SHIFTING THE PARADIGM - ADVERSE RIG EVENT

[goneawaymod]

SHIFTING THE PARADIGM

PLOT DESCRIPTION
To say that the New Hires are unlucky is something of an understatement. After all, they're here, aren't they? They were the unlucky ones swept out of their worlds, left unconscious for Jorgmund to find, "hired," implanted with shock collars. They were unlucky enough to get caught, and now they're being mega, double, septuple screwed by a casual backhand of fate.

The rig doesn't often face a full breach. It does today.

The announcements start with a tinny warning: "RED ALERT: SEVERE STUFF STORM COALESCING OFF STARBOARD SIDE. PREPARE FOR RIG TO COME TO FULL STOP."

Anyone near windows can see it on the side facing the Wilds, a roiling, thundering mass of gray clouds that look a little more liquid than normal clouds. Lightning crackles, illuminating it from within but the color of the lightning isn't just white or yellow. Each thundering crackle flashes in a prism of unnatural colors.

The rig comes to a stop. Since it was going so slow, there isn't much of a change in momentum but they can feel it in the vibration of the braking mechanisms and creaking and groaning of tons of metal suddenly facing some minor strain. The storm expands up to the top of the atmosphere, anvil-shaped, flattening against the tropopause.

"RED ALERT: SEVERE STUFF STORM COALESCING STARBOARD SIDE. PREPARE FOR POSSIBLE ADVERSE RIG EVENT. SHELTER IN QUARTERS AND OTHER SHIELDED AREAS. CHILD CARE STAFF, RELOCATE YOUR CHARGES TO NEAREST SHIELDED BUNKER. ALL STAFF, REPORT ANY UNREALITY EVENTS TO RIG COMMAND FROM THE NEAREST ALARM PHONE, AND FIND SHELTER UNTIL SECURITY TEAM IS DEPLOYED."

The Stuff storm slams into the rig, making it sway just slightly. The wind pouring through the gaps in the rig structure howls in a way that sounds like inhuman screams. Thanks to the Stuff visibility drops to a very gray 0%.

A prerecorded message now starts playing. Celeste Lillian, with her soothing voice, speaking mantras:

"Staff members and couriers of hope, in this stressful time, I remind you to pause, take a moment, and breathe so deeply your lungs cannot hold any more of our Mother Earth's air. Breathe in, breathe out. The act of breathing is so precious because it's both necessary and voluntary. It is a gift you give yourself. Value yourself enough to give yourself the gift of a full, honest, complete breath."

Super helpful, right?

"Clear your minds, let go of any thoughts. Remember: 'The ocean changes. I can float.'"

But all hell breaks loose and mantras won't do a thing to stop it. The rig's many ventilation shafts have filters and metal covers to help shield against stuff, but they aren't replaced as often as they should be. Inspections are thorough but some material resources are scarce.

Stuff breaks through the covers and ventilation filters, sweeps through the rig, and reality gets less real.

"RED ALERT: FULL BREACH. RED ALERT: FULL BREACH. RED ALERT: FULL BREACH..."

SCENARIO #1 - PRODUCTIVITY

The rig's staff instantly increases by several orders of magnitude. The new employees don't talk and for the most part they don't pay attention to anyone else. They mill through the hallways, gesturing to each other as if they're colleagues walking and talking about the last meeting as they move through the halls.

Most of them are in full professional dress, suits and ties. But sometimes this dress is from a variety of eras, hearkening back to the idea of business. That means a lot of power suits and shoulder pads, and even some old fashioned bow ties, top hats, and glittering gold pocketwatch chains. Here and there, sometimes there's even a glimpse of someone in older merchant's clothing, flashy in a way that suggests "people send me regular complaints on cuneiform tablets about how I sold them inferior copper ingots." The mystery executives despawn and respawn randomly, phasing in and out of existence. Sometimes two will spawn in the same spot, somehow superimposed, like a glitch in a video game, twitching helplessly until reality goes "whoops!" and phases them back out of existence.

They have no faces, but the way they sometimes randomly turn to face the New Hires, staring them down, body language wary, makes it clear they can somehow see or sense without eyes. They sometimes speak with no mouths but the sounds don't sound like real language, and are always muffled.

New office or meeting room doors start flickering in and out of existence. Each time one appears it draws the nearest New Hires in, warping the metal floor in front of them so every step draws them inexorably inward. Inside, the New Hires find themselves pinned by stares from nonexistent eyes, the drones expectant. Maybe even impatient.

