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]

"For sure, though," she says, surprised. "Legwork's the most important part of any job, isn't it? Can't win if you don't know what you're dealing with."

And that goes double if fucked up magical bullshit is involved. Saturday nods, agreeing with herself.

"I know I wouldn't know how to find something out except by asking someone who knew how to learn things." She considers his points re: Heaven.

"How do you know they're angels, then?"

[fromfryingpantofire]

Sam grins at her. "Well, in that case, I'll go ahead and volunteer as one of the people to go to if you need to find something out. I may not know it, but I'm good at finding what I need."

The grin falters a bit as he shrugs, though. "I've gotten a little too up close and personal with one. Well, archangel rather than just an angel. Believe me, they're real."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Good." Saturday dents another one of the fax machines, folding it almost in two. "We'll need people who know how to figure things out. There's a plan in the works to take a run at the executive levels," she says, quite as casually as if she were discussing an office birthday party. "With any luck, we'll get a few keys to the castle, and that means incoming data. If you like, I can keep you in mind for making sense of it."

Saturday isn't sure what to say about the angel thing. There are stories from the Awakening about spirits summoned by accident or somewhat on purpose - people whose prayers and rituals suddenly started working - and being mistaken for other things. Or not mistaken, depending on which school of magic you talk to. Appearing like an angel is probably within the realms of things a spirit can do, but it seems rude to argue.

"I guess maybe spirit, angel, or god is mostly in how you relate to it," she prevaricates instead. It's not an issue she's thought a lot about, despite having met at least three beings that would probably qualify for god or angel or demonhood if someone drew up a criteria. One lived, briefly, in her left foot.

[fromfryingpantofire]

"Yeah, I can definitely do that." He certainly looks interested, after all. "I'm sure I'm not the only person around here who can do stuff like that. Might be useful to start putting together a team of some sort." Something that he could do on the network, he thought. Not anonymous, but encrypted. Though it might not even need to be encrypted. After all, they'd been brought here to deal with what was going on. Research was part of that.

SAm glances over at her, but decides not to argue further. After all, admitting that you'd let Lucifer into your body so that you could lock him up again was...not something that most people would find comforting. Or, perhaps, even convincing in Saturday's case. "Close enough, I guess. I'd be more wary of anybody around here showing up and saying they're an angel, even if it was one I knew from home."

Castiel's probably the only one that he'd accept off the bat. Though that could still be the Stuff.

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday hits him with the double finger-gun plus tongue click and wink.

"Way ahead of you. Got a shortlist, and a bit of a plan, too. No point dillydallying when there's so many professionals around with spare time and a grudge, yeah?"

The room is starting to run out of things to smash. Maybe they get to smash to drones, next? That would be fun.

"I mean, if they were a proper angel, it'd be an easy test, right? Just ask 'em to divine intervention us out of here."

[fromfryingpantofire]

"You're really overestimating the amount of power your average seraph has." Sam chuckles and shakes his head, grinning. It's good that she already has a shortlist going, though. It saves time. "If it was one of the big four? It's...not impossible that they might be able to manage to get us out. Or at least get us to a connected plane of existence, but that might be worse. We might be seeing the GOOD outcome of that last war, after all."

It's certainly a thing to think about. That this all could have gone worse for the world. "Your average footsoldier angel isn't going to be able to manage that sort of thing. They're powerful, but they have limits."

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday can't help the snort that escapes her. "What's the point of them, then, if they can't miracle you out of trouble? Isn't that what angels are for usually? I don't know much about them, I've never been to church."

Saturday's skepticism is only growing stronger - even if they are divinities they certainly don't sound that useful as divinities - but maybe in a world without as much magic as hers, angel-spirit-thingies can't do as much.

"What kind of limits? Spirits can usually do as much as they're empowered with when you manifest them on the physical. In the astral they have a lot more juice, I think. Well, except free spirits don't need a summoner to manifest, they can pop in and out whenever with all their power... I think. At least, Haizel and Gray can. Not an expert, like I said."

