Happy Valentine's Day!

[piper90npcs]

Who: Rig workers and New Hires
What: Valentine's Day Events
Where: The Rig
When: Valentine's Day
Warnings/Notes: Violence likely.

A. Cupids aren't as cherubic as they appeared in Renaissance-era artworks. The little bastards float with the bodies of babies, but the huge, flatly reflective grey eyes of a cave-dwelling monster and the teeth of a viperfish when they open their mouths to deliver a hideous, staccato cackle. They flit around in the air in clumsy bursts with all of the grace of a concussed mosquito, only remaining upright half the time, but twice as hard to catch. That doesn't change the pinpoint accuracy of their aim, however, as they open fire with arrows of pyrite.

That's another difference in the myths. They don't target people and make them fall in love. They target lovers, or people with crushes, shoot to wound, and feed. Dozens of them careen drunkenly through the halls of the Rig, searching for people who are a little too obvious about their unspoken desire for affection. When caught, they squall like babies, then try to take a chunk out of their captor with their vicious mouths, opening far wider than a normal baby should be able to manage. Fortunately, they don't seem to be more durable than most babies, though their appearance and cries are enough to put off many Rig workers from a solution more permanent than trapping them in a closet or under a crate.

---

B. "It will be darling," Sharon says, smiling. "Do it." Despite the honeyed words of previous arguments, this time it's backed by steel. She smiles and casually knocks a cherub out of the air with a blast of rock salt, followed by a few vicious, but loving ('It's all about love,' she says. 'Jesus wants it that way.') strokes with the butt of her shotgun. "It's for morale, dear. Management thinks that it will help you all bond and realize that things aren't so bad here. You know, get you involved in some normal activities." She pauses, then whacks the little beast one more time. "...It twitched. Now, shoo. This box has all of the lace and paper you'll need. Even some gluesticks. But, please, be a dear and don't let Mac have too much paste. You know how he gets, bless his heart."

Yes, that's the official stance of Jorgmund. Mac can have a little glue, as a treat. On holidays. And, as promised, everything is there. Glue, pens, sparkly glitter, safety scissors, paper, and a load of candy message hearts, 'for inspiration'. There are even a few examples, addressed to Sam, to show the 'less fortunate' New Hires how to do it.

Of course, given that they're supposed to be doing it in between their regular chores and clearing out cherub corpses, Jorgmund doesn't exactly have high hopes. But an attempt is being made.

---

C. It was wheeled out from the darkest depths of collections. Large. Looming. Non-functional. It was only with much cajoling that they could even get Brainiac 5 to touch the thing, for reasons that become clear as soon as the computer boots up. It proudly proclaims itself to be property of Brainiac 5 and the Legion of Super Heroes, but not one that anyone here has ever been a member of.

They'd probably remember a computer dedicated to kissing, after all.

Yes, one of the public events planned for this year's Valentine's is finding the Perfect Smooching Partner, and Brainiac 5's Love Machine (Demands for rebranding were curtly refused) will help the world find their match... within the Rig, of course. When two people kiss, it tracks technique, passion, and the lighting of the brain's pleasure centers to rate their kiss on a scale of 1-100. Once everyone in a group has kissed at least one other partner, it collates the data collected and rearranges their images onscreen to show their true best match.

Security's already gotten involved and the only reason that the entire event hasn't been shut down is because there's money being passed around on who starts the next fight. Things have already gotten violent more than once and a Security officer's already been sent to Medical for a busted nose.

The New Hires aren't being forced to participate, but there's definitely a few very interested workers lined up, popping some breath mints, and straightening their shirts.

---

D. The banner reads "Speed Work-Appropriate Platonic Friendship/Networking" because, after all, relationships are forbidden by Jorgmund. Nevermind that half the crew is hooking up with each other, workers are expected to be married to the company, and the company is a jealous mistress. That doesn't stop some enterprising individuals from trying to make the most of the situation, as Mr. Sagittarius would undoubtedly cheerfully inform you if he could read these words. But since he can't, you don't have to imagine his smug little grin. Bonus.

