(( ──── ★. aion !! ─ o&a

[hexcrush]

GENDER MALE ⋯ OCCUP. FIELD OPERATIVE ⋯ SPECIES ALIEN [DRACIAN]

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LOCATION CAFETERIA ⋯ TAGGED OPEN ⋯ MENTIONS NONE ⋯ WC 1259

Sleep, just like the beloved silence before the first bird song of the morning, was a fleeting pleasure that seemed to disappear within a blink of an eye. His celestial origin allowed him to function without the need to sleep, but the human form he had inhabited for hundreds of years had worn the man down enough to adopt a slumbering habit. It was odd for a Dracian to remain in a form for more than needed, let along hundreds of years. But it was this body that harbored memories that he clung to like a child with a stuffed bear, chasing away the creeping darkness that tore apart at his precious façade. He still felt the weight of a rifle in his arms, though all they were wrapped around now was his thin chest that rose and fell with a shutter as if the cold steel of the muzzle was pressed against it. His shoulders were still weighed down by his fallen allies, carrying them like the Earth cradled between Atlas' shoulder blades. His throat still felt raw from hoarse yelling that was often drowned out by the cacophony of battle as his voice was only one of many instruments that added to the noise. His hands were calloused, marred by reminders of every scuffle he had won...and lost. And yet, they were the lightest part of him. The weight had been shared as another hand intertwined with his, momentarily shedding layers of tumultuous emotions that felt like the gravitational pull of a thousand suns. The sound of cannons and horse whinnies seemed to fade as a melodious laugh rose above, turning the cacophony into a symphony to the man's ears. For a moment, the memories and reality were meld together as one and Doe reached out to press his palm against the weight of the other man's hand. Instead of Davey's warm hand against his, Doe only felt his own grasp tightening up into a fist of defeat as the familiar sting of reality's harsh slap that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

Davey.

An Irishman who matched Doe's slinging of insults with casual flirtation that made a rosy blush run across his cheeks like dawn across a pale sky. The man made Doe's blood boil as if heated by embers as fiery as Davey's tarnished copper hair. But. . .he also was there to cradle Doe's face in his hands when tears made their tracks through the grime of war caked on his cheeks. He could still feel Davey's hand brushing against his cheek, rough from years of farm work and miraculously free of the crimson stains of battle. When he looked into the shadows that hung on the wall, he could see Davey's baby blues staring right back into his own wide pools of navy. Doe Eyes was the nickname bestowed on him by Davey, whether he wanted it or not and stuck around like a stray cat no matter how many attempts by Doe to refuse to feed into Davey's goading. He would give the world to hear the nickname once more pass through Davey's lips instead of the weight of the man's limp body that he would have to carry for the rest of his years.

Davey's absence shook Doe, shattering his delicate core and leaving the man structurally unsound to the point where the lightest of feathers could knock him over. After wallowing in sorrow, Doe began to rebuild himself with what was left in the rubble. The anger that burned inside provided the heat to weld his fractured self back together, eventually cooling down into icy apathy as he shed his humanity to feed on any poor soul that crossed his path. No matter how much he tried to fill the void, the emptiness leaked through his eyes like sorrowful hymns through the broken blue stained glass windows of a church. It was only the crumpled up letter written in Davey's familiar crooked scrawl that made Doe remember the humanity that the Irishman saw in him. To my love it began and carried on about the farm that sat upon rolling hills of emerald grass, the nights where every star shone like the sequins on an elaborate midnight dress, and a first of what would've been many kisses.

The letter was still in Doe's pocket, a secret he held close to his chest and safe from the fray of time. Unfortunately, not even Davey's gentle words written in ink could keep Doe from slowing falling apart. While the letter was safe from fraying, Doe was not, evident by the darkness that crept up his arms and turned his hands into leaching shadows of his original form. Thankfully, the specially designed gloves given to him by the research crew seemed to halt the spread. . .for now. At every touch, Doe would flinch away, determined to prevent another incident like the one during his first days at Aion.

BEEPBEEPBEEP.

