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Post by Chancellor Cheri on Apr 24, 2021 6:59:08 GMT -5
Cheri appeared to have not aged at all except in being more woman-like, apparently, which she supposed was meant to be a compliment. And it was, certainly, but a bit of an odd one, at least in wording.
”The strategically-sensible generals— which are few and far between in a culture that rewards brute savagery— were the sort to attempt to capture their enemies for questioning and for a greater bargaining position.” Garrick, then, was one of these generals. In normal wars (at least, as ‘normal’ as a war could be), when one’s goal was not genocide (as dictated by its being ‘normal’), it was almost always better to capture the enemy, even if merely a trooper or grunt, for often (even aside from the great advantage of taking information from the troops) the terms of war would be decided through who had the greatest bargaining power. Such a thing did not concern most Vegetans however; for one, many of the troops in the tuffle forces were creations of tech (often godgardons) or genes (the occasional white bio-man) or were mercenaries hired simply to do the job and, thus, did not have the information to spill (or, for creations, a will to break). Additionally, the Sadalan need for a challenging fight had been corrupted into the Vegetan need to destroy anything that was a challenge; why feed them when you could just kill them and feed their corpses to the saiba? And, lastly, the Vegetans simply had no interest in bargaining power: for the majority in power, their need was to totally destroy the tuffles or, at the barest of minimums, subjugate them totally.
Over a few seconds— truly, ten, but most of it over only the first couple— the dark lightened up, the smell of nothingness became, at least, a smell, and life seemed to return to it. The many sewing machines, seeing that it wouldn’t have disrupted the mood if they were to start up again, whizzed back into life. The two shared eye contact and, slowly, Cheri was brought back fully to the current moment, after having brought old memories to the forefront of her mind to have them shown in the psychic room.
”Yes.” Yes, he’d promised himself to her quite a few times now; she’d gotten the idea at that point, if not far sooner. ”I know, and I thank you.”
Indeed, finding Amara… now that she had someone she could tell about her search, and she didn’t have to keep it all in her mind to herself, she’d have to bring him up to speed on a few things. ”She still has the black hair, and should still have a tail.” And, yet, whenever she pictured Amara, she had colourful, non-spiky hair, colourful eyes, with no tail in sight. She knew it was not accurate, and she even recognised it for its subconscious significance, but she could not help it. ”Short for a saiyan, though.” Cheri smiled, very slightly, at her tuffle genetic contribution; at least she’d gotten one positive trait. ”Not very useful, I know.” Saiyan young woman in appearance was decent enough but, when we were talking saiyans, ‘black-haired’, ‘dark-eyed’ and ‘tailed’ didn’t cut down the list of suspects too much; and, turns out, about half of all female saiyans were below the median in terms of female saiyan height, so that wasn’t the most useful either. ”Oh, and I caught wind of someone called ‘Beowulf’ mentioning her as a participant in the Budokai, even though she isn’t on any of the lists, so keep that in mind.” So, either Amara had entered under a pseudonym (which was important for a reason Cheri hadn’t said yet) or there was some funny business going on; either way, at least one of the two of them would want to track down and ask this Beowulf about it. ”And, lastly, be careful:”
With the force of her imagining it there, an image of Garrick had appeared; still-frame, as before, though, by the way he stood, it seemed he was posing seriously for a painting or a photograph or somesuch. Furthermore, if Nasu had spent enough time around saiyans to be able to tell their age (or, alternatively, if he’d noticed the different beard shape), it was clear that this image was many many years after the last image Nasu had seen of him.
”Garrick died not too long ago.”
The image greyed and Garrick’s eyes closed, a visual metaphor for his death. By her voice, she was clearly saddened to even say such a line, though she would not let something so small as tragedy get in the way of her clear enunciation.
”Under suspicious circumstances the tuffles had no part in. Whether it was politically motivated, to get rid of a political player who ultimately wished for peace, or simply family squabbles fighting over inheritance and daddy issues, he was assassinated by his own.”