Several tables have been laid out in rows, with lonely men and women seated at each one. These include several New Hires. The other side of the table seats include other workers, including several other New Hires, who get up and leave every eight minutes (Or ten posts), moving one seat down. The idea is that they'll take this time to bond with one another, find commonalities, and strike up a lifelong friendship. They've been offered a list of starter questions as possible starters, filled with corporate-approved humor that wouldn't make it into Reader's Digest.

One thing's clear, though. The people that haven't been forced into this, at least the Rig worker side anyway, are honestly extremely lonely people who are desperate for any connection that doesn't come from a plastic smile. After all, there's only about a thousand people on the Rig at any given time and many of them are stuck in jobs deep in the bowels of the machine that offer little chance for socialization. Even the workers that were married, grandfathered in before the harsher fraternization codes were put in place, rarely see their spouses or children aboard due to conflicting schedules.

Every now and then there's a gunshot from the background as someone takes another potshot at a cupid.

Comments

A (cw: violence)

[credit_not_blame]

WHAK.

Unlike most of the Rig workers, Stacia apparently doesn't have a problem smacking the horrible little monsters into walls, infant-like appearance and noises or no. She might even be having a good time, though it's hard to say since she's currently in the form of a nightmarish bipedal wolf-monster with over-large fangs and enormous claws. She prowls the halls, smacking the horrible little gremlins out of the air, dressed only in her furry pelt and lacy doily paper hearts that read in clear letters "I'M FRIENDLY".

Re: A (cw: violence)

[takenalive]

There are a lot of cards that Alloran has been trying to keep close to his chest. It's so novel, having secrets of his very own! One is the speed and power of his tail. The blade near the end isn't much over a foot long and given that the New Hires include people like Stacia it doesn't provoke much anxiety among the other staff.

So, given that some of those staff are present, Alloran has not rendered the several wailing monsters present into so many pieces. Instead, resigned and bleeding from the haunches, he uses a tail that can decapitate a horse in an eyeblink to help guide a cherub into one of the mesh bags a Rig custodian is using. The poor woman has earmuffs, heavy gloves, and a flack jacket on and absolutely cringes as Stacia tears past.

Alloran does not. <You decorate yourself in that form now?>

Re: A (cw: violence)

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia swishes her tail and attempts to bring her lips down over her teeth so she looks less threatening. It only sort of works, her teeth are very long in this shape. She shrugs her enormous shoulders and gestures at the poor cringing custodian in explanation for the doilies, since her mouth and larynx are poorly shaped for English.

She knows she looks scary, usually that's the point. But this shape is better for this kind of pest control, even if it does get a little cramped.

[takenalive]

Alloran's not entirely immune from old prey ancestor instincts, which see the teeth and claws in close proximity and smell alien blood and want him to do something about the whole situation. But he's spent so many years in close proximity to alien predators and unable to do anything about it, it's really just a needling background impression that he should do... something. Put his ears back, maybe, but as he does it it doesn't really seem sufficient.

<I see,> he says, though he obviously doesn't understand the connection between the decorations and the unfortunate custodian, who has literally started crossing herself with a shaking hand as she shrinks back against the wall. The bagged cherub tries to take a bite out of her leg. Its teeth tangle in the mesh.

Alloran can't sigh, he's not built like that, but there is that sort of impression as he delicately inserts his body between the staffer who'd wanted his help with cherub-catching and the werewolf. <If you're moving on, I'll come with you.>

[credit_not_blame]

She's doing her best not to set off any prey animal instincts, but there's no hiding that she's an apex predator in this shape. Stacia huffs and politely ignores the poor woman crossing herself -- that's vampires, lady -- but wags her tail when Alloran offers to accompany her. Hunting is always more fun with someone else. For good measure, she gives him a double thumbs up, then wonders if he's familiar with that gesture. Has anyone taught Alloran about a thumbs up? Maybe the crew should establish some communicative hand gestures.

She starts off down the hall again, inhaling deeply to try and catch the scent of cherub.

[takenalive]

No one has taught Alloran tail-wagging or the thumbs-up, though he's seen both and has a vague idea that the thumb gesture is affirmative. He knows what it means when humans move their heads side to side, is this some other indication of that? But Stacia surely still can recognizably shake her head... After a moment, he lopes after her, hooves as audible as high heels on the tile.