They're late.

Each room has a different scenario that must be satisfied to make the room go away, all of them the subconscious corporate imaginings of rig executives and staff, fears and secret wishes and ambitious aspirations all rolled together. The drones watch the New Hires carefully to make sure they follow "corporate policy" and obey the rules of the scenario, their body language growing more and more aggressive and threatening the more they fight it. They will eventually attack if New Hires don't follow through. There's no such thing as simply reporting someone to HR in their (nonexistent) eyes.

When each scenario is forced to completion by the New Hires playing ball until conditions are satisfied, the drones...dissolve. Trees suddenly sprout through their clothes, then flower. The petals scatter through a sudden breeze that always smells of grass and leaves and wet plants and gentle rains.

Finally free.

PROMPTS

a) resource management
The room has a table and chairs at the front. It's stacked with piles of unsharpened pencils and several electric or manual pencil sharpeners. The table looks out on rows of chairs, filled with faceless drones.

Watching... waiting...

Every time you finish sharpening a pencil there's light applause. It's a big pile of pencils, but at least it's an easy task. The drones don't seem to mind if you talk to break up the monotony.

Like so much of corporate life? Thrilling.

b) flipping through the deck
Have you ever had a nightmare where you had to do an oral test in front of the class that you weren't prepared for? Now imagine one where your teacher and classmates will beat you senseless if you get it wrong.

The slideshow being shown on the smartboard is completely nonsensical. That means the presentation can be just as nonsensical. New Hires can work together to bullshit on any topic, or maybe even just spout total nonsense. Either way, the drones around the conference table occasionally offer light applause and then turn to each other to confab in their nonsense mutterings, before turning back to watch once more.

When the meeting is perceived to be over, the drones stand, lightly clap, and flower.

Sometimes in rooms like this the drones hand over a list of corporate buzzwords that must be included, but they don't seem to care if it's in context.

Buzzwords: Break down the silos, tee it up, paradigm shift, low-hanging fruit, move the needle, run it up the flagpole, on the bleeding edge, synergy, core competency, leverage.

c) on the spot improvisation
Similar to the other presentation rooms except...

Oh, these are actual Jorgmund executives. The door sucked you into a normal meeting that they're cheerfully having despite the Stuff breach. They ask you your opinions on improving rig operations and quality of life and expect you to give honest answers.

But not too honest.

d) you've got some splainin' to do
You're handed hair nets and aprons and glared at until you put them on. The room is a small room in a factory line, with a conveyor belt passing through. The drone that henpecked you into putting on the aprons holds up a chocolate, points to the aperture the chocolates go through at the end of the conveyor belt, and shakes her head furiously. Then she wraps the chocolate in one of the wrappers from a stack of them, points back to the aperture and nods.

The garbled nonsense she "says" doesn't communicate it, but the gestures do: Wrapped chocolates go through, unwrapped ones don't.

Once the New Hires are in place in the conveyor line, the drone smacks a hand twice against the wall and the conveyor belt starts. Fortunately the drone leaves, but now the New Hires have chocolates they have to wrap, and they have to wrap them quickly.

The line is fast but not impossible. It's still a scramble and chocolate might have to be shoved in their hats and clothes to keep the drone from coming back and getting angry. Fortunately, you only have to reach a quote of 100 (as stated by a helpful sign on the wall) before the room spits you back out - sticky and smeared with chocolate - and fades away.

One perk: the chocolate won't disappear, but it's definitely some waxy, cheap stuff and sometimes the filling is a flavor that doesn't really pair well with chocolate.

e) the it crowd
You're led to desk with computers that don't actually work. Only nonsense words and memes (and nonsense memes) show up on the screens. That's fine because the people calling in on the phones are real people on the rig, trying to work despite the Stuff storm because of Company Loyalty™, and that means their problems are real stupid. Even laymen might be able to guide them through it.

They may include questions about the "cupholder," them not realizing the monitor has to be turned on, and issues easily resolved by a restart. Since the calls are real, there's a chance you can use some good old fashioned psychological engineering to gain useful things like usernames an passwords.

The drones don't seem to care if you chat among yourselves between calls, confer with one another (or mock the caller) while the phone is on mute, or whether the advice is even good. They only care that it's given. After a seemingly random quota is met, the drones expire, and room spits you back out and disappears. You'll find you have a small rubber duck in your pocket after you're spit back out again.

The ducks seem to not do anything. Yet.

