Better not cry...

[piper90npcs]

Who: Everyone
What: Missions
Where: Ranging from the Rig to the North Pole and back
When: December
Warnings/Notes: Combat.

Sometimes, the holiday season passes without note. Sometimes it's the most eventful time of the year, capable of giving a poor stock worker PTSD. Fortunately for the Rig, they don't work in customer service. No, they're troubleshooters, which means that it's up to them to solve whatever problems Jorgmund points them at.

It just so happens that, this month, Jorgmund's using them less as a tactical nuke and more as a shotgun.

Comments

BURNY GOAT GRUFF

[piper90npcs]

[[Locked to Garviel, Guts, and Tio.]]

"It's tradition, blast their eyes!" This had come from one of the Rig's financial superintendents, Reginald Wickhammersley-Bickersteth IV, a heavyset, walrus-mustachioed individual with an accent like he'd copied it from a period drama. To throw off the expectations of the gathered trio even further, he'd ordered them to sit once they got into his office and pressed them with cigars (Well, a chocolate bar in the case of Tio) and brandy (He seemed to feel that it would put some hair on the girl's chest). "The CEO feels that this is a waste of resources, but they don't understand! We can't let up on the bloody Swedes for another year! Bad enough their little goat's managed to stand, mocking us, for so long. But no more! I'll not have it! You'll have whatever you need to take care of this mission, but get it done!"

He had stood there, huffing for a moment.

And that's how they'd managed to find themselves escorted to the remnants of Sweden, with whatever equipment they'd asked for, with the addition of an aerial drone and some snowmobiles. (Upon looking at Loken, the quartermaster had ordered two of them strapped together, to handle his bulk.) The snow is thick, nearly up to Tio's waist, and still falling, but the Yule Goat stands undaunted, surrounded by a cement fence, guards (that may or may not be human), and the trees cut back six hundred feet in every direction around it.

"Ah, one small addition," he'd added before they left. "There is a... package in the heart of the Yule Goat. If you can, bring it here. It will be well worth your whiles."

[greyerrant]

Loken for his part requested his armor, painted white, a set of magnoculars (electronic binoculars basically), and one of his three swords, a short blade with the symbol of the Ultima upon it. He also requested cloth baffles and other material to quiet the sound of his war-plate so it didn't alert people while on a stealth mission. And of course, one incendiary charge, the better to ensure a cheerful blaze once the mission is complete. Clearly he's done this sort of commando work before, though he deeply regrets the lack of the Sigilite's more specialized technology such as a falsehood, which would enable him simply to walk up to the goat and set it alight.

He looks at Guts and Tio, his voice given a tinny cast by the augmitter, "Do you think it would be wise to use the drone to do some probing of the perimeter before we rush in there to set it ablaze?"

[garmr]

Guts had naturally come with his armor, sword, and usual array of projectile weaponry. He's had to be stealthy a few times before, but never in the Berserker armor. It was a good thing Loken had thought to bring the extra cloth.

"Scouting ain't a bad idea, though it doesn't look like too much trouble from here if we fight."

His usual solution to stealth is to just murder all the witnesses on the way. He's totally down to do that.

[zerofield]

To Tio's immense relief, her orbal staff worked perfectly normally in some quick tests before they left the Rig. She'd been worried, given the prevalence of other energy forms here ("electricity," okay...), but the Stuff sometimes giveth even as Jorgmund taketh away. It was flashier than she'd like, for a mission like this, but who knew what their logic for sending a spellslinging hacker on a firebombing mission was, anyway?

"I'd always prefer to know more rather than less." (Always might be a stretch, actually, but she'd prefer not to think about the exceptions at all.)

Ugh sorry this took me a while 3 way conversations are harder to track.

[greyerrant]

Loken will send out the drone to buzz in, trying to use the sound of the wind to conceal the sound of the little flying machine's engines. He looks slightly comical as he hunches over the remote for the drone in his powered armor, delicately manipulating the controls with two fingers.

"Guards don't look too complex or enhanced. If I use the drone to cause a distraction of some variety, it will probably buy us time to close in, plant the incendiaries, and remove whatever is inside the Goat before we are spotted."

Loken looks at his knives and Guts' weapons. "I think murder is definitely the less desirable option."

[garmr]

Guts, who had been keeping an eye out for any guards that might walk their way, will slowly lower his hand from the Dragonslayer’s hilt. No killing. Right. He can do that.

“Sounds like a plan. I can climb that thing to get whatever’s inside it while you two plant the bombs.”