[fromfryingpantofire]

"There's levels of trouble, Saturday," he points out, shaking his head. "Also, the rules here are different than the ones back in our own homes. I don't know how much of it is affecting you, but there are people who are here and have powers now that they don't have in their own worlds. And some who have powers that are much decreased. Even if an angel from my world arrived here, I don't know that the physics of this place would allow them to operate at anything near the same power level."

Sam gives that some thought. More because he knows there's a lot that he's never even seen when it comes to angels and their power. "Trying to remember how Cas puts it. Angels aren't exactly physical. They mostly are...metaphysical wavelengths of power. His true form is more along the size of the Chrysler Building in New York, but all folded down into a human body." A moment pause. "Difference between angels and demons back home. Demons can take a human host without the host's permission or even knowledge, most of the time. Angels have to get permission."

Though they could trick a human into saying yes. Lucifer had tried that a couple of times.

"I guess they're probably a bit closer to your free spirits, in that you don't call them, they just appear when and where they want. Most angels can heal any injury, even curing sickness and disease, though a large population would probably require a few angels. They're stronger and faster than any human. Near instantaneous teleportation. Or it feels like that to humans. It's mostly flying, though." He starts ticking things off on his fingers. "Invulnerability and immortality. They can walk through people's dreams. They can locate any human that isn't protected by certain sigils. Regeneration of any damage that does manage to get through. A certain amount of protection from harm that they can grant others. Knock people unconscious with a touch. Warp reality so that things that were there a minute ago aren't. And they really aren't, it's not just making your brain think they aren't. Smiting, always a good one. Temporal awareness, which is knowing when something has been changed in the past because there are also some more powerful angels with the ability to travel in time. They don't require food, water, sleep or even to breathe, even in a host body..."

Another moment of thought as he tries hard to remember everything that he's seen Castiel do. "They can see beyond human perception and see things that would be invisible to humans. Telekinesis, telepathy. Some of them can reshape large areas of land. Some of them can even bring people back from the dead, provided they know where all the parts of the body are and they have the soul, though higher level angels can do that with only the soul." Like what Zachariah had done with Adam. "And that's not even the end of the powers, those are just the ones I can remember off the top of my head."

Really, angels were some of the most powerful creatures in Sam's world. They might be considered something different in other worlds, but Sam's was pretty low magic.

[wheyoftheadept]

"I'm just saying, if they're proper angels from the actual god, they shouldn't be worried about the local rules..." She blinks. "I didn't know that, actually. I mean, my third eye's been on the fritz since I got here, but I'm always fucking that up, I'm not very good as astral sight. Didn't think much of it. Huh."

She's still not sure that should be something that bothers an actual divine agent. But Sam almost certainly knows more about his world's magic than she does. Maybe angels are like the Passions, and choose to not do certain things they could do in order to cut down on unforeseen consequences.

For the next bit, she listens carefully enough that she stops smashing things. The drones are less than pleased, but she's not paying attention to them. A smart person is telling her things, they can wait their turn.

"Well, some of that sounds right. I don't think normal spirits can bring people back from the dead. Passions can, but it makes Death cranky - she's a real person where I am - so they avoid it these days. Spirits can heal the sick and all but I don't know if they can do more than one at a time? Most mages can only heal one a time and as a rule, anything a mage can do a spirit can also do but generally a little bit better since they don't have meat bodies to work around." She searches her memory. "Finding people's easy as long as you got something with a mystical tie, but if they can do that without one, that's really cool. And vanishing things - like I think maybe a spirit could move something somewhere else on the physical plane or into the astral or something to hide it, but I don't think they could make it be not-there-anymore without actually destroying it. How big an area could they reshape? Like a room, a country...?"

[fromfryingpantofire]

Sam turned and smashed a couple of keyboards in order to keep the drones happy. Because it was easier when he and Saturday were trying to have a conversation. If they took turns with a couple hits, the drones wouldn't get too mad. At least, he hoped that was how it was going to work.

"I mean, we're assuming that the God of my world is the same God as in all worlds," he points out. "I've seen some weird stuff. Enough to take a guess that that may not be entirely true." He took another swing. "And besides that...I don't know. I think, sometimes, God's just content to let things play out. Free will and all that."