<I'm proceeding on the assumption that that was a yes. You can accelerate if it wasn't,> he declares as soon as he remembers that, right, that's an option. It does seem like a better idea to be behind her than before her.

Idly and not for the first time he wonders what would happen if he acquired her, if this would be a good morph. He's not really thinking about doing it, of course, he hasn't taken in any new DNA in months and months. It's a remnant of all that time with Esplin in control, touching every large dangerous-seeming creature he came across in case it was useful.

[infailtration]

York has never seen Stacia's wolf form, but it isn't too much of a leap to assume that the monster that swipes a horrible cherub creature out of the air before it can divebomb for him is her.

He straightens back up from his one-armed defensive stance (the other arm is in a sling) and blinks at her, reading the doilies.

"Thanks... Stacia? That's you, right?"

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia wags her tail and yips at him -- she can only barely mangle her way through English when she's shaped like this, and York doesn't understand High Tongue. She gives him a thumbs up for good measure, though her claws are perhaps a little...red for it to be reassuring.

She cocks her head to the side and gestures at his sling, making an interrogative whining noise. That she means "what happened to you" ought to be clear enough without her shifting to something with a mouth better suited to English.

[infailtration]

"Cool. Do you like scritches?"

He's offering with his good hand, curious what her pelt feels like, apparently not at all intimidated now that he's sure she's fully aware in there -- but then she inquires about his arm.

"Oh, that. A cupid took a good bite out of me."

[credit_not_blame]

Scritches should probably be beneath her dignity, but consider: fuck that. Stacia crouches down further and turns her head to present him with the fluffiest part of her neck and shoulder, where her fur is almost a full-on mane. It's winter, so she has a thick layer of soft undercoat beneath the longer, greasy-feeling waterproofed guard hairs. York can easily get his entire hand in there before he touches skin. Between her and Kenzie, there's going to be a goddamned shedpocalypse when it starts warming up again.

She acknowledges his answer with a deep grumbling noise. A few of them had tried to take bites out of her before she'd shifted to fight back. Her fur isn't enough to stop the arrows, but she can shrug off the wounds faster.

[infailtration]

York reaches up to sink his fingers into the thick fur, past the guard hairs to the soft undercoat, and scritches. He figures it must be like someone stroking through your hair -- he hopes, anyway. Scritches are good.

"It'll heal up, don't worry about me. I've had worse." He grins. "But if you wanted to escort me to the mess hall I wouldn't complain."

[bringinghopewithme]

Gosh the violence towards baby-shaped-things is hard to stomach but Bunny is doing his best to stay stoic through it. And also to humanely capture them, given he's not registering much as one of their prey, and fashioned a bamboo-and-raffia net to contain them in a hydrangea bower until such time as it can be decided what to do with them.

Anyway, though he has a valentine for every New Hire and child on the rig, he extra has one for Stacia, no matter her shape of the moment.

"Better save the chocolate strawberry for when you're smaller, but don't let the cogs get it," he says, holding the valentine UP to Stacia (for a change).

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia hunkers down, lowering her ears and licking her nose when Bunny approaches -- a combination of polite submission and some sheepishness at getting caught by the Easter Bunny playing whack-a-mole with things that do look and sound like babies even if they aren't.

She accepts the Valentine, careful not to shred it on her claws or do anything that might so much as nick Bunny. Unfortunately, she is entirely without pockets in this shape to store and save the strawberry, she might have to hole up somewhere and shift down to enjoy it now.

Re: A (cw: violence)

[poor_unlucky_girl]

Jennifer is somewhere around the halls fending for herself with a large steel pipe she found on the floor. It's not the first time she has to fight monsters shaped like children - she is not sure if that fact that unlike the imps these have eyes makes it better or worse. She wonders if it's actually them, altered by the Stuff, come back to haunt her as always. She didn't exactly get the memo. When she sees the wolf declaring it's friendly while destroying those little monsters, she doesn't question it as a strange thing.
It is also worthy of note that Jennifer is prone to hallucinations and distorted perception, so she turns to the bipedal wolf and asks:

"Can you see them too?"

Re: A (cw: violence)

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia raises an eyebrow at the question -- well, the moves the appropriate muscles around, she's covered in fur right now so it can't really be called an eyebrow -- and crouches down to prod one of dead cupid-cherub things with a claw before looking back at the girl and making an interrogative noise. She can't ask "these things?" without it coming out growly and mangled, so she's doing the best she can.