Players can request the mods come up with idiotic IT issues for their thread.

f) breaking the ice
What is with this place's obsession with never-ending icebreakers?

This time it's less optional. You're are forced to sit in chairs across from each other or in a ring if more than two of you are pulled in. A sign on a small table between you says "2 truths, 1 lie" or "Truth or truth" (The drones seem to have forgotten the dare part). But sometimes a different game (of players' choosing) is displayed. The drones can seemingly sense whenever New Hires are lying and their behavior starts to grow hostile if they do, relaxing when they tell the truth.

The room won't release New Hires until there's been enough growth or honesty equivalent to a life-changing field trip.

g) corporate (property) restructuring
The drones are based on the thoughts of employees and that means the things they dream of doing, like taking a bat and going ham on a printer-copier. When you're pulled into a nonexistent department you're handed baseball bats and pointed at various pieces of office equipment.

The hostile language of the suited drones - also with their own baseball bats - means it would be wise for you to direct your un-vented frustrations at the equipment. All of it.

Or the drones might vent their aggression - with bats - at you. At least smashing shit up with a buddy - old or new - is cathartic? And that baseball bat can maybe be tucked away in a hideyhole somewhere for later use.

h) staring at the camera like...
This room is a small office space with chairs against a wall that has a window with closed blinds. The drones have a professional looking camera set up, pointing at the chairs, like it's some kind of confessional. These drones look more like the crew of a documentary than the other office drones, but have the same blank faces.

They gesture for the New Hires to sit down and hold up a paper that says: "Tell us how you really feel about this place and your fellow employees."

It's not like the drones are Jorgmund employees so maybe it's a safe place to let loose and have a vent session with a fellow New Hire? Interacting with each other during the vent gets nods of approval from the directors and crew. Trashing Jorgmund? Gets even more approval. They're loving that chemistry, guys.

i) wild card
Have a scenario idea that we haven't thought of? Go crazy! Pick some weird corporate scenario to play around with. The Stuff has plenty to work with thanks to the anxieties of the real corporate drones working for Jorgmund, and also because of all the office-related TV and movies they consume.

SCENARIO #2 - VIOLENCE
Some beings created by Stuff are alive and/or sentient. These are the New, but the drones are not New. They don't think and are therefore unable to reify the occasional wisp of stuff around the rig. They're more like programs in the computer of reality or like animations set into motion by the minds animating them.

But even if they're not alive, they are dangerous. They have no brains, no vital organs, no easy way to kill them. Since you need a thick skin to survive corporate life, it's very hard to break through their skin. When this finally occurs they start bleeding odd substances and objects. Cyan, magenta, yellow, and black printer ink. Paper clips. Sometimes it's thumb tacks, which makes walking and fighting very fraught. Go down even once and you might have a butt or back full of them.

No matter how much they bleed, however, they don't deflate or bleed to death. Only total destruction or dismemberment can slow them down. Fortunately, how much it takes to damage them seems to always be magically scaled to what the New Hires in the room are capable of.

That means it's somewhat unwise to fight them but it's at least not impossible. New Hires that want to try will be given their weapons and gear if they manage to make their way down to the armory near the training room. While New Hires will be hunted down later if they don't return most weapons and specific gear items, the chaos means some of the more disposable items - grenades, arrows, throwing knives - might possibly be tucked away somewhere without notice. For later. Excuses can be made about their use or loss, after all.

Players that know ahead of a time they want a fight scenario can always list one of the other scenarios above and note their preference for combat.

Since New Hires will have to go to the armory to get equipped, they can also have some threads with weapons and others without, to suit player needs.

OOC DETAILS
➤ Finite threat: While the doors can open anywhere and suck anyone in, the total number of rooms that need to be eliminated is finite. This means the New Hires clearing them out can eventually shut them all to avoid permanent, perilous addition to the rig's reality. They'll notice the number of doors that flash in and out of existence decreasing the more they go through scenarios.

➤ Opt out: Players may opt out of the plot by having it so New Hires mysteriously find their room door locked and impossible to open, even by force. Or players can make use of the "alternate reality" mechanic, where the characters are shifted temporarily into a calmer, alternate version of the timeline where they have a normal, quiet rig day. That band of possible reality will collapse and fold them back into the main rig reality when the event is over. This means if players want to completely ignore the event and work on their old threads, they don't even have to come up with a handwave. Their character might just be a little confused and need to be filled in when the event is over and reality folds them back in.

