The Return Journey (
returnjourney) wrote in
returnjourneylogs2022-01-01 04:57 pm
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Entry tags:
- !event,
- *helpdesk,
- agrias oaks (final fantasy tactics),
- aki hayakawa (chainsaw man),
- alex mercer (prototype),
- bucky barnes (mcu),
- claire fraser (outlander),
- ezio auditore (assassin's creed),
- j. a. volkhov (original),
- jinx (arcane),
- loki odinson (mcu),
- rhys strongfork (borderlands),
- silco (arcane),
- theo crawford (original),
- william (westworld)
SET SAIL: FIRST IMPRESSIONS
SET SAIL: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Welcome to the new year and the Return Journey's opening event! We're starting with something light to get everyone acclimated and so no one feels they've missed too much if they app after the holiday season. We'd like to make it easy for any new players to jump in right away.
If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.
1. What? My name is who? My name is—
Salutations! Now that everyone's respective warden and inmate orientations are out of the way, you've been given a helpful, mandatory name tag. It instantly appears on your shirt and can't be taken off, though where it appears on your shirt is a bit more unpredictable; it's an imperfect science, so it's just as likely to pop up on the back of your shirt as the front. If you try to remove your clothes, the tag appears on your skin; they're waterproof, so a quick shower won't get rid of it, either. What can we say — it's mandatory.
While the tags all follow the standard "HELLO my name is" format and have your name or most common alias, they also include some other information. For wardens, it features a space that declares "I LIKE" and one or two of your most choices hobbies. For inmates, it features these hobbies and "I have killed [x] people" (this may be a specific number or something akin to "a lot of" or "no"). Fun icebreaker, right?
2. Twenty Questions
Speaking of icebreakers, a brief announcement summons everyone to the observatory. Again, yes, it's mandatory; wardens must retrieve absent inmates before any more information is revealed. Better hop to it!
Upon arrival, passengers will discover that the Peregrine's resident bot force has reconfigured the observatory with small, portable cubicles, each with a transparent wall that retains a lovely view of the observatory's massive window. Each inmate is assigned their own cubicle and, upon entering, cannot leave without a warden's say so; the door only unlocks with a warden's CommLink.
Wardens are tasked with interviewing at least one inmate, to get a feel for their prospective charges. They can have as much time as they need to formulate what questions they want to ask, but that might leave some inmates waiting. Maybe that's on purpose, though. In any case, the exercise is over once an inmate is asked five questions and a warden receives five answers.
Archimedes will collect name tags after the interviews for incineration. The robotic owl is, notably, the only one who can remove them.
3. Polite Picnic
The greenhouse doesn't always have enough fresh produce to go around (and often what is collected is frozen and preserved), but given the circumstances — a new mission and new passengers — everyone can reap the rewards this month...if they share. A bot stationed in the mess hall mechanically tells anyone who crosses into range (whether they mean to visit the produce table or not) that they aren't to take more than three fruits and/or vegetables. If you choose not to abide by the rules...well, that depends if you're caught and by who.
The produce available are as follows:
Adalfane: Tastes like cocaine, but very nutritious, especially when eaten raw.There are notably fewer tsanyi than adalfane or tuadath. But if everyone's nice and cooperates, each person can get exactly one.
Tuadath: Smells awful, but very hearty when cooked, tasting a little like steak.
Tsanyi: Pure, sugary sweetness. Can be made into a refreshing drink, eaten raw, or sprinkled over a desert.
ARCHIMEDES | THE HELPDESK
Actually, he might not even wait. He says to anyone who gets within three feet of him:]
Welcome aboard the Peregrine! I am Archimedes, the Peregrine's Helpdesk. I am tasked with arranging materials and resources for passengers. What can I help you with today?
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[ Three feet away,
Silco jumps in a totally normal and not at all startled manner. Probably it was just how he meant to walk by this particular stretch. Hopping is very stylish these days.
He eyes the owl for a long moment before sidling closer. Reaches out a hand,
Poke. ]
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inb4 owl tipping becomes an inmate sport
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i definitely lost this notice sorry mr owl
archimedes is forgiving
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Helloooo beautiful.
[ He'll let out a whistle as he approaches fully, reaching out to try and lift one of Archimedes wings. ]
What's a fine piece of tech like you doing on a ship like this?
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With a sidelong look at the owl: ] Was this your idea?