He settles back to listen to her this time and grins. "Death's a...well, Dean says Death is a guy. I figure Death's probably not that easy to pin down, gender wise. But Death also has plenty of reapers working for them, so everybody probably gets whatever they need to see when they pass on." He's met Death. Once. He doesn't really remember it, even WITH all his memories of Hell back. "It's more that messing with memories is a power higher than Cas had at the time. Removing the door was easier for him than trying to mess with Dean's head. And..." He frowns. "I'm not sure. Like, one higher tier angel than Cas was able to make an entire company believe Dean and I had been working there for years. Altered everything so that we fit in there. Didn't take another worker away and put us in their places, just...one day, we're both working there in a perfectly mundane way. Until we realized that things were wrong."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Huh." Saturday is chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek as she takes her turn at the equipment. "I got stuck on a metaplane that did something like that, but that was the whole place conspiring to draw us in, like, that was the entire purpose of that 'plane, to deceive you and get you trapped."

And also inflict psychological pressure relentless enough that your best virtues and intentions became twisted into vices and lead you to evil, because that's a reasonable thing to do to someone in the name of spiritual enlightenment that weren't even pursuing at the time. Frikkin' Dweller at the frikkin' Threshold.

"Death is definitely a girl where we're from, at least according to her. Her name's Riotza. She's all right. Maggie knows her better than me, though."

She splinters a few more things, thinking.

"I guess there could be different gods in different metaplanes, but I always thought the point of the capital-G one is that it's the only proper god and everyone else is pretending? I'm not against that being wrong but the people who believe it are always so sure."

[fromfryingpantofire]

"I know that Death has several female Reapers, but, like I said. We haven't met." Not really.

He takes a few swings of his own, just to keep the drones happy. Really. "I've met a lot of things that call themselves gods. And...I don't know. It wouldn't be that weird to me, I think, to find out that there are more versions of God out there corresponding to the various multiverses. Going by comic book terminology, at least."

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday considers this.

"But then none of them are really, like, GOD-gods, then, are they? Creator of all that is type gods. I mean if there's multiple worlds then maybe they created their world, but if they didn't also make all the other ones are they really proper gods or just powerful spirits? And wouldn't that mean every world has gods? But my world doesn't, unless gods are spirits, and then we have a ton of them."

Saturday's head is starting to hurt.

"I wish I didn't lead the kind of life that leads to asking these questions," she mutters, and cracks open a printer in a fit of pique.

[fromfryingpantofire]

He gave her a crooked half smile. "Yeah, I get that. That's been my life for...way, way too long."

[wheyoftheadept]

"How'd you get into this business, anyway?" This may not be a safer subject, per se, but it's less likely to induce existential vertigo. "I was raised to it, more or less, though pops didn't let me do anything more than beat the shit out of muggers and pimps til I was nineteen. Most people don't come to it that way, though."

[fromfryingpantofire]

While Sam has mostly been pretty jovial up to this point, now he frowns. And turns away, taking out a computer tower with a good swing. Not quite anger, but something more than resignation. "My mom died in a house fire when I was six months old. A fire that was set by a demon. My dad...to say he didn't handle things well is an understatement."

He takes the bat to another monitor. "He started hunting. Which isn't exactly a stationary job. I grew up travelling back and forth across the US."

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday frowns and leans on her bat. The logistics of this are escaping her.

"Didn't he have people he could leave you with? Not like taking care of a baby leaves a lot of time for working, I mean."

He couldn't have taken an infant out on a run, that would be completely insane.

[fromfryingpantofire]

"Mom and Dad were both only children. And, while Mom had some cousins, we didn't know about them until after we were grown up." Sam stops beating up the monitor for a moment before sighing. "Dean's four years older than me. Which, by the way, is not old enough to be left with an infant. But, around that time, Dad was still learning what he needed to hunt. Not a lot of hunters last very long, but Dad had been a Marine. It helped him get up and running faster, but...family things took a lot of hits."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Yeah, no shit!" It practically explodes out of her; she can't really hide her outrage, and also isn't exactly trying to. "Fuck that - the fucking - what was he thinking? If he didn't have a safe place to put you, then he wasn't fuckin' ready, and if you're not fucking ready you don't fucking move on the enemy!"