The infernal beeping of his alarm clock pulled Doe from his bed, which he neatly remade after his tossing and turning had thrown the blanket to the cold floor and his pillows flung nearly a meter away. In an effort to make himself look somewhat kept together, the man drug himself over to the bathroom to freshen up, bunny slippers scuffing across the tile floor. The shadows of exhaustion that hung below the gaunt man's eyes stubbornly remained despite his best attempts to wash them away with a few splashes of icy water to the face. Looking in the mirror, Doe hardly recognized the figure that stared back at him with its face twisted in contempt and exhaustion. The reflection was a stranger with his face for Doe no longer knew himself. Then again, Doe had always been the least honest to himself out of all the people who he fooled with a smile as thin as his crumbling disguise. His identity was trapped within a labyrinth with thick hedges of doubt and insecurity leading him to dead-ends and further away from freedom. Like ships passing in the night, they parted ways without a word as Doe shrugged on his charcoal turtleneck sweater and left the peaceful asylum of his flat.

By the time he stepped into briefing hall, the Brigadier had just begun the morning with a dismal report of the increase of rifts in time that brought objects and people, much like himself, from past and future to the present day. Alekall's words seemed to meld together without Doe's morning coffee to provide a much needed energy boost. The meeting was kept short and sweet and as soon as the huddled masses of people of all ranks and origins began to break apart, the field operative made a b-line to the coffee pot to pour himself a mug of joe. After dumping nearly half of the sugar cubes in the tray into the mocha depths of his drink, Doe sauntered over to a table to enjoy his breakfast in peace. The tranquility did not last long before a stack of papers was dropped between him and his coffee by one of the researchers. Too exhausted to barrage the poor lad with insults, the man only offered a snort that rivaled that of a bull that was ready to gore through anything dared to approach. The boy was smart enough not to linger and fled as quick as he appeared to escape the man's wrath. He took a victory sip of his coffee and reluctantly began to leaf through the report.

[olyve]

𝘾𝙀𝘾𝙄𝙇 𝘽𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙆𝘽𝙐𝙍𝙉

location. flat, briefing hall, cafeteria tags. baker, jennifer wc. 338
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"the same said for yourself," he said, glancing over at jennifer and delivering a curt nod in greeting. "a bad feeling?" he mused,"our intuitions are much stronger than give them credit for." while cecil was a creature of logic most often, to say he didn't trust his 'gut' would be entirely untrue. one could argue that it, alongside with some shaky pieces of occult-flavored information, lead him through three weak points until he ended up as far into the future as he could get.

"mine led me here. whether that's a blessing or a curse has yet to be decided," he laughed softly. cecil set the manila folder he carried down onto the cafeteria table, across from jennifer. he beckoned baker to sit, not wanting to be rude towards the medic. he opened the unassuming folder, depositing a variety of photos onto the table, some of poor, blurred quality, others of stunning detail. all depicted 'unidentified' objects', and had notes with names, addresses, and other tidbits of information paper-clipped onto them. the writing, notably, was an in an impeccably neat cursive script that sung of a time long passed.

"ms. colfer, will you be joining us today?" cecil asked, lining up the photographs in chronological order. his finger lingered on the earliest, a triangle-shaped blur over a row of suburbian homes. the note read "photo taken jan 15, 2021, over 50 quay street, colchester. acquired by cecil blackburn from harvey hudson on january 16th, 2021." he hadn't seen this sort of shape, or the strange reflective properties it possessed (suggested only by the lighting of objects in the photos - shadows where shadows should not be, light where shadows often reigned), and found himself deeply curious, as he so often did. he held the photograph up the baker, before sliding it across the table for he and jennifer to observe.

"the lighting in this photograph is... off. i could very well be going mad if i'm not already, but have a look," he said, adjusting his cufflinks idly.

𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙄𝙊𝙏 𝘽𝘼𝙍𝙆𝙀𝙍

location. flat, briefing hall, cafeteria tags. deano, warren wc. 356
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"this early? fiendin'. and yeah, you can drive, i need something to clatter the marbles in my skull," he laughed, remembering fondly the unapologetic donuts deano made last time he gave him the wheel. good times. sure, deano wasn't a battle-hardened operative, a genius scientist, or a skilled detective, but the kid was useful in action - and most of all, he was fun. that was something elliot felt aion was severely lacking in, and hey, if the apocalypse was coming, they'd need every scrap of happiness they could get. "yeah i'll meet you there, hopefully with warrs," elliot said, before watching the delinquent leave the grubby dining hall.