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Alex Mercer | Inmate | OTA
Well, Alex was not impressed--at least if they were trying to give incentives and make him feel comfortable about this whole thing. The room really didn't feel like a comfy-room. It wasn't quite as bad as a hospital examination room might be (or an autopsy table in a lab). But it wasn't much better--no where to hide.
Which was probably by design.
Then there was the name-tag. At least his ended up in the proper place--and he'd already tried removing his jacket to get rid of it. No luck. He didn't object so much to the "Alex Mercer" bit. His Hobby listed was benign enough as "Reading". It was the "I killed a lot of people." He objected to--was that really necessary?
So for now, he'd picked a spot on one of the back seats where he could see entries and exits. Observing people, watching how they all interacted so far. Waiting for the inevitable when someone would approach him.
3--Polite Picnic
The greenhouse at least was mildly interesting. Even if Alex was more interested in the science behind the hyperbaric chambers and the substrate they were using instead of soil. But he could recognize a potential bargaining chip when he saw one too. Besides, given he couldn't access any of his abilities, he might need to have actual food himself. So one of each plant for now, and he would consider trading or using the Tsanyi as a resource for trade. At least without his abilities, he also could tolerate the smell of the Tuadeth for now.
3
"Going for a variety?" Claire asks, trying to strike up conversation. Might as well.
Re: 3
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Ezio Auditore | Warden
Here's one new warden, a fish out of water in a fitted and worn-in leather trousers and a billowy-sleeved white shirt against the machined white walls and under powered lights. As he walks the halls, he occasionally reaches out and trails his fingertips against the wall –– the novelty hasn't worn off, not by far. He could walk the halls for hours, marveling at the perfection of the construction. (He does not have hours, there's shit to do.)
His name tag identifies him as Ezio Auditore da Firenze, which pleases him more than just his name alone would, and his hobbies are exploration and beautiful women. Appropriately revealing, he thinks.
One thing notable to his about this ship, however, is its size and resources compared to the number of people he has seen. As such, he's going to walk right up and introduce himself to whoever he sees.
2. Interviews
When Archimedes directs wardens to round up any errant inmates, Ezio wastes no time heading out: whatever has him on the move is much more appealing than conversation, and it gives him an excuse to explore a little more. He hunts the ship with confidence, combing over rooms with hawk-like precision, expression focused.
Once that's resolved, he settles into the task at hand as easily as he slides into a booth with a waiting inmate. Questions aren't difficult to come up with. He's full of them, always has been.
"Good of you to join us," Ezio says, a touch flippant, as though any inmate is here by choice.
1
Look, some wardens, like this Claire Fraser, have very dull hobbies such as plants and medicine, as so neatly written out on her name tag.
Oh, wait. Was he introducing himself to her? Rude. She tries to recover with a smile.
"Oh. Hello there."
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Interviews
"Yes, because I like to start all my days with a game of 20 questions. Helps wake up the mind, don't you think?" Not bothering to hide his sarcasm either. At least he's not radiating hostility--just intense skepticism and a touch of boredom.
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2 (drug ref)
He blinks blearily at Ezio. He looks kind of shell-shocked. There's no way this guy that just came in is actually dressed like a pirate in real life, so, okay, let's just not bring it up.
Fuck. Fuck. He can't tell where he is. It's either a hospital or a police station. The guy's demeanor says police, to him.
"Did you run out of evidence to snort, or something? Go away. I'm not talking without my attorney present."
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1
Is the snapped assessment of the name tag—ever the reader, William's focused on the words before the other man's face even registers. He's wondering how many leering innuendos about the exploration of beautiful women this guy has made when it clicks. He takes a step back, his body tensing, his expression teetering on the edge of collapse.
(Gone is the black, the hat and the meticulously maintained cowboy getup: in its place, a perhaps disappointingly modern suit. Blue, tailored, no tie. His own name tag, for the moment, nowhere to be seen.
He looks older, though one would be hard-pressed to articulate how.)
Finally, he manages: “Is Takeshi here?”
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silco | OTA
Hello, my name is SILCO. I like HEARING MYSELF TALK. I have killed MANY people.
OBSERVATORY
The tag presses neat against the back of his shirt-collar: Rich red cloth, at once familiar and remarkably ill-fitting. Some imperceptible difference of the copy, in fabric that ought to tear with blood.
Change. It's all in how you wear it.