➤ NPC request: If you'd like the mods to npc a stupid IT call in a thread, hit the thread below and link to where they should come in.

➤ Questions: If you have questions about the event, want to know what your characters can get away with during the chaos, want to know if your characters can squirrel away secure info or grenades etc., feel free to hit the questions comment below to make your requests.

Comments

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday is less concerned with her privacy than the growing restlessness of the crowd - and truthfully, the hell dimension thing has long since become a funny anecdote to her, which would be worrying if she ever stopped to think about it.

"Yes, correct, I have never actually been to space! I've been to Avalon, the Theran Empire, and that hell dimension I mentioned but I've never been offworld." The laugh is strained, but the crowd is starting to settle. Good. As long as someone's baring their soul, they're satisfied.

"Okay, your turn!"

[somnioergosum]

"You've been to hell?" Ronan opened his mouth, aching to ask more and also afraid of it. Was it like hell? Was there more than one hell? Devil? There were so many existential questions there. But he hadn't forgotten their companions. And this time he had something prepared. Mostly.

"Right. My best friend is in Mexico, my boyfriend goes to Harvard, and..." Shit, he hated this game. All he could think of now were things he shouldn't say. "I used to be in music competitions."

...Case in point. Jesus, Ronan wanted to smash his fist into the table. Either that or make the world's biggest facepalm.

[wheyoftheadept]

"Not hell," she corrects brightly. "A hell dimension. No comment on the theology but it was an astral realm designed to torment visitors into enlightenment, so I don't know what else to call it."

Or, specifically, to force you to become your worst self by corrupting your best impulses. No chance to fight it, just rubbing your nose in how absolutely anyone can become an evil shithead if circumstances align, including you. This was supposed to be a helpful lesson, somehow.

It's a small mercy that her memories of it are so clouded.

She puts a hand to her chin and considers his next three. "Well, Harvard I'll believe," everything about this guy screams 'I'm from money and I think that matters', "I'm gonna go with music competitions. Is that the lie?"

[somnioergosum]

Ronan nodded at the explanation on hell or rather not-hell. That he could understand. He could say he'd been to his own hellish dimensions though he tended to make them himself. Then again, didn't everyone?

At least Ronan had moved on to inflicting less painful himself. Like mentioning the damn competitions. Because as proud as he had been when Saturday didn't doubt the Harvard statement-- as she shouldn't, Adam was brilliant and worked hard for it and Ronan would gladly tell that to anyone-- he had to resist flinching when she chose the other truth.

He kept his eyes on Saturday but his voice was a little too even when he spoke. "No, my best friend is in Oregon, hopefully not chained to any trees again. Some protest about redwoods."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Huh. You know, where I'm from people don't need to do that anymore, on account the Tir is in Oregon and they're pretty good with environmental issues. 'Bout the only thing they are good at. The Tir is run by elves," she explains. "I'm not a citizen."

Not in her heart, anyway. Finding something out years after the fact doesn't count. It's not even under her proper name.

"Hmm, okay. I hate berries, I think bananas are gross, and I once drank an entire jar of pickle juice and liked it."

[somnioergosum]

Ronan waited for the judgment. He was used to it and he judged himself for the person he'd used to be although not as harshly anymore. When Saturday moved onto her own truths and lie, his expression was a muted mixture of relief and surprise.

Maybe music competitions were cool where she was from.

"Save the earth, screw everyone else? It's always the same, isn't it. Different cause, same result." Ronan had the luxury of staying out of movements and politics altogether. Either that or it was a survival mechanism. He hadn't exactly picked apart his life to determine which was which.

"Hm," Ronan put on a look of mock thoughtfulness. "The pickle one seems too obvious. Bananas."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Well, everyone who isn't an elf." Saturday shrugs. "An' in practice, only an elf who agrees with them. So. Who hates berries? Bananas have a gross texture, that was the truth. I love berries, though."

She looks at the crowd. They've settled, but they're staring at her and Ronan with their eyeless, expectant stares, and have made no indication that they're ready to let them go.

"Do you have a favorite fruit?"

[somnioergosum]

Should've gone with his gut. Not the story of his life.

Ronan was not ready for the next round but he wasn't ready for Saturday's question either. "I haven't thought about it. I liked the plums at home." But after a few vivid dreams of various terrible things happening when he bit into them, he'd been a little wary of eating them. "If I had to pick now, I'd go with an apple. Nice and poetic." He smiled like the snake that had given Eve the forbidden fruit.