"mornin', you flinched!" he snorted to warren after he dug his knuckles into his head. he nodded as warren said 'yuep', and grinned. warren was a serious asset - nothing short of a genius - as well as a genuinely good person. any day he got to work with warren was bound to be a good one in elliot's eyes. "sure thing, glad you're coming. bring your funky bird too, maybe we can test 'em outside the lab if you want," he suggested. "west entrance, mk?"

elliot walked from the advisor's table to a cleared hallway, throwing his grey hood over his head. as he approached the doors, he rummaged through his loose jogger pocket for a lighter and a pack. he could see deano and warrs through the window of the door, watching deano tap his leg to what was (if elliot knew anything about deano) likely some variety of drum and bass. elliot raised a cigarette to his lips as he pushed the door open with his lower back, letting it slam behind him as he clicked his green lighter.

"where do you think we should start?" elliot asked the two, leaning against a bollard beside deano and tossing him a set of keys. of course, elliot already had several ideas based off a few threads he collected, but as deano's sort of mentor for the day, he wanted the apprentices' opinion - and of course, warrs likely already had some leads for himself. unlike many members of aion, elliot wanted deano to succeed, even if deano himself didn't want to.

[sammy,]

( *:･ﾟ✦ ) xx❝xx𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞 ！！ x─────ix ★
x──────i ii apprentice. iii human. iiii tags: elliot, warren
ivi outside.

the prospect of being allowed to drive their trio out of the little complex was a pleasant one, certainly. it had been a while since he had been allowed to do so. in fact, it had been before he had managed to pass his theory exam. he'd been driving since he was fifteen. he didn't need to know the intricate symbolism of the colours of the lights that dotted the roads - it was a pointless activity. seven failed exams later, he had a license. what joy. if the organisation wasn't so strict about entering and exiting, he would have celebrated by immediately losing it. perhaps it was best that he had been eased out of the worse habits.

it was that previous life that he was thinking about as he idly breathed the clouds of blueberry, watching the derelict roads. it was odd to think about, to consider all of the responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders since 'it' happened - the 'it' that he didn't like to think about, the 'it' that was a face that he was still convincing himself he would see again, the 'it' that was a loss that he still hadn't worked out how to deal with. deano turned the music up a little bit louder, as though that would stifle the thoughts that got louder and louder with each moment of calm. he didn't like being alone, needed something to do, something to think about that wasn't the images of an adolescence that he had to cling to to keep in his mind. he had done his best not to forget, and yet as he shut his eyes, felt wind bristle the shaved sides of his head, he pondered on whether it would have simply been easier to let go of the memories.

a tap on the shoulder brought him halfway out of the ocean of thought, but only in a certain sense. in his head, a rattling, quiet voice. if you can count up to twenty before you look at the person who tapped you, it'll be cadoc.
it didn't make sense, but it never had to. he turned slowly, tried to give himself time to fulfil the compulsion, but his efforts ended up utterly fruitless. he got to seventeen before laying eyes on warren, pulling the buds out of his ears and ignoring the droning that diffused into the air. "safe," a short nod. thankfully, he didn't have to do a lot to distract himself from the minor disappointment, given that his eyes drifted to a bird that sat perched on his shoulder. was it rude to point out that one had a bird on their shoulder? surely he knew about it. surely he was aware of the fact. but if he wasn't, was it worse not to mention it? he nearly missed the question as he considered all the possibilities. "should feel blessed, then. it's bumping," he liked his music. just loud enough, just brain-meltingly droning enough, and it set up for a good day. with that out of the way, he looked at the bird again. "you got a bit of..." as though the creature was a stain or a hair. "there's a bird on you, mate. you know that, don't you? where'd you get a bird from? does it speak?" oh, the possibilities if it did were endless.

soon, elliot was joining them. deano caught the keys thrown in the air, flipping them over in his hands. "town, right? they always end up in town. following people. and if not, then... i mean, someone'll be running their mouth if they seen a victorian geez throwing a strop outside big tesco," the more humanistic touch, that didn't rely on weird devices or creatures that sat perched on shoulders, was not always as valid, as accurate - but it was always a lot more entertaining, and deano was definitely one for being entertained. "and if not, then we can go greggs. scran a sausage roll. it's a win-win, if you think about it."