Disoriented is too simple a word for the lilt of the ground before him, the expanse of sky beyond. Pushing against it renders him stiff, an animatronic man unrolling his sleeves over and again,
(Eye to tag after tag leaves only so many possibilities for his own.)
a) YOU DO THE HOKEY POKEY
He mills by the window, but the keen-eyed may note the glass of less interest than its reflection, Silco pressed at any angle to catch not a glimpse of sky, but his own neck.
Finally, a hand darts back. Almost got it — no, shit —
b) POCKET SAND
It's an odd stumble that catches him, trips one knee down into the pit. Fingers spider out to catch himself — only to sink deeper, plunge his whole palm into sand.
As he rises, cartilage crackles. A hand dusts the earth from dark trousers. Another hooks into his pocket, and comes back clean.
c) TONIGHT ON JEOPARDY
He's given little in the way of resistance thus far: A disgruntled cooperation, the bristling silence of someone either extremely calm, or extremely about to start screaming.
The lock clicks into place, and a snarl leaps to the edge of one thin lip. Twists into a sneer upon observation.
"Jumpy, are we?"
d) WILDCARD
[ up for whatever! hmu on plurk or PM for a bespoke starter ]
C
Well, that was the case the last time, at least. He's actually hoping things will be more predictable here, or at least less concerning with regard to whether the ship itself might fall apart at any moment.
Anyway.
He settles into his seat, eyes dropping to the name tag on his new inmate friend's shirt, and he can't help but snort out a laugh.
"It seems we have something in common. Things, I should say."
Perhaps more, if Silco happens to agree with the rather vague I LIKE MAGIC. printed on Loki's tag.
shut up silco *i* like magic
wow silco now we'll never be besties
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/E7ab0ygXEAIO7te.jpg
dkjsl always
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a. You put your right hand out...
Hello, my name is Alex Mercer. I like reading and science. I've killed a lot of people.
lmaO
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A
Claire can't help but hesitantly approach the man that looks like he might have fleas. Expected, on a ship that might be on the water. In space? She has no idea.
Her name tag is in plain sight. Claire Fraser. Hobbies include plants and medicine.
space fleas horrifyingly plausible concept
no ty burn the whole ship
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c is for can you believe we're finally threading after seven years.....
this is how i know we're in a simulation
building the matrix tag by tag
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Loki has been distracted since he came aboard-- waking up with a neck just short of broken and then being immediately whisked away to yet another prison ship has given him a lot to think about --but at the moment he's distracted for. Another reason. He'd been exploring the ship, getting his bearings, when he happened to glance down and spot something written just along the hem of his shirt.
So now he's bent over, lifting the bottom of his shirt up so he can read it upside-down, muttering to himself just outside the mess hall.
"'I like magic.' Well, that's reductive..."
2. Bigger than a breadbox.
Talking! Now there's something Loki excels in. He'll have to come up with questions, of course, but surely that won't be a problem. Frankly, he's already got plenty, it's just that most are about the ship and the Navarch and that robot owl, what in the Nine?
But he can settle for the inmates. He does need to know what he might be getting into. Unlike the barge, he has zero context for any of them at all, and no one to pester for their impressions either.
So he breezes into the first cubicle, dropping gracefully into his seat and flashing a smile at whoever has been waiting.
"Hello! Let's make this as painless as possible, shall we?" He forges on quickly, keeping that rhetorical from counting as one of the questions (hopefully). "Where are you from?"
3. Is this candy?
He hadn't exactly been intending to take anything. He was just going to visit, suffer some heartache over the now multiple people such a space reminded him of, and leave, but now he's stepped aside, examining the fruit he'd selected before, well, might as well...
Loki's eaten his entire tsanyi in a matter of seconds, humming with hedonistic pleasure. Without a thought, he immediately returns to the table to help himself to another...only to stop with his hand hovering over the pile as he counts them.
"Damn." This is the exact sort of thing he'd suspect was a test, when he was an inmate. Now he just recognizes it would be rude to take another, let alone all of them like he actually wants, and that he's not exempt from the consequences of rudeness.
When he sees someone else coming, he draws his hand back, takes a full step back even, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Hello. Was just. Taking a look."
My, he just looks incredibly suspicious, doesn't he?
3
When he comes in just in time to see Loki reel back, the fruit is the last thing on his mind.
"You," he replies, brows furrowed.
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1
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2. Box is better than a handbasket
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hei, loki. jeg er james.
Hva faen?!
ja, jeg er flott. takk for at du spør.
