," Hange reminds chidingly. But ah, well, she can probably start without anything at all! It can be a new experiment. From her jacket she whisks out a folding knife, and slices an orange in half - there are lots of seeds in there, and the fruit itself can serve as the initial energy reserve. Then she moves to place the half-orange somewhat carefully on the cement, where there's a visible seam, even a crack. Then she steps back, raises a hand, and begins the whole process.

For a moment there's nothing. Then, Hange chooses one seed to focus on, and presses with her power, a sensation she's come to associate with a press, at least. In under a minute the seed has germinated. A seedling pops out, and roots push downwards, unguided by Hange, in that way plants have of just knowing which way they should go. The roots grow larger quickly and spear through the remaining fruit; the new sapling sprouts from it. The trunk is white at first with just a tip of green, and rapidly turns to brown as the trunk grows taller and thicker.

Hange catches her lip between her teeth in an expression of concentration. Now it's all relatively straightforward, though it looks very strange; the roots sprawl out of over the concrete, searching this way and that for moisture and nutrients like seeking fingers, the trunk grows straight up as Hange forces the matter. The orange is still discernibly a half-fruit around the growing orange tree.

That is impressive, even to a young man who was chronically unimpressed by anything and generally has to fake it these days. It reminds him a great deal of dreaming, which is now and has always been his favorite thing to do. Besides, you know. Having true love. That's pretty awesome too. Hence this entire opera.

"Bad-ass," he says. After an instant's hesitation, he takes a step toward the tree. Reaches toward it, touching the rind of the half-fruit even as the new plant stretches its way through. "Damn.

"Is it gonna try and fucking eat me?" He glances downward, checking to see if the roots have decided that he constitutes a source of nutrition or the like.

Hange obligingly stops the growing as Kavinsky handles the plant, and it freezes in place. Now it seems like an entirely normal sapling, if you'd uprooted the whole thing and cleaned off all the dirt, and punched it through an orange.

"No... I suppose if I wished, I could force it to try and take sustenance from you. But I'm not going to do that. Ultimately this growth is guided by me."

She begins the process again, a little slower; he'll be able to feel the orange moving, as trunk expands. He could touch the trunk and feel bark sliding under his fingers, touch the roots and feel them squirm, seeking a way through the concrete, seeking moisture. Hange's powers are so cool, she agrees!

Damn. He's into it. He opens his mouth to recommend she explore the offensive use of the nutrient-seeking creep factor some point, but then he shuts his gob again the next moment, quirking a smile. Maybe another time. It'd be right out of a horror movie, but this film is a different genre entirely.

He knocks back another mouthful of Gatorade, then steps away from the fast-growing tree. "I don't know jack about physics or biology," he says, "but there has to be energy involved in this that we can use. Appreciate it, Ms. Hange."

Forcing trees into human flesh is the most basic offensive application of her ability. It'd be even better for forcing blooms of toxic algae in human water supplies, or breeding plants that release irritant spores and allergens, or creating new poisons that don't yet have antidotes... as a soldier, Hange sees the military application, even as she finds joy in the ability to create and hybridize new, beautiful (and delicious) plants.

"Ah, yes, I had hoped so. You'd mentioned that man who could draw upon 'the Force' or some such? Regardless, I'll find an out-of-the-way place to put these trees and you may draw on that energy freely."

"Yeah, we got one of those," Kavinsky nods. Draw upon 'the Force.' For reasons including that this player has no idea whether the SW cast is cool with breaking the fourth wall, also Kavinsky is probably steadfastly against being identified as a nerd, he's just going to look pretty casual about acknowledging that. "Magic, man. Go figure.

"But thanks for this." He salutes with the bottle of Gatorade, winks at her. And wheels away to check on the rest of the progress with team let's harness a billion types of disparate energy and hopefully stop this fiasco with a series of actual nuclear bombs.

There's a flash of golden light and the sound of rushing air, like a miniature sonic boom, before the sound of a voice midway through a sentence.

"--eight five west--" then Nico is skidding to a stop on the concrete floor, staff active and in-hand, like she got a running start when teleporting over. She blinks, a little owlish, before heading over to one of the few tables and placing down a bag of food and drink she brought from the Meadows.

"So... how are we looking?"