At least the other girl isn't screaming or gibbering about encountering a werewolf; that's nice.

Re: A (cw: violence)

[poor_unlucky_girl]

Jennifer concludes, from all the snarling and actually killing the things that yes, maybe the wolf sees them too. A cupid opens its mouth to attack, and Jennifer promptly smacks it with the steel pipe.

"At least these ones don't whisper scary things..."

Re: A (cw: violence)

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia chuffs and wags her tail approvingly. The other girl's right, it could be worse!

She trots ahead, ears flicking and nose snuffling as she seeks out more of the little bastards. Maybe her new friend would like to play a little softball...

[ownperson]

South's finding the cupids more of an inconvenience, than anything. They're not coming right for her, but there's enough of them around going for other people that she finds herself dodging them anyway and she can't even swat at the damn things with her dominant hand still splinted.

So it's a relief someone does, when another comes careening by, even if she almost jumps out of her skin in the split second before she makes the connection that giant wolf monster = Stacia.

"Holy shit. So that's what you look like all— wolfy." A beat, then an amused snicker. "Usually minus the fuckin' decor, I take it."

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia makes a huffing sound that's probably laughter from the way her tail is wagging and her tongue lolls out of her mouth between her (enormous) teeth. She strikes a pose to better show off her "decor", which had taken awhile to figure out how to wear, thank you. There are only so many ways to say "please stop peeing and screaming, it hurts my ears" when you're an enormous wolf-creature who can only barely mangle English through your muzzle.

[ownperson]

If there had been any doubt left this was Stacia (which, really, there wasn't) it'd go out the window after that reaction.

It should be more surreal than it is to actually come face to face (or, well, not literally; Stacia has basically two full feet on her like this and that's almost weirder than the wolf part) with a honest to god fucking werewolf, but Stacia herself destroyed most of what was left of South's disbelief when they first talked and there's been a goddamn shapeshifter since then, so...

'Surreal' has long since gone out the window. Before there were even evil cherubs flying around. So South just shakes her head with another snicker.

"Real creative way to get the message across. Is it actually working?" she asks, because it's easy enough to imagine some people don't get as far as reading before they freak the fuck out.

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia heaves a truly enormous sigh and shakes her head. It's been useful when she's run into other New Hires, but the regular staffers fear response is faster than their reading comprehension. They probably think she's got hearts on her because she tore down someone's decorations.

There's another horrible little cackle and Stacia whips around, surprisingly quickly for something as large as she is, and politely attempts to drag South with her as she dodges an arrow.

[onequartershark]

Carolina can't help but bristle at the sight of the gigantic werewolf. It's reflexive. But considering that Carolina's been carrying a tire iron she "borrowed" from the motor pool around all day, she's not really flinching from the violence.

"...Stacia?" she guesses, recovering her poise pretty quickly.

There's another werewolf around apparently, but "friendly" is not a word that seems particularly apt in Kenzie's case.

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia wags her tail and gives Carolina a thumbs up. Speaking English is difficult like this, so she's been doing her best to use gestures. Thumbs up is probably universal among as least the human New Hires, right?

She flaps a hand at Carolina's tire iron and gives her an additional thumbs up for that. People arming themselves is absolutely a good idea.

[onequartershark]

"Count me a little less concerned about how you do hand-to-hand."

This is what passes for funny in Carolina's head.

"...I need to talk to you though. When you can talk back."

She glances up the hallway, then down it.

"It's about Wash."

[credit_not_blame]

Stacia's tongue lolls out of her mouth in amusement. Brawling and clawing still isn't her specialty, but she's definitely dangerous when she needs to be.

She cocks her head at Carolina's words, then glances up and down the hall herself, ears flicking as she listens for any sounds of approaching cupid-gremlins. She crooks a clawed finger at Carolina and heads down a hall to an empty room, because that strikes her as better than having this conversation in the hall. She waits for Carolina to close the door behind them before she shifts to Homid.

"Hope you don't mind chatting while I'm in my underwear, I shredded my jumpsuit earlier," she says by way of explanation for her state of undress.