"Now it's your turn. I'm Catholic, I never read pagan works, and my boyfriend's name is Adam."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Only a Catholic would think calling them pagan works didn't give it away. Hmm... let's see... do you seem like the kind of person who would care?"

She considers him for a moment, then shakes her head with a confident scoff. "Nah, not if you wanted to know what was in 'em. Your dude's name is Adam and you've probably memorized Herodotus."

She's mispronouncing it, and may also be conflating him with Aristotle. So sue her; she only knows this stuff from listening to her best friend. It wouldn't be anything she cared about if it didn't matter to Maggie.

[somnioergosum]

At Saturday's first comment, Ronan's smile turned into one of amusement although it still wasn't particularly pleasant. That might have had more to do with the sharp angles of his face and piercing eyes the color of ice than any effort to look menacing.

"Ugh Herodotus," he rolled his eyes but at the man himself and not the mispronunciation. "The Histories makes me want to tear my eyes out. Too fucking long. I like the Stoics more." And poetry but he wasn't about to admit that.

[wheyoftheadept]

"Stoics are the guys who figured out the Noble Truths on their own, right?" Saturday nods. "Zero -Zeno." She'd heard Maggie correcting her almost as soon as she said it. "Smart guy. Shame he never made it far enough East."

Poor guy - Ronan's face has no idea how to smile. Saturday feels a stir of sympathy despite herself; a lot of things can be smoothed over with a winning grin. She demonstrates as she slings one arm over the back of the chair, crossing her legs.

"My turn. I'm a physical adept, my favorite color is black, and my best friend has a miniature dragon for a pet."

[somnioergosum]

To Ronan's ears, Zero-Zeno sounded like some kind of study trick. Latin class was his only real passion in school, but it had never covered philosophy. He was entirely self taught and that mostly consisted of just reading and relying on his own reflections. He might encourage his boyfriend pursuing higher education, but when he thought someone else was forcing themselves to endure that?

Ugh.

"What, did you take a class in college?" Ronan sounded less than thrilled with the prospect. "I don't know about Noble Truths. But if they're about like self-control and not letting other people's shit affect you, then maybe it is." Naturally, Ronan would be a terrible adherent to the Stoic philosophy, not that he ever bothered. But some part of him longed for that life while his own spiraled out of control.

"No idea what a physical adept is but I'm going with miniature dragon. But God, that would be pretty badass." He then remembered the last dragon he encountered, from the mind of another dreamer.

That had objectively been badass. Subjectively, it'd been terrifying. He still remembered its death and the death of its creator.

Ronan reached for the leather wrist bands that weren't there. He pulled his hand away, empty and unsatisfied.

[wheyoftheadept]

"Ha!" Saturday points at Ronan, grinning with delight. "The dragon is not a lie! His name is The Right Honorable Sir Ignacious Iguanodon Smashmouth Baby Lofwyr III, Esq. Or Iggyfyr."

And he is a very good boy, yes he is. Saturday wishes she could show him the wallet pictures.

"His favorite foods are deli ham and blackberries," she continues. "We saved him from some poachers, that's how he attached himself to Maggie. The Noble Truths are Buddhism and it pretty much boils down to: living is hard and will suck. It sucks more if you get super bent out of shape about it not sucking. You can stop feeling like the world sucks so much and being in pain all the time if you practice proper mindfulness and meditation - self-control and not letting other people's shit get to you," she parrots back. "Physical adept means magic makes me fight good. Your turn."

[somnioergosum]

And people said Ronan was bad at naming his pets.

"Your friend named a dragon that? That's just a waste. Was there even a I and II?" What was the use of a dragon if you gave it fake titles? Though maybe a miniature dragon just looked sad instead of cool.

...Nah, that still didn't excuse the name.

"Wait, so does that mean you use your magic to help you in physical fights, like boosting your strength or speed, or do you just fireball your opponent?" This was important to him. Not that he'd ever learn how to use magic like that, his abilities were exciting in different ways, but he had a vested interest in learning how people might try to kill him other people.

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday draws herself up, affronted

"First of all, I named him, second, you are wrong, because Iggyfyr is a very useful and cool and dignified dragon." Especially when he's sprawled on his favorite rock with his wings all higgledy-piggledy and one paw over his head.

"First one. I'm fast and I'm tough, and I punch above my weight class. Some other stuff, too." Like being impossible to ambush, and punching through brick walls. "My friend Maggie is the one with the fireballs, though actually she uses stun and lightning more."