Crash. That's the sound of Kavinsky dropping his beer bottle on the ground. It promptly shatters into a hundred glittering glass pieces. He blinks at her in surprise, compounded by stress.

"Holy shit, girl," he says. He's sworn more in the past week than he had in probably five months prior. He instantly recognizes her from the Internet. "It's looking real sudden. You got some power on you." He turns to look at the Porter, then back at her. By the expression on his face, 'some power' is a good thing today.

Dooku is loose again, thanks to some twit with great taste in music. Ordinarily his first priority would be evading the authorities followed closely by revenge, but the news that there is an imPort-created Porter shifts that equation considerably. Before the Count goes back to Maurtia Falls, he has to see.

The Count arrives in his customary black clothing, minus his cape, which was tragically destroyed during the battle that he was arrested in. He walks in to the hangar with his hands behind his back and his head held high, as though he owns the place and didn't confess a multitude of treacheries to the entire Network. His steps echo in the space, and his voice booms more than usual.

"So this is where the miracle has been created," he says as he takes in the rudimentary Porter and its meager surroundings. "Most impressive, I must say."

Kavinsky's head jolts upright. His eyebrows climb his head. Get a load of Count Dooku who, indeed, doesn't look like he confessed a multitude of treacheries to the entire Network— almost ratting out his former compatriots and publically weeping on top of it. Kavinsky has spent the past day-- or maybe make that, three-four days, badly at risk of publically weeping, himself. There are high stakes on this one, for him. And he thought he didn't really do high stakes anymore.

Dooku's arrival pulls nerves out of him like a scalpel and pincer tongs.

"What you here for, Count?" he asks. His gaunt face pinches into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. If the older man is here to flip on them, send the Porter and all of the hope that it represents to the authorities, he isn't sure what he'll do. Something catastrophically stupid, probably.

"To help, of course." Dooku's answer is in that too-smooth, so-courteous voice Kavinsky knows so well. He's much more his old self, in command of his own actions and undaunted by the odds against him, nuclear, temporal, legal, or otherwise. "The two of you require power for this device, do you not?"

He gestures to the proto-Porter, then generates a little crackling blue energy around one hand for a moment, running over his fingers like water. "Power is one thing I can help to provide."

Ronan, though always wary, doesn't appear particularly intimidated by Dooku's sudden appearance. It does come as a surprise, as he'd thought Dooku was still in prison and he is in fact pretty certain that Dooku was meant to stay there for a long time. Which means that Dooku's probably busted out. That's awfully criminal behavior for someone who'd been so repentant.

"We'll take the assistance," says Ronan, choosing that word in particular, lest Dooku go thinking he'll be calling the shots around here. He doesn't miss the expression on Kavinsky's face. It's weird to see him looking so nervous. "If you're hoping to catch a ride, though, you might wanna reconsider. It's a one-way trip and the destination won't be as nice as, say, Mexico?" There are better ways to flee the country.

Kavinsky smoothes his expression over, patching the chink in his armor. But certainly not before Ronan catches it for what it was. A flaw in his defenses, which are weak, lately, on account of Murphy's horrifying situation. It hasn't been often, in either of his lives, that he's been hit where it hurts. And these days, he doesn't have a layer of cocaine to hide behind.

"Yeah," he says, after a moment. Agreeing with Ronan. But then he remembers that Murphy, of everyone, would hate to be locked up again even if he got out of this shit— even if he wouldn't hate it more than dying. So he adds kind of casually, glancing down at some beer bottles, "Thought you was locked up, Count. Welcome back to being a free man."

The Count smiles tightly. He is honestly improvising his great escape as he goes along, and knows full well he will most likely be recaptured soon if the loop does not reset. But the chance to be free for a time, and to look upon an imPort Porter, is worth that risk.

"I've been granted a reprieve, of sorts," he says. A reprieve also known as being broken out by a fan. "Travel plans can wait until this device is operational."

Dooku doesn't start zapping right away though, instead turning to Kavinsky and cocking an eyebrow at him. "I never knew that your power was so extensive as to be capable of such a creation," he remarks casually, as though he totally doesn't think it would have been great to know about this capability during the Constellation's many Porter-related schemes.