[indigo']

————[♕]𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝|twenty one|other|alien|cafeteria|tags:Valerica

Matty wasn’t as much of an early riser as the others inhabiting Porton Down seemed to be. When he was in a deep sleep, a stampeding parade of elephants with saxophones couldn’t have woken him up—meaning a bedside alarm or the rays of sunlight that cut through his blinds and made patterns that climbed the wall as the morning progressed certainly didn’t do the trick. Unfortunately, he couldn’t sleep forever, and eventually his brain decided that unconsciousness wasn’t an option anymore, causing him to rub his face groggily, sitting up with an over-dramatic yawn for the benefit of the empty room.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyeing it in the mirror in a silent debate of how to deal with it, or how hard he should really try to make it cooperate. In the end he decided on a shower, the only thing that could even slightly manage to remedy the disaster it had become overnight. Once he was ready and somewhat presentable, he headed outside, not feeling the cold despite the lightness of his jacket. He’d never really been sensitive to chilly weather, whether that was a perk of his alien heritage or simply something he was used to, he wasn’t sure, and never really bothered to consider.

By the time he got to the cafeteria, it was clear that the morning briefing had already concluded, as most of the others were milling about, eating breakfast, or heading out on their way to do something or other. A cup of coffee was retrieved and essentially ruined with much more sugar than anyone would possibly need in one cup. With a decent amount of caffeine and sucrose making its way into his system, he scanned the room around him, eyes searching for a sign of someone to bother, or someone who looked as if they needed to be bothered. His gaze landed on one of the older apprentices, just entering the cafeteria—she was called Valerica, if he was remembering that correctly—and he made his way over, flashing a friendly grin as he did so.

“Val! Good morning, love. How are you?” The greeting was stated in a tone one would use speaking to an old friend, and it didn’t really matter if they were or not, that was simply how he spoke to everyone. Given the fact he’d only been in the decade for a few months, it was mostly used to strangers and acquaintances, though he didn’t seem to be bothered by this, treating everyone with a certain level of comfort and understanding. “Everyone around here looks a bit serious, has something happened?” He widened his eyes slightly, eyebrows raised, a dramatic expression that clarified the joke in his words. This was typical behaviour around here, there was always something happening, there was always something wrong, the world was always falling apart—literally—and it was their job to fix that. A serious expression over breakfast wasn’t anything out of the usual, but that wouldn’t stop him cracking jokes about it.

[Kveykva]

──────── 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐫

[✦] | apprentice | alien / tiefling | preparations | briefing hall ➡ cafeteria | tags: matty

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. It was like a mantra; a chant, as though if she did it enough times, a rush of it would begin coursing through her system. As fantastic as a spell of the sort would be, the best she had on hand was virtue. Valerica sauntered her way into the cafeteria, blowing a few strands of blue hair from her eyes as she perused the selection. This time didn't have many of her favorite delicacies, but she still felt strangely at home with the pop culture; apparently, this age was home to what she was raised on in Romania.

"Val! Good morning, love."

A voice summoned her. Valerica took only a moment to recall the name that went with the face before her incisors poked through her lips to form a grin. "Well well well, if it isn't my favorite little bubble of sunshine!" She rested a hand on her hip, her tail flicking with idle energy. Like herself, Matty was a newcomer to this age, though the two shared little else when it came to origin stories. "You'd think so," she hummed, answering his question as she motioned for the bubbling boy to follow her. Val continued her line of thought as she made herself a second cup of coffee. "but it's nothing too big to handle. There's just one, teensy little problem," she held her fingers an indiscernible distance apart before gesturing to her head. Or specifically, her horns. "How do they expect me to keep to their ridiculous appearance standards?!" She spat, slitted pupils dilating as her voice raised. "Like honestly, this is my first mission in the field, but what am I supposed to do about this?" She took a long sip. "I look the least human out of everyone here. Well, except for that one." Valerica nodded in the direction of one of the field operatives with its alien companion as they entered the room.

"You wouldn't be able to work any of that spicy magic on me, would you?" She asked, the idea popping into her head. Valerica knew Matty was capable of some pretty weighty illusions (at least, she was pretty sure Matty was the one with those abilities), but she didn't know whether they worked over distances or not. No harm in asking, right? "If not, I hope someone has some bright idea up their sleeve. Surely?" She shook her head and flicked her hand. "But that's enough about me, how are you doing, sweetie?" Val purred. "You're up earlier than usual, did you get a good night's sleep?" the fiendish woman pursed her lips, brows folding in concern.