The image of Garrick faded, to be replaced by… well, saiyans. Though, female, black-haired, dark-eyed, tailed and short… that was the description of Amara, but they were all short to different degrees, had different hair shapes, face shapes, tail lengths and even dressed mildly differently. These images were not subconsciously imagined, no, she’d done all the work she could: while she did not have Amara’s genetic material, she had Garrick’s (in some hair he’d left her) and obviously she had her own and, so, she was able to feed quite a lot of data into a supercomputer to figure out the likely appearance of their DNA’s meeting and then filter out all the traits she knew were not so; the 24 Amaras in the room were considered the 24 most likely appearances, or, rather, similar groups of appearances that, within those groups, represented themselves as an average of those many usually almost-identical appearances.
There were some strong resemblances, but the real Amara did not look quite like any of them.
As soon as Nasu tried to take a close look at any of their faces, all of them would fade. Otherwise, they’d fade far more slowly.
”Amara is not simply on Earth, she is hiding here. Whatever killed her father, she must believe, wants her dead as well. If you go about this task, I ask of you, be cautious; check if you are being followed, be mindful of any potential Vegetan spies, be ready to find a way to prove that you are not Vegetan and, even without any spies at all, be discreet.” Beowulf had said her name in a heavily televised Budokai match, so, if they existed, assassins might have already come to Earth for her. ”In case she is right to hide.”
Nasu approached her. While over many decades she had learnt some instinctive, muscle-memory-bound responses to being approached by a saiyan, none of them triggered. It was not a matter of them trying to trigger and her actively pushing them down, no, they simply did not try to arise at all.
How did she feel? She did not quite know herself.
”Perhaps shaken.”
Shaken by all the old memories she had lived again in moments.
”Perhaps relieved.”
Relieved to, now, have someone to share a goal with.
”Perhaps stressed out of my mind.”
On top of all of her normal responsibilities, which she still had to do even remotely, she was here to find her long-lost daughter.
”And perhaps I’m just glad to have you here with me.”
Nasu had done most of the job in approaching her, making this so much easier. She stepped forwards to him and, provided he was fine with it, she’d hug him… though, given their relative heights, it was more like she was hugging his legs. It would be a soft hug, approaching a cuddle, and she would only pull away herself in mild surprise, when—
”It is done!”
The shinjin was suddenly in the room: the ‘staff door’ from before, which had once been in the corner of the room, now sat at the centre of the wall opposite the entrance, where it was now a double door labelled ‘focus on me, you fool, not the door!’. The shinjin, though, was dressed the same as before, and yet looked quite different; he’d gotten to prepare his entrance, gotten to prepare his lines, and was not caught off guard working on his thematic notes behind a staff door as Nasu had previously seen him.
Cheri, regardless of if she’d been hugging anyone previously, had been quite surprised by the suddenness of it which would have cut off her nice, slow moment and had very nearly fallen over in shock. She caught herself, of course (possibly with Nasu’s assistance, if he was there for her), and, instead of being annoyed or anything of the sort, could only laugh at the humour of it; sometimes, being surprised was funny.
What more, though, was that the shinjin held Nasu’s suit on an invisible hanger, perfectly fitting what Nasu had wanted, with details in it that he hadn’t even asked for but were known to be something he’d appreciate.
”It is I, Pavlova Modiste! They said I could only do women’s hats, they said I could only make it as a milliner, but I’ve shown them! This… this is a masterwork!” There was a moment where Pavlova looked to the faces of his ‘customers’ to make sure they were following along. Cheri was smiling lightly, going along for the ride. ”Please, please, take that terrible ragthing off your chest, and show me how my work fits on you!” Pavlova rushed forwards, giddy with excitement; he’d allow Nasu to take it from his hands, if need be, but otherwise would stay there to assist him in putting it on. He wouldn’t need any help, of course, it was made specifically for him, but Pavlova was happy to help all the same. As soon as Nasu touched the shirt, the invisible hanger inside would disappear totally, not just from the sight it already evaded.