[somnioergosum]

Ronan shrugged in response to her indignation. "Never said he wasn't. But I would've named him something like Deathclaw or Devourer." No, Ronan hadn't played Fallout. That was just how his brain worked. This was the man who named his raven Chainsaw.

He considered her explanation of her abilities. Great, she could probably beat the crap out of him though it'd probably be fun. Not that he was going to offer to spar again. "Sweet," was his final assessment.

He'd probably delayed his own truths and a lie for too long. He stretched his neck, cracking a joint, as he thought. "My dad taught me to box, I have one brother, and I had a sword before I came here." If Jorgmund was watching they knew that last part for sure.

Could they let him keep something cool like a magic sword made of sky? Nooooo.

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday tries not to giggle, snorts so hard she starts choking, and has to put her head down on the table to recover.

"Deathclaw.... pfft. That would be a terrible name for Iggy. The only thing he devours are mosquitoes. Uh, let's see..."

First one was possible, so was the second. Third was too specific to be a lie; he's never seen her fight so he has no way of knowing that her sword is always with her, so he's not going off what he knows about her to throw her. If he has a sword, then he probably knows how to fight generally.

She narrows her eyes.

"You have more than one brother."

[somnioergosum]

Iggy sounded more like a large lizard at this point. Disappointing, but they weren't a bad pet. At least he imagined they weren't.

"Chainsaw eats crackers and garbage and I still gave her a good name. It gives her something to live up to." He said all of that with a straight face.

There was a slight curve to Ronan's mouth, reminiscent of a smile before it returned to its usual state. "Two brothers. I'm the middle child."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Chainsaw? Who's that, your goldfish?" Saturday is teasing him, now, in a friendlier fashion than before. "And what'd you name your sword, friggin' Heart-drinker or something?"

"Brothers? I have one of those, older. His name's Solomon, but we call him Sol mostly. What's their names?"

[somnioergosum]

"She's a raven." Ronan sounded surly, but not as bad as usual. He apparently didn't seem to mind the ribbing. Although the sword was a bit awkward... It wasn't the name he thought he'd choose, but it was hard to argue with his subconscious.

If it was his subconscious.

"It's Vexed to Nightmare." Which was apparently all caps but he had no idea how he was supposed to say that out loud. His fault for bringing up the sword.

"Solomon? Poor soul." That might have been a joke. Hard to tell when the pronunciation was a bit off.. "Mine are Matthew and Declan. Matthew's the youngest."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Ravens are cool." Saturday approves of ravens. "My friend, the one who has Iggy? She's got a raven familiar, he's real sweet. Brings us shinies and spies on our enemies."

She snorts at the name of his sword. "Good grief, what does that even mean? And Solomon isn't even a fraction as stupid as elf names normally get, trust me."

[somnioergosum]

"A familiar?" Ronan considered that. Would Chainsaw count as a familiar? No, he wasn't a witch. "They are clever. But she gets too distracted to do any spying." Or stubborn. It was annoying that she had to inherit that trait from him.

Ronan shifted at the subject of the sword. "You wouldn't get it." Which was true. He didn't really get it himself. "So, your turn."

[wheyoftheadept]

"All right, all right." Saturday leans back in her chair, lacing her fingers behind her head. "Hmm, let's see. Speaking of swords - my sword has my brother's personality, one time I got paid for a job in cheese, and I once dated a dwarven princess."

[somnioergosum]

"The first one," Ronan said immediately.

It seemed too impossible, even for him, for a sword to have a personality.

And then he thought of all the ways it could. Like one of those swords in a cartoon, capable of speech and everything. Sentient. He thought of how he would do it.

He closed off that part of his mind and stared at Saturday as coolly as ever.

[wheyoftheadept]

"Wrong!" Saturday chirps again. She extend her metallic right arm, palm-up, and a hilt grows out from the underside of her wrist for a moment before sinking back in. "'Ni-chan has some of Solomon's memories, a big chunk of mine, and most of Sol's personality because of it. It's kind of a long story - Sol didn't die or anything, it was more like a magical accident. And my best friend dated the dwarven princess. I did get paid for a job in cheese, once."

Magical accident is a very mild way of putting it, considering the end result had been a ten-year estrangement and a stupid, destructive feud that had nearly killed her and Maggie both - had killed them, really, except that their fates were changed at the last moment.

She's not sure Ronan wants the dirty details on her memory loss and Sol's refusal to cope with it, though.