He leans over to get a look at the strange drone controls, not quite as huge as Loken, but certainly not helping in the comically large warrior department.

[zerofield]

Tio, on the other hand, has to stand on her tiptoes to look at the drone controls, even when Loken is hunching over with them.

"Are you confident with the drone? I don't mind taking over if you prefer." Techie stuff, after all, is far more within her wheelhouse than fighting.

NAUGHTY OR NICE

[piper90npcs]

[[Locked to Gambit and Mac]

It was likely fairly surreal, walking into Dickwash's office to find a small, rotund, and heavily bearded man in a fur-lined red suit. But once he smiled and spread his arms, speaking their names, it was like magic. "This," Dickwash had begun, "Is Saint Nicholas. He is, unfortunately, having a bit of trouble. We, that is Jorgmund and Mr. Claus, would appreciate your... discrete assistance. Mr. Claus?"

"Thank you, Richard." He'd stood, then, and cleared his throat, reaching into his jacket and unrolling a sheet of parchment that had made Washburn gasp sharply. Santa had turned, smiled, and placed a finger over his lips. It was a map. A map of Santa's workshop and the territory surrounding it. "You know of my list. All of the children in this world, their deeds, and whether they've been naughty or nice." His eyes twinkled then as he eyed them, as if knowing he was speaking to two men who hadn't been on the 'nice' list in a very, very long time. "It has... gone missing. And my best attempts at finding it won't work. However, my dear wife and I thought about it and decided that your mix of experience and..." He hesitated, looking at Mac, "Unorthodox stratagems might succeed where I had failed. I am, I fear, a soft touch, and if it was one of my workers, I doubt I pressed hard enough. So your mission, should you choose to accept it-"

"They will," Dickwash had interjected.

Santa'd cutting smiled, then, continued, "If you choose to accept it, is to find my list for me. Before Christmas. I can offer food and shelter while you're at my facility in the North Pole, if you decide to help. And, in return, Jorgmund has asked me for a certain item that I'll be sending back with you. But they've assured me that you'll be well compensated."

And that's how they found themselves in Santa's Sleigh, circling the North Pole. Santa himself had simply leaped out of the sleigh earlier, saying he needed to check on one of the reindeer's mates. The reins were up for grabs. Please don't let Mac land the sleigh.

[kingofneworleans]

The string of French curse words that come out of Remy's mouth will probably not help him get onto the Nice list, but that's been out the window for years now. He clambers into the front seat, grabbing for the reins and taking a breath. Santa hadn't been let them go long enough for the reindeer to get their heads.

On the other hand? This is not something that he's ever actually done. Remy keeps himself calm, pulling back on the reins. "Dey gotta know how to get home, yeah?"

only a month late, you know, but if you're down to backtag I'd love to

[morebetter]

"Bro, we're gonna get so much Christmas spirit! Can I land the sleigh? Do you think I can ride a reindeer?"

Mac, naturally, is not thinking of the logistics here at all. He's filled with a sort of boyish enthusiasm that often seems to be his only semi-redeeming characteristic, and as far as he's concerned, Santa himself gave them a task, and that's like, barely half a step below being summoned by an angel or having Jesus tell you personally what to do. He's said Christmas spirit to Remy probably about forty-eight times since this started, although he keeps calling Remy "Ree-my" because something about the spelling is tripping him up. He's also explained to Remy at one point that it's Mac's duty to introduce said Christmas spirit to Remy, since Christmas is an American holiday and Remy's French and foreign.

"Dude, I bet reindeer are like passenger pigeons. They probably have internal compasses sewn in." As if that's how that works. "Besides, I've used the soda hose at the bar all the time so I'm really good at handling cords. You should give me the reins."

[kingofneworleans]

And Remy has given up, for the time being, on trying to remind Mac that he's an American citizen. It's not like he has his passport with him, after all.

"Animals ain't soda hoses." There's no chance in Hell that he's giving up the reins to Mac. "I got some 'sperience wit' dis sorta t'ing. We'll be fine."

Sure, the horses he'd had to steer before were well-trained. He just has to hope that the reindeer are as well. "Jus' need to get it on de ground. No pro'lem, yeah?"

[morebetter]

Remy can't be from New Orleans, because New Orleans was destroyed forever in the hurricane. Tragedy, really, but it's not like Mac gives a shit about Remy's sad life of having his hometown washed away into the Pacific.