Finally: Nasu received a legitimate, actual reason to take his shirt off.
”The strategically-sensible generals— which are few and far between in a culture that rewards brute savagery— were the sort to attempt to capture their enemies for questioning and for a greater bargaining position.” Garrick, then, was one of these generals. In normal wars (at least, as ‘normal’ as a war could be), when one’s goal was not genocide (as dictated by its being ‘normal’), it was almost always better to capture the enemy, even if merely a trooper or grunt, for often (even aside from the great advantage of taking information from the troops) the terms of war would be decided through who had the greatest bargaining power. Such a thing did not concern most Vegetans however; for one, many of the troops in the tuffle forces were creations of tech (often godgardons) or genes (the occasional white bio-man) or were mercenaries hired simply to do the job and, thus, did not have the information to spill (or, for creations, a will to break). Additionally, the Sadalan need for a challenging fight had been corrupted into the Vegetan need to destroy anything that was a challenge; why feed them when you could just kill them and feed their corpses to the saiba? And, lastly, the Vegetans simply had no interest in bargaining power: for the majority in power, their need was to totally destroy the tuffles or, at the barest of minimums, subjugate them totally.
Over a few seconds— truly, ten, but most of it over only the first couple— the dark lightened up, the smell of nothingness became, at least, a smell, and life seemed to return to it. The many sewing machines, seeing that it wouldn’t have disrupted the mood if they were to start up again, whizzed back into life. The two shared eye contact and, slowly, Cheri was brought back fully to the current moment, after having brought old memories to the forefront of her mind to have them shown in the psychic room.
”Yes.” Yes, he’d promised himself to her quite a few times now; she’d gotten the idea at that point, if not far sooner. ”I know, and I thank you.”
Indeed, finding Amara… now that she had someone she could tell about her search, and she didn’t have to keep it all in her mind to herself, she’d have to bring him up to speed on a few things. ”She still has the black hair, and should still have a tail.” And, yet, whenever she pictured Amara, she had colourful, non-spiky hair, colourful eyes, with no tail in sight. She knew it was not accurate, and she even recognised it for its subconscious significance, but she could not help it. ”Short for a saiyan, though.” Cheri smiled, very slightly, at her tuffle genetic contribution; at least she’d gotten one positive trait. ”Not very useful, I know.” Saiyan young woman in appearance was decent enough but, when we were talking saiyans, ‘black-haired’, ‘dark-eyed’ and ‘tailed’ didn’t cut down the list of suspects too much; and, turns out, about half of all female saiyans were below the median in terms of female saiyan height, so that wasn’t the most useful either. ”Oh, and I caught wind of someone called ‘Beowulf’ mentioning her as a participant in the Budokai, even though she isn’t on any of the lists, so keep that in mind.” So, either Amara had entered under a pseudonym (which was important for a reason Cheri hadn’t said yet) or there was some funny business going on; either way, at least one of the two of them would want to track down and ask this Beowulf about it. ”And, lastly, be careful:”
With the force of her imagining it there, an image of Garrick had appeared; still-frame, as before, though, by the way he stood, it seemed he was posing seriously for a painting or a photograph or somesuch. Furthermore, if Nasu had spent enough time around saiyans to be able to tell their age (or, alternatively, if he’d noticed the different beard shape), it was clear that this image was many many years after the last image Nasu had seen of him.
”Garrick died not too long ago.”
The image greyed and Garrick’s eyes closed, a visual metaphor for his death. By her voice, she was clearly saddened to even say such a line, though she would not let something so small as tragedy get in the way of her clear enunciation.
”Under suspicious circumstances the tuffles had no part in. Whether it was politically motivated, to get rid of a political player who ultimately wished for peace, or simply family squabbles fighting over inheritance and daddy issues, he was assassinated by his own.”