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Rhys Strongfork | Inmate | OTA
[Rhys isn't entirely unfamiliar with this kind of situation- not only the fact that boring icebreaker activities were a staple part of his former corporate life, but also the whole ~reform or whatever~ cruise ship concept (is this one a cruise ship? He hadn't gotten a chance to really look around yet.) He's one of the transfers, which means he's already done the whole "Is this some kind of sick joke?" song and dance.
He wants to find out what kind of amenities this place has to offer, and can be found "casually" walking around the halls of the place, very "subtly" peering into rooms that are already open or openable. He'll be so into snooping that anyone who comes upon him will get a startled yelp, followed by him scrambling to cover a hand over his nametag and then oh-so casually resting the other on wall to do an oh-so-casual lean.]
Heeeey, hi. Just uh, doing the rounds, getting a lay of the land if you know what I mean.
2. Twenty Questions
[ Oh, Rhys does not want to be here. Don't they know he's claustrophobic? You can't just lock an innocent guy in a human sized observation tank! This is inhumane, it's a violation of his rights! He wants to speak with everyone's managers.
He can be found pacing back and forth in the space, knocking on the transparent all purposefully whenever someone walks past and making exaggerated pantomimes towards the cubicles door. ]
1
Still.]
Rhys? Did you get brought over from the barge?
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1. Nametags
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james buchanan barnes | warden
02 ⬡ ice ice breaka breaka.
03 ⬡ clean up on aisle six.
∞ ⬡ wildcard.
1
Do you take great care as to which knives you use for your pancakes?
[It's a joke. She knows he probably likes knives for purposes that do not involve eating.]
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02
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2.
J.A. Volkhov | Inmate | OTA
It sounds like he's been stabbed over there. It's a hurt-your-throat scream. It's a fox-in-a-metal-snare scream. There are no actual stabbings going on, at least not in this particular instance; there's just an guy alone over there without any sharp objects having an actual legitimate mental breakdown. His hands clutch at his head and face. One knee hits the ground hard, then the other.
The name tag is pinned to the shoulder of his jacket. It says:
HELLO, my name is
Volk
I LIKE
complaining on internet
Green Day
I HAVE KILLED
no
PEOPLE
He deep hiccuping breath and screams again. The amount of noise coming out of a person that small is really remarkable.
--
2A. I hope you like waiting to start, because he is NOT going into those cubicles. He's off at a dead sprint in the opposite direction.
Running in kitten heels on metal grate isn't a great idea, though. He is not, shall we say, a very frequently athletic person. He wipes out on a corner, bonks off of a wall and lands directly on his face, claws his way upright, keeps running without the shoes. He's only gotten like maybe ten yards and he's already panting.
"Fuck - fuck off, fuck you. No way are we in FUCKING space, I want a lawyer."
---
2B. So, like, someone got him eventually. He's locked into the cubicle with tissues stuffed into one nostril to stem a mild nosebleed. His expression is vacant, his eyes soft and dull. He's got his arms out of the sleeves of his jacket so he can wrap it around himself like a blanket. He doesn't look up when the lock clicks. He's done this before. A lot.
"It's July twenty-seventh. It's a Saturday. The president is Germaine Stemrock. We're in Burbank. It's fine. I'm done running away. It's fine."
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He is giving this experience a one-star review right now, and a large part of him is saying to not get involved in whatever the hell is going on here, but he's made himself comfortable where he currently is and would rather this guy just stop. ]
Hey... hey buddy.
[ He's approaching carefully, one hand tepidly outstretched. ]
What's uh- what's the problem over he-
[ More screaming. Interrupted by screaming! This sucks! Rhys retracts his hand, clapping both over his ears. ]
Okay I can't help you if you keep doing that.
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2a.
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2B
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Agrias Oaks | Warden | will match tag format!
Hello, my name is Agrias Oaks. I like my Queen and Country.
A touch obvious for her taste, and she wasn't much much of a fan of how casually Lady Ovelia had been mentioned. Still, there seemed to be no away around it. The entire point of this exercise was to introduce oneself to the others. Simple enough. At least, it would've been if Agrias had any real confidence in holding a casual conversation. Her dedication as a knight had left her with some... shortcomings, one could say.
"Ah..." She clears her throat shortly after approaching someone. "Well met. Do these strange times find you well?"
[Twenty Questions]
Okay, this she could do. All she needed to do was to ask a series of questions to get to know the inmates. Complete that, and they would be on their way. The problem was, however, once she and the inmate were together, Agrias simply... blanked on what she could even ask. There were so many choices, she was having difficulty settling on where to begin.