There's definitely a faintly stiff moment where Kavinsky is wondering how much of this he should trust, about as obviously as Dooku is hinting that he would've liked to know about the Porter a little earlier. It's hard out here for undercover supervillains, you know? There's so much deception you have to do in order to have your cake (friends, semi-functioning relationships, company when you want it) and eat it (supervillainy with minimal consequences).

"Depends on what you mean by 'extensive,'" he points out, after a moment. Gestures at the Porter. "Considering it don't work without all you people rolling in, and the government would probably be kicking the doors down if they didn't have real actual missiles to worry about-- well, it ain't exactly what the goddesses of fate ordered. You know what I'm saying?"

Fine print: Also didn't exactly trust u, it cool it cool

"You are far too modest, my young friend," Dooku says, his deep voice elegant in its notes of praise. He diverts his attention from the Porter and focuses on the boy now, coming closer, hands behind his back. "What you have done here is remarkable. If this plan works as you intend, you will have done more than create a replica of the world's most powerful technology. You will be the saviour of Heropa. All will be in your debt."

And maybe in the debt of the helpful, heroic imPorts who helped bring the Porter to full operation. Not that Dooku has anything like that on his mind in lending his assistance, of course.

Ronan sneers at that statement. There's an exchange going on between Dooku and Kavinsky that's more than the words being said out loud, he knows. Of course, it doesn't matter to him what Kavinsky's been up to. It only matters what happens from here, because Ronan is in this room now, and a menacing stranger is admiring their dream. He'll take his cues from Kavinsky, however. No sense in volunteering anything.

It does tingle on the edge of Kavinsky's awareness, that Ronan is here and watching.

And oddly, he feels a pang of responsibility toward the other dreamer. The thought that, if Ronan is willing to put his energy, and maybe even his life on the line to help Murphy out, then Kavinsky owes it to him not to drag him down into the cesspit of supervillainy and crime and anarchy.

"Heropa's gonna have plenty of heroes," is a sidestep. "Other people working on other projects. Everybody in this room. Maybe even you, friend to the cause, Count. You gonna roll the dice with us?" He's disengaging. Casually stepping away from Ronan, maybe so Dooku doesn't think to look at the Irish-blooded boy too closely.

It hadn't been too out of the way for Angela to get there, it helped that she was based in Heropa to begin with so she drove. She'd made her own stop to buy a crate of bottled water and snacks. It's not that she doesn't trust that they can look after themselves, she's just keenly aware that they might need some help right now. Especially with the day repeating itself for what felt like the tenth time.

Angela parked a little further back and walked to the hangar. She knocked and waited for a response, not exactly knowing what she was expecting to see.

Angela's not wrong. 'Self-care' tends to go out the window when

the world is ending, and
it's doing so repeatedly from nuclear warheads with no clear explanation.

The door hauls open, and there's a skinny young man standing there. His buttondown shirt is rumpled and there's a beer stain in the right knee of his khakis. But his face lights up with something cautiously approaching optimism when he sees her. "Come on in," he says. "Lynch talked to you, right? You're the amplifier."

She would argue against that, especially with the day repeating itself and say it's important everyone keeps their energy up.

Once the door opens and she sees him her initial thought is along the lines of 'shit, so young'. It wasn't something she had against them, not at all. She'd seen so many younger imPorts doing just as much, if not more, than the adults and this was definitely one of those moments. When he starts to speaks she smiles and gives a slight nod.

"That would be me. I'm Angela."

She steps in and looks around.

"Oh I brought some snacks for anyone that's hungry." Please eat because she might force you both into actually having something.

If she argued, that would be a valid argument. Kavinsky laughs, which makes him look slightly less like Hell and more like a kid for a moment. He accepts the snacks, turns away a moment. Yells, "Yo, Lynch!" to get the other boy's attention, and throws a couple through the air. Ronan catches them neatly.

Which leaves Kavinsky to turn back to the woman, nodding in gratitude. He tears open one bar and bites down on it. "Sorry, ma'am," he says, because he's Very Polite in this current incarnation, "you need anything special for your amplification? Don't think we asked."

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15 👶 NO HUMAN IS THIS POTENT ALL ALONE;

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fading out, thx for the thread <3

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tw drugs

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lmao im crying at this meta

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