──────── 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐨

[✦] | field operative | human | broadway | ashley's flat ➡ briefing hall | tags: open

A dull, constant sound filled the room, drowning out potential distractions that would draw the man from his slumber. First, it was the crackling of a fireplace. Now, at Porton Down, it was the hum of the flat's air-conditioning or the low volume television, meaningless images flitting across the screen. Some days these were accompanied by the steady pitter patter of rain against the window, more often than Ashley was accustomed to in Webster. Still, they did little to deter the nightmares.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. It was suffocating, a thick smog with creeping tendrils that reached and clawed for the mouths of its victims. Get up, come on! Stand! No amount of shaking shoulders made them stir. Wake up. There were faces, faces seeming frozen in time as a perfect picture of terror. Wake up. He and it, face to face. It felt wrong to look at, and its figure was fuzzy to begin with. It never looked the same when he tried to remember it. Wake up. Its hackles raised, a frill of spines spreading to release more fumes. It spat venom in his face—

Ashley jolted awake, wiping his face with a sluggish hand. "Did you spit on me?" He asked, wiping it off onto the blankets. "You were having a nightmare." Broadway observed. "Glad to see you've still got use of your eyes," he murmured, sitting up. The canine moved from his chest to the foot of the bed, hovering just above it. "Eyes? I don't use eyes." "Mind's eye, roadkill." Broadway spoke without speaking, using a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. It was like having a second conscious that was twice as irritating. Broadway expressed a playful distaste at the nickname, as he often did. "Nice save, cloudkill." Ashley checked the clock, squinting at the too bright phone screen. Almost eight. About time to get up anyway. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and mentally prepared for the day ahead. It was Monday, briefing day. Aion certainly knows how to enforce workplace disdain for Mondays. He mused internally as he navigated the dark room. "You sound like that Garfield character." Broadway's quips were both an irksome and a welcomed addition to his life, and in the year that they'd known each other, the psionic canine and its quirks slowly became a part of his daily routine.

Ashley didn't have the strength to open his eyes fully until about halfway into his shower, and he didn't feel fully awake until he stepped into the cool morning air. "Where's your coat? You'll end up sick in this weather." Broadway sniffed from his side. "Nah," Ashley responded. "It wouldn't be bad if it weren't for the wind, bud." It was brisk and blustery, though he found it comparatively warmer than what he knew from North Dakota. A dull roar of conversation greeted him as he made his way inside across the Porton Down campus. He was early; he usually was. "Another meeting?" Broadway's tongue flicked out of its mouth, freshening the dampness of its nose. "I don't know how you stand it. Padrac is so boring." Ashley suppressed the volume of his chuckle. "You shouldn't talk about your superior like that, my neck's on the line." To anyone else, the conversation sounded one-sided. Broadway huffed and allowed himself to settle on the table.

"He can't hear me, not unless I want him to."
"You don't know that. You know he isn't human,"
"Alien is not one species. It's not "human" versus "extraterrestrial," there are hundreds of species to consider."
"That's not what I was saying and you know it."

Their conversation came to a halt when the briefing began. A few familiar faces were already present, and more came trickling around the beginning of the brigadier's speech. He ran the names over in his head. Audrey, Cecil, Warren, Deano, Jennifer... oh god, what was her name? "Marley. Don't forget Reese or Elliot either." Or Mandy. Jesus, there's too many to keep up with. Ashley massaged his forehead. Most of the briefing had gone over his head so far. You catch any of that, roadkill? Broadway flicked his ear. "I'm not a tape recorder, you know." Ashley's eyes rolled. "Lord, don't start─" He bit his tongue upon realizing he spoke that aloud. "Sorry, Broadway's bein' a twerp." He could feel the floc's anger begin to rise, but he put a stop to it before pressing a flat palm on their head, holding them down to the table. Broadway was not thrilled, but he kept quiet through the remainder of the briefing.

"Breakfast sounds nice, doesn't it?" He released Broadway, who shook the disrespect from his fur. "I've already had mine." Ashley bopped him on the nose as he stood. "Well soooorryyy I don't consume the souls of the damned like you do, I eat real food like a proper human being." "Because you are a human being." Ashley paused as he entered the cafeteria. "Alright, I'll admit I walked right into that one."