"Forgive me, 'tis my first time conducting an interrogation."
That... wasn't really helping her case, calling it that.
name.
Honestly? Yeah. ( and he means that for once, which would surprise anyone he knows, but it doesn't make much of a difference here. he offers his hand for a shake. ) James.
What country are you from, Miss Oaks?
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twenty questions
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cw veiled domestic abuse joke
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20q
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Twenty Questions
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jinx | inmate.
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Well, this sucks.
That's when he looks up and spots some pipi-longstocking ass looking girl with a whole PILE of the good ones in her lap. ]
Hey! Why does she get to take more than three?
[ Asked to whoever will here him (hopefully someone who commandeer her stash and give some to HIM.) ]
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a
b (2)
B2
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William | Warden
1. name and shame
The man looks—not entirely out of place, but as though he ought to be outfitted with a clipboard, performing some kind of inspection. Instead, a pair of Navarch-issued handcuffs weigh down one pocket of his suit jacket (he does not wear a tie). He lingers in and around the loading bay, betraying no impatience but quick to turn at any sound. Eventually he'll tear himself away and head to the observatory, stopping to scope out the solitary confinement cells along the way.
His name tag is stuck to the thinning blond hair at the back of his head. Almost as if someone expected him to be wearing a hat.
a. Try to pull it off. Do it.
b. Once he's wise to the general shape of what's going on—once he's glimpsed a few name tags in passing—William's demeanor shifts from wary consideration something more on edge. He beckons the first person who doesn't look overtly suspicious over. Turns around. “What's the number?” he asks, quiet. Intent.
There is none, of course. He's a warden.
But you don't have to tell him that.
2. share(?) and care(?)
He nearly turns and leaves the mess hall: he despised this kind of thing on the other ship. Cookies and other sweet inducements, extravagant virtual parties. Anything to forget half the population was dead and the other half could fuck off whenever they liked.
But stay he does—now missing a patch of hair at the back of his head.
a. He selects a fruit from the dwindling supply, hefts it absently as he trails a cleaning bot around the mess hall. Sets the fruit directly in front of it to see how it reacts. More experimentation of this sort ensues.
b. Even—especially—if you have the look of a warden, he catches your eye and squints as though trying to dredge up a name. Instead it's a number he ventures: “One? No, six.” Or: “A lot, wasn't it?”
3. wildcard!
[ I'm planning to hit up individual inmates for interrogation threads, but if you're raring to go feel free to throw a starter here! Or whatever else your heart desires. ]
2b
"Claire," she offers. "Hello."
She'd shake his hand if she wasn't holding a fruit or vegetable in each of her own. She has no idea which is which. So, instead, she shrugs.
"Fascinating, aren't they?"
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2a
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aki hayakawa | warden
2 | OBSERVATORY;
3 | MESS HALL;
2
Then the question gets asked and the chair's front end hits the floor with a loud thump.
Fuck. How much do the wardens here know? It can't be much. It can't be, unless the Hand of Sacrifice has been trying to summon his contracted entity. And why would they? Nobody wants to touch him, there's a reason Volk was confident he'd get an exclusive deal.
He snorts, tries to play it off. "As much as anybody. You're better off asking one of my historians."
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HELLO. My name is THEODORE CRAWFORD. I have killed 987 people.
[That's one hell of a claim on the badge of the skinny, pale, exhausted-looking teenager that just showed up at the Inmates quarters. Theo doesn't usually suffer from bouts of self-consciousness, but he stops at the door when the occupying Inmates turn to see the new arrival. Considering his consequences before arrival, still feeling like death warmed over, and being without his powers has left him feeling more vulnerable than he's felt in quite a long time.
He's not sure what to even say.]
Which bunk's mine?
Two.
[Theo did try to peel that name badge off, but gave up. He sits waiting for his Warden interview, and of course, doesn't look too thrilled about it. He also has an absolutely pounding headache, so when his interviewer does arrive, he doesn't have the energy for his usual biting remarks.]
You got any cigarettes? Tell me they exist in space or whatever.
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[ More than that are — he just doesn't give a shit. None of them lock.
Stood hunched over the end of one long table, tapping at a communicator screen, it's a moment before Silco looks up. His eyes find Theo's, unblinking; chin tipped, ]
Silco.
[ By way of introduction. His own tag has already faded. ]
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