"Well, yeah, if you've got experience that means you've already had all the fun. I want in, bro."

The reindeer, thankfully, seem to be pretty much able to autopilot this thing. After a bit, they start their descent. "You better not crash this, dude."

[kingofneworleans]

And Remy is older than Katrina, but again. He's learning to pick his battles.

The fact that he will absolutely lapse into French when Mac annoys him probably isn't helping to convince Mac that he's American, either.

"I ain't gonna crash de sleigh." Mostly because, yeah, the reindeer know the way. Which has him humming a bit of "Jingle Bells" under his breath as the sleigh heads toward the ground. "We'll be fine."

SANTA'S SLAY

[piper90npcs]

[[Locked to North Dakota, Vigilante, and Alloran.]]

The day before Christmas, Dickwash had summoned the three. "No doubt you've seen some of the Stuff monsters out there. A small transport that is... very loosely affiliated with us has requested your assistance. They're in Hangar 3. You'll be with them for 72 hours, but they'll care for your room and board. Equip yourself for heavy combat and make sure not a single monster so much as breathes on their vehicle. In return for your assistance, they've promised us something..." He paused then, running a nervous tongue over his lips. "Extremely helpful. In return for a successful mission, you will find some upgrades when you return." A door, perhaps. Or their own bathroom. Or hot water. "Now, get to the quartermaster, make your requests, and move to Hangar 3. Do not disappoint us."

It probably wasn't until they got to Hangar 3 that the trio gets a sense of just how strange this mission will be. The sound of jingling bells echoes off of the walls and there, tucked between assault helicopters, are twelve tiny reindeer and a large sleigh. Adjusting the harnesses on the small beasts is a small, fat man in a red suit, lined with white fur. He turns and beams at them, opening his arms with a loud, belly-shaking laugh. "Boys, boys. No need to be nervous. Step on into the sleigh. We'll be lifting off shortly." He hums, getting back to work, and speaks over his shoulder. "You may need to help the good War-Prince into the sleigh, I'm afraid. The trip will be a little over two hours and I've never needed to make my sled that accessible to four-legged friends before. I've arranged for food and board for the three of you at my workshop, since you'll probably need a day to recover somewhere significantly more comfortable than here after your assistance. In advance, let me say how much I, and the children, appreciate your assistance!"

He turns and beams again. And, unless one of them has something to say, he'll have them off to spend the night, and day, at the North Pole, waiting for the battle to begin.

[takenalive]

<So I'm the only one on this assignment not going by an English noun, eh?> Alloran muses on the way to the hangar. Despite having very deft hands and a general familiarity with shredders and dracon beams, he struggles to compensate with the recoil of human-provided firearms and can't bring them with him when he morphs anyway. He's accepted a long-range rifle mostly for the sake of not letting the company know much about what exactly he can do. <Should I translate my given name for you, or just provide an appropriate word?>

The full strangeness of the situation will be a bit lost on him. He's mostly preoccupied by the reindeer, greeting them in private thought-speech without fear of being overheard. Andalites are always inclined to regard creatures standing on four hooves as intelligent beings, finding them at least as andalomorphic as humans. Alloran knows Earth life better than most and would not address a cow so, but these reindeer have an appealing cast that sets them apart from, say, the deer of California.

Non-sapient animals can 'hear' thought-speech, but understanding is generally limited.

[prairietroubador]

"Codenames ain't exactly required, but if you want one I ain't gonna stop ya," Greg says from behind his bandana. His costume wasn't something he needed, but he feels better about having it.

Almost as good as he feels about having his guns on hand, especially since he does need them.

Santa is mildly surprising, but not life-altering. He knows Martians and magicians, and hangs around an Arthurian knight. This isn't really any weirder.

"What kinda problems are we gonna be lookin' at here, anyways?"

[bothbarrels]

"Don't worry about their codenames, now, it's all right," Santa chuckles with good humor. "You can go as anything you want to go by, but your real name would be just dandy."

North had initially expected to need his armor for this mission, but it had been denied. Now he understands why. He's holding a weapon, but he slings it on his back, no longer believing it'll be needed, either.

"You can call me Andrew if you want," he tells Alloran after he's settled into the sleigh.

"Problems?" Santa muses as they take off. "Oh, I suppose that's one way of looking at them." He chuckles. "I simply need the company and three extra pairs of hands to distribute everything I need to distribute tonight! But don't you worry about anything. I'm sure with you involved, everything will go swimmingly."

"I know they will," North says.