[shadowhearting]

𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑x𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐊x── scientific advisor

───baker nodded briefly before he felt a presence behind him. a kind hand was placed onto his arm, baker looked over his shoulder only to see jennifer. he'd taken a liking to the medic after the two shared sporadically a meal together way back when they spent however long tittering amongst themselves until the dining hall was practically cleared of all life. since then, the two had been bound at the hip. jennifer's calm demeanor was compelling to the man, he greatly admired how she'd bend over backward for her fellow comrades as he'd do the same: her willingness and kindness that she showed to her peers made him want to be around her as much as he could. you could say he was saving himself for her ─ the two had an unspoken love and admiration that was mutual. there wouldn't be a time where he would deny time with her.

"g'morning love." he let out a quiet hum, a small simper lighting up as he looked into her eyes jennifer momentarily. he then joined her side of the table as cecil motioned for the group to sit, his eyes now on the manilla folder. baker watched intently as his comrade began to line up the photographs.

if the scientific advisor were to be honest, he had no idea what half of the photographs were of ─ some familiar, but some more compelling than others. baker made sure to pay extra attention to the photo cecil held up, reaching into his breast pocket for his reading glasses. shadows were in places shadows weren't typically, there was an eerie and ominous feeling balling in the pit of his stomach. something was definitely wrong, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

"well i'll be damned, i've never seen such a thing!" his eyes were widened, his glasses falling to the end of his nose as he gestured toward the inverted shadows, his gaze shifting onto jennifer, then cecil, "something is giving me a bad feeling about this, you're not going mad, blackburn. those shadows are not natural." the scientific advisor laid his hands flatly on the table as he confirmed his friend's suspicions. "would you happen to know if there were any disappearances in colchester when this was taken? that would be my only guess ─ this is not of a human's doing."

[amithethird]

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𝚂𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚊 "𝚂𝙾𝙰𝙿" 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚜 - ~𝟸𝟶𝟶 - 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗 - 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛
location: cafeteria - tagged: ashley, broadway - mentioned: alekall
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Before coming to Aion, Soap had never thought much about how to describe her state of being. "Cursed" seemed to come easiest to the few people she'd told over the years, so that's how she often thought about it, when she thought about it at all, and that was good enough for her. She didn't need to think about her abilities beyond how useful they were to her in any given moment, but now she couldn't go a single day without thinking about what they were and where they came from, and she'd heard perhaps a dozen new words to describe herself in the meantime.

Alien. Metahuman. Hybrid. Mutant. Someone "with a condition." Technically speaking her full designation was "genetically altered human - extraterrestrial origin" but no one ever called her that. "Alien" was much quicker to say, as was "ghost" or "zombie." She didn't think any of those were technically accurate, but she made a point not to care. She agreed to join this circus to learn new things about other people, not herself. If she had the option, she would never be forced to think about herself at all.

Funny how life works, sometimes. At least she didn't dream anymore.

Soap "woke up" that morning after only getting a few hours of "sleep", which was to say she returned to her body after giving it a few hours to rest and reset. When she was first learning how to control her abilities, she hated having to treat her body like a remote control car with the worst battery life imaginable. Now it was just routine, and she'd actually learned to enjoy her ability to "speed run" sleep. After all, there was no deeper sleep than literally being comatose to the point of near death, so she could get all the rest she needed (well, more or less) within a few hours. And during that time she could still do things in her astral form so long as they didn't involve manipulating physical objects. The only time she ever really, actually slept was when she was bored or just too mentally and emotionally exhausted to do anything but force herself into unconsciousness. How often that felt necessary seemed to vary wildly around here, but she appreciated that it was still an entirely optional thing.

Eating, however, was not. Though her body required less sleep, it seemed like it needed twice as much food as it used to in order to run. Her best theory as to why had something to do with having to expend more energy to keep her soul attached to her body now, which required more calories, but she'd been informed by Aion's resident labcoats that that probably wasn't it, so what did she know. Maybe it was because an alien scrambled her DNA 200 years ago and changed her physiology, or maybe it was because she refused to sleep longer than four hours and her body was just trying to make up for it. It didn't really matter one way or the other anyhow. Whatever the cause, it still meant she had to eat her body weight in eggs and toast every morning.