It isn't just the neglect, although that spikes her heart with a hard memory of a man and a woman dead in their chairs, of hungry and fear. She was raised to work in the shadows, and do it well - not just effectively, but with a care for her soul, and for the collateral damage.

It's bad enough that this dude hurt his kids, bad. But he was also being stupid.

"Demons are immortal, sounds like? So it's in no fucking hurry, why was he? Bide your time, do your homework, make contacts - you're talking like there's a community, am I right? - hell, those contacts can probably help you figure out how to keep your kids safe - "

And then she arrests herself.

"Sorry. He's your dad, it's not my place."

[fromfryingpantofire]

He gives her a half smile. "Don't worry about it. I think you probably rehashed a good...half of the fights I had with my dad between age eight and age eighteen. So no worries about that part."

Sighing, he runs his hand back through his hair. "Like...I get it these days? A little, at least. I lost the girl I was planning to marry to the same demon. To say I lost my shit afterward is...an understatement." The desire for revenge had been really damned high. "And he did, at least for a few years. I don't really remember it because I was...what? Three when he really started hunting?" He didn't expect her to know, he was mostly talking to himself. "Thing is, it's not just demons. That's what he mainly was after, but...there's a lot of stuff out there that people don't know about and don't understand. Don't believe in. And a lot of it likes to go after people. That sort of thing is what Hunters really go after."

After a moment, he takes another swing at a computer tower. "Though, to be fair. You can kill a demon. You just need the right things to do it. And it generally means killing the host, too, but sometimes they're already dead."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Still - I mean, my pops messed up a lot. Kept secrets longer than he should have, didn't tell me about things because he was hoping I'd never had to face them, stuff like that - but like. He'd never leave a baby in charge of a baby, for christ's sake." She's muttering the last part, her personal and professional sensibilities still outraged. "I mean, among other things, Mama Sofia woulda' frickin' poisoned him an' taken custody - "

"Aw, jeez, I'm sorry to hear that." Saturday searches Sam's face briefly for a sign of how fresh the wound is; he seems to be speaking of the far past, and not near, and she relaxes a little. "I... lost someone too, a bit before I came here."

It comes out without permission; she does not want to talk about that, at all, and therefore changes the subject immediately.

"If you've made your peace with him, I'm glad for you. It's hard to feel betrayed by family."

[fromfryingpantofire]

It is old. Seven and a half years old. Or nearly 200. It depends on your perspective.

"It took a long time," Sam admits, putting the bat down for a moment, drones be damned. "And I never got to tell him, either."

Also an old memory. Another one he's made his peace with. "I'm sorry to hear that, though. It's never easy."

[wheyoftheadept]

"That's hard." Saturday puts her bat down, too. "My brother fucked up pretty bad a while back, ended up - really hurting me and my friends, not that he meant to." Dipshit. "For a while it looked like we'd never get to hash things out. It was hard to think we'd have to leave things just - up in the air and hurting."

Not that it had hurt any less when they'd seen Solomon again. If Maggie hadn't read him for filth Saturday and Sol would still be going at it hammer and tongs - how that man had ended up so bad at apologizing she would never know. It's not like pops hadn't taught them manners.

She glances around the room. There's not a lot left unsmashed.

"I wonder when we get to be done with this." She gestures to indicate she means the room, and not, like, the general this-ness of their respective lives.

[fromfryingpantofire]

"Can't be too much longer. There's not really a lot more to beat up." And he was looking. Because so much of what she was talking about was so familiar. "In the end, I think Dad knew that...that I was mad at him, but that never stopped me loving him. Which is the main thing to remember, end of the day. You can't be that angry with somebody without there being love in it as well."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Whether they deserve it or not," Saturday agrees, and swipes at her face for no particular reason.

"Okay, we need to lighten the mood in here. You got any dumbfuck, funny adventure stories while we polish these last bits of junk off? Like I can tell you about the time Maggie turned a car chase into slapstick comedy."