The image of Garrick faded, to be replaced by… well, saiyans. Though, female, black-haired, dark-eyed, tailed and short… that was the description of Amara, but they were all short to different degrees, had different hair shapes, face shapes, tail lengths and even dressed mildly differently. These images were not subconsciously imagined, no, she’d done all the work she could: while she did not have Amara’s genetic material, she had Garrick’s (in some hair he’d left her) and obviously she had her own and, so, she was able to feed quite a lot of data into a supercomputer to figure out the likely appearance of their DNA’s meeting and then filter out all the traits she knew were not so; the 24 Amaras in the room were considered the 24 most likely appearances, or, rather, similar groups of appearances that, within those groups, represented themselves as an average of those many usually almost-identical appearances.
There were some strong resemblances, but the real Amara did not look quite like any of them.
As soon as Nasu tried to take a close look at any of their faces, all of them would fade. Otherwise, they’d fade far more slowly.
”Amara is not simply on Earth, she is hiding here. Whatever killed her father, she must believe, wants her dead as well. If you go about this task, I ask of you, be cautious; check if you are being followed, be mindful of any potential Vegetan spies, be ready to find a way to prove that you are not Vegetan and, even without any spies at all, be discreet.” Beowulf had said her name in a heavily televised Budokai match, so, if they existed, assassins might have already come to Earth for her. ”In case she is right to hide.”
Nasu approached her. While over many decades she had learnt some instinctive, muscle-memory-bound responses to being approached by a saiyan, none of them triggered. It was not a matter of them trying to trigger and her actively pushing them down, no, they simply did not try to arise at all.
How did she feel? She did not quite know herself.
”Perhaps shaken.”
Shaken by all the old memories she had lived again in moments.
”Perhaps relieved.”
Relieved to, now, have someone to share a goal with.
”Perhaps stressed out of my mind.”
On top of all of her normal responsibilities, which she still had to do even remotely, she was here to find her long-lost daughter.
”And perhaps I’m just glad to have you here with me.”
Nasu had done most of the job in approaching her, making this so much easier. She stepped forwards to him and, provided he was fine with it, she’d hug him… though, given their relative heights, it was more like she was hugging his legs. It would be a soft hug, approaching a cuddle, and she would only pull away herself in mild surprise, when—
”It is done!”
The shinjin was suddenly in the room: the ‘staff door’ from before, which had once been in the corner of the room, now sat at the centre of the wall opposite the entrance, where it was now a double door labelled ‘focus on me, you fool, not the door!’. The shinjin, though, was dressed the same as before, and yet looked quite different; he’d gotten to prepare his entrance, gotten to prepare his lines, and was not caught off guard working on his thematic notes behind a staff door as Nasu had previously seen him.
Cheri, regardless of if she’d been hugging anyone previously, had been quite surprised by the suddenness of it which would have cut off her nice, slow moment and had very nearly fallen over in shock. She caught herself, of course (possibly with Nasu’s assistance, if he was there for her), and, instead of being annoyed or anything of the sort, could only laugh at the humour of it; sometimes, being surprised was funny.
What more, though, was that the shinjin held Nasu’s suit on an invisible hanger, perfectly fitting what Nasu had wanted, with details in it that he hadn’t even asked for but were known to be something he’d appreciate.
”It is I, Pavlova Modiste! They said I could only do women’s hats, they said I could only make it as a milliner, but I’ve shown them! This… this is a masterwork!” There was a moment where Pavlova looked to the faces of his ‘customers’ to make sure they were following along. Cheri was smiling lightly, going along for the ride. ”Please, please, take that terrible ragthing off your chest, and show me how my work fits on you!” Pavlova rushed forwards, giddy with excitement; he’d allow Nasu to take it from his hands, if need be, but otherwise would stay there to assist him in putting it on. He wouldn’t need any help, of course, it was made specifically for him, but Pavlova was happy to help all the same. As soon as Nasu touched the shirt, the invisible hanger inside would disappear totally, not just from the sight it already evaded.
Finally: Nasu received a legitimate, actual reason to take his shirt off.