The cafeteria staff knew her well by now. She always came earlier than everyone else to get a head start on breakfast, and the cooks had learned to make a little extra food so Soap wouldn't eat them out of house and home. They probably considered it a blessing that her strange metabolism only demanded protein, so all she ever really wanted was eggs. It was pretty hard to screw up eggs. Anyone old enough to hold a spatula the right way could make scrambled eggs. But she never took all her eggs at once. They'd get cold too fast. She used to just go back and forth from her table to the counter to collect each new batch, but that quickly got annoying for all parties. Now she just went straight into the kitchen when breakfast began and perched on the counter while the kitchen staff went about their business.

It was even louder in the kitchen than in the cafeteria, so Soap often missed Alekall's Monday briefings, but she hardly considered that a problem. She would inevitably go off and do her own thing anyway, and if something was really that important, she'd hear about it later. Besides, as the only other 200 year old alien at Aion, it was her sworn duty to give the Brigadier as much of a hard time as possible without outright provoking him to violence (and even then, it wasn't like he could kill her), and she was much more successful at pushing his buttons if she refused to take him seriously.

With love, of course.

Once the coast was clear and she'd eaten about all the eggs she could stand, she decided it was time to actually get to work. First on the to-do list: find something interesting that she had no business getting involved in and get involved. No shortage of that around here, for sure. Even if there wasn't a temporal anomaly or some other nonsense from outside that caught her attention, there were always strange people inside the base itself who she could bother. As she walked out of the kitchen and into the cafeteria, she scanned the crowd with her eyes, figuring she'd zero in on the first fellow weirdo she spotted. Then the movement of something distinctly non-human caught her eye as the cafeteria doors opened. Seemed Ashley and Broadway were today's lucky winners.

She made her way through the crowd with practiced nonchalance until she fell in alongside the man and his strange fox. She didn't know much about how their apparent bond was supposed to work, but she'd gleaned a little info here and there about how things worked. Or at least, she'd gleaned pieces of information based on what they knew, which she was starting to realize wasn't all that much. Though if she was being honest, that just made the mystery more fun to pick at.

"Morning, chumps. Eaten any good souls lately?"

[harrington]

xx

scientific advisor // location ;; outside // tags ;; elliot, deano // wc: 468

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ident likeabosswarren's eyes instinctively rolled towards deano's comment. "it is not 'bumping,' it's loud. you're a public nuisance." what was intended to be a joke could've been interpreted as a genuine attack on deano's character. "ah, yeah, i know," warren continued, responding to deano's comment on the bird in his hair. "she likes it up there, the silly gal. off you go," delicately, warren reached towards the endurance and placed her on his right shoulder, where she remained eerily still for the remainder of the conversation. "and no, she doesn't speak... what kind of fairytale world do you think we're living in?" a stupid comment, given that warren was surrounded by aliens and cracks in time leading his family to spiral down into the depths of the universe. "this is the endurance... my passion project, if you will. i'll be testing her out during this mission, thank you very much." he then turned towards elliot who was now approaching them both quickly. finally, a mitigator to mediate the conversation between the two boys - warren feared being close to deano for any long period of time, if not for his loud, enthusiastic energy, then the bubbling anxiety that always seemed to accompany warren when he was alone with someone his own age for longer than a few minutes.
ident likeaboss"you're... serious?" he eyed the keys tossed to deano, and watched as they spun around in his hand. "you're letting him drive?" he sucked in a deep breath, and braced himself for what was to come. if warren was a good judge of character, he and elliot would be lucky to survive this car trip without major brain damage. "town seems like the safest bet, yes. i believe there has been some sightings in the area, at least. wouldn't hurt to check them out." warren shivered with delight at the thought of a sausage roll travelling down his gullet. "i think we should stop there anyways. i'm starving," a comment that was unfortunately true even though they he just consumed his body weight in carbs. "suppose we could grab a few snacks at tesco, though. i got a few dollars to my name, and i want some jaffa cakes."
ident likeabossthe thought of going into town on an actual mission excited him. he would finally prove to everyone, that, hey, warren hall actually has it in him to be an advisor at the ripe old age of seventeen. he hoped that he could prove himself to the other advisors, and more importantly, the brigadier, the man who had shown mercy on warren what seemed like years and years ago. being promoted was one thing, but proving yourself to the others was a whole 'nother ballpark entirely.
ident likeaboss"we should head out soon, yeah? get this hellish car ride over with, then."