[takenalive]

The reindeer notice they are being addressed and do a bit of ear-swiveling but if any of them are something like people they don't let it on.

<I could go by 'butcher', I suppose,> Alloran says without enthusiasm. 'Butcher' is what the term translates as best, with similar connotations of a purposeful slicing of flesh, but it's harsher in his language. <Or, yes, my name or my old title, thank you for noticing it. Anything is better than Visser.>

He is unconvinced of the ease of the assignment and it shows in his face, if subtly. Sure, he was just with a supply run that kept him out of the recent unpleasantness and that hadn't gone catastrophic, but he's seen a lot of should-have-been-routine events that aren't.

[prairietroubador]

"That'll certainly be a change from the usual, if'n it does."

Greg's own thoughts were along the same lines as Alloran's. Nothing ever went simply for him, and he doubted it would start now.

ATTACK OF THE DERANGED MUTANT KILLER MONSTER SNOW GOONS

[piper90npcs]

[[Open to all.]]

It had started innocently enough. A boy and his stuffed animal, building a freakish snowman. Then a magical hat had landed on one of the heads and the Snow Goon had awoken. Thoughts full of goonish plans, it had turned on its master, then moved to make an army of Snow Goons, to spread its terror across the world. Or at least the northern hemisphere.

The army was weak, soft, but relentless, with hearts as cold as ice. They would drown their foes in sheer numbers, rather than raw strength, but some of them were different. They retained the twisted imagination of their creator, and so larger, more powerful snowbeasts joined their number. Snow sharks. Snow krakens. Some even dragged primitive snow cannons, as unlikely as that seemed.

Jorgmund had dropped the New Hires off at the opening to a glacial canyon with explicit instructions. If the frosty force made it through that pass, then they wouldn't be containable. So on one side, the New Hires, two or three dozen unwilling soldiers of misfortune. On the other, an army of thousands of deranged mutant killer monster snow goons.

Time to earn those paychecks.

[infailtration]

It's been literal years since York has had to fight without Delta covering his bad side, and the AI has left a gaping wound in his mind that's going to throw him off his game... also he's extremely unprepared for snow goons. Like what even, is he right?

He sighs, then rallies, and quite literally dives in, landing in a snow kraken and standing up spreading his arms to explode it from the inside out.

One down, thousands to go. This is going to be a long, cold fight, and he can't see on his left... what could go wrong?

[ownperson]

South's cold, frustrated, and getting really tired of this fucked up place's... well, everything. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned aliens or even just human soldiers? Ugh.

Delta's only doing the bare minimum to keep her from getting into trouble they won't get out of, as usual, so she's more than a little surprised when he seems to perk up out of nowhere, starts getting more involved. At first she's too occupied not getting overwhelmed by animated snow to question it, but...

She finally realises the reason behind the sudden change when he directs her to barrel through another snow goon and she comes out the other side to... York.

"Oh of fucking course that's why you're suddenly fucking helping, you little—"

[infailtration]

York decimates another snow goon when there's an implosion of white cold fluff on his bad side that startles him -- then South's voice.

He perks up instantly, knowing she's talking to Delta. A smirk curves his lips at her comment, knowing that his buddy wants to help him.

"Hey again, South. Maybe you should be nicer to the guy hanging out in your brain." As if he didn't call Delta a cockbite a few times, back at the beginning. But it's been years since then. Now there's affection and respect even when they sass each other, that he knows isn't present with South. Another snow goon dives for him and York kicks its face into oblivion, spinning to face her.

"Unless you're ready to hand him over, of course."

[ownperson]

"In your fucking dreams," she spits back, pivoting to punch another snow goon through the head that Delta deliberately didn't point out until it was right upon her. "Seriously, Delta?!"

Delta doesn't acknowledge the exclamation. "I believe it would be in your best interests to cooperate with York."

"Yeah, you fucking would, wouldn't you? I'm not yanking you out of my head in the middle of a fucking battlefield. Same as before." Not that she's planning on doing it off a battlefield, either, but that's not the point.

"That is not what I was referring to," Delta says. "However—"

"Nope. Don't even finish that sentence."

[infailtration]

"Before, you mean when you disappeared on me abandoning a couple dozen people in line to get tortured? Before, like then?" He shoots her a Look, before ducking under a goon's swipe and taking it out. "You doing okay in there, D? It seems like a pretty toxic environment."

Antagonizing South won't get him his AI back any faster but he can't help it when she's being such a stubborn jerk.