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Timekeeper	The place that the teleport disk takes you, from technicolor apocalypse through a flash of pure white and gold, isn't the chrome and laminate of Laplace. Instead, it's a massive entrance hall with a soaring ceiling and so wide that the cluster of over a dozen people feels lonely as the teleportation drops you in a pile in the center. Concrete and imposing, comprised of angular pillars and squared-off decorative corners, with a runway of black and white marble tile that matches Sonetto's headband down the middle, it feels cold and unwelcoming in a way entirely unlike Laplace's warpgate room-- where that one was bare out of unpreparedness, your first view of the Foundation is *professionally* barren.     With Vertin still gone in the ongoing Storm, Sonetto alone hastily leads the Elites down the familiar path, deeper into the Foundation, but that's where the haste of the last several hours abruptly ends. The cavernous concrete halls are surprisingly silent, with only scattered people milling around anxiously doing tasks at first. An alarm, different in tone from Laplace's, continually pulses with three long warning sounds and a recording of <The Storm has arrived. Please remain indoors.>, and some of the few people around are guards at each exit to the outdoors, ostensibly to keep anyone from being accidentally caught up in the Storm.     There *are* plenty of people within the compound, though. They're just sheltering in designated locations, as if the Storm was a bombing they could take cover from-- you can see them opening doors and looking around, peeking through windows, or furtively skirting the halls. There's a heated and frantic-seeming conversation between several important-but-not-important-enough people that cuts off in shock when they see Sonetto, a brief pull-aside of whispered back and forth with her, and then a short flurry of people fumbling over themselves to try and figure out who the hell offworlders should be talking to, and directing you to different rooms, with different instructions, nervously uncertain.     Eventually, the group gets shuttled into an empty lecture hall; and then, the activity and adrenaline of the mission go silent and still finally. It's a large room, capable of seating twenty times as many people as the group has. Multipurpose, it seems like it could have been used for lectures, presentations, speeches, governmental forums, or classes, which is conveniently vague, because they have no idea what to do with the Elites yet, and this gives the Elites very little to prepare for. The ever-present black and white diamonds are here too, and on the back wall is the St. Pavlov Foundation symbol positioned below an unfamiliar symbol of a lighthouse and crossed olive branches.     Sonetto doesn't sit down, instead lingering by one of the tall rectangular windows that looks outside. Against the pane of glass, raindrops roll steadily upwards, and beyond them the English countryside is disintegrating into the dotted magenta sky in a slow eruption of color and light. From up here in the hills, there's a view of seeing the landscape and small towns eroded away alike, as the world ends with Vertin and Regulus still absent.     "I am... sorry, that you are being inconvenienced by having to stay longer. I am sure they will only have a few questions for you before sending you on your way... and once the Timekeeper returns, they will be able to explain everything."
Timekeeper	For the Elites that didn't group up around Sonetto for the teleportation ritual, there's no place to bring the HMS Clover back into the world, not while the Storm is still pouring. Instead, Einar, Audrey, and Odette can be transported to the Foundation by White, but not before they witness the Storm's effects firsthand.     Every Elite not native to the world is perfectly safe in Einar's nonspace. The civilians they unmasked, treated, purified, and evacuated, are not, even without the Storm directly 'touching' them. One moment, they're being assisted into the safe rooms aboard the Clover, and the next, they unravel like peeled fruit, fall apart and flay away, or turn to rising, unsubstantial ash, leaving nothing but their clothing behind.     With that bleak taste in their mouths, they can be escorted to the same hall as all the others. They're told it will only be a short while longer before the proper personnel can get to them, and fifteen minutes pass in the emptily echoing chamber without another update. Even Sonetto is worn out, both emotionally and physically, and stays mostly silent while watching the Storm through the window.
Foundation Scions	Not all that long before the Elites themselves are shepherded through the bowels of the Foundation's headquarters, frantic preparations have been put in response to Vertin's breach of protocol. Laplace's breakthrough itself put various different bureaucracies into a scramble to craft policy and assign responsibility, but the pace at which the tenuous plans have fallen through has necessitated more drastic action on the Foundation's part- the emergency creation of a department solely to oversee and (optimistically) manage the organization's off-world affairs. Chief among that is placing more eyes in the field that can be trusted to report on the Foundation's very own Timekeeper, Vertin, without being affiliated to her directly. The rest of the department's purpose can be figured out later, behind boardroom doors and in stale meetings.     To represent its current need for people to complete its affairs, alongside uniformed support staff and political clerks, two of Vertin's old known compatriots and classmates, both otherwise vetted as trustworthy in the eyes of the Foundation, have been notified of their mandatory assignment to this department. Hastily thrown together, and hastily organized, the two are not even done with their spare orientation and briefings on the current circumstances before news breaks that Sonetto and the Elites have returned.     . . .     It was a surprise for the both of the chosen delegates, too, to be the pair selected for this task. Bright hopes of finally being recognized for inherent talent, dashed, and dull disappointment that this won't be a quick and easy ordeal, upheld. The only possible reason that the both of them could be assigned to the same task, and put in the same room together by authorities, is Vertin, and some ruckus she's caused- that part is evident even before supervisors with half-truths and formal briefings speak to them. In the conference chamber they'd been instructed to wait for instruction within, neither speak even a word to one another.     . . . Foundation Lecture Hall     The first 'authority figure' to walk through the lecture hall's tall doorway, breaking the long minutes of tense anticipation, is a blonde girl clearly no older than the Timekeeper or her assistant- not some career bureaucrat. She wears a uniform noticeably different in construction than the white-and-grey uniform of the Foundation's main staff- two-tone grey, and youthful in its cut, while still maintaining the same golden badge and ribbon. Just behind her, and just as unusually dressed for the Foundation's main complex, is an exhausted-looking, already dissatisfied Laplace doctor, pulling a small squeaky cart with a chrome-plated projector on top. Dressed in a short vinyl dress, with a detached chrome shrug covering her neck and arms, capped off with a few beeping electronic devices, and a clunky Laplace badge, her outfit is outlandishly technofuturist instead of following any extant trends for medical wear.     Walking right up to the podium with a spring in her step, the blonde girl sets down a stack of papers and manila folder dossiers with an audible thump, leaning slightly out overtop it in order to look around the room better. When her eyes cross Sonetto, off to the side and looking so unusually worn, the girl quite obviously stares for a long moment, a small, worried note of hesitation before starting up her spiel.
Foundation Scions	"Ahem! Attention! Attention. On the behalf of the St. Pavlov Foundation's Department of Multiversal Over- Outreach, pardon, I extend to you appropriate welcome. I am Monitor Assistant Matilda Bouanich, representative of both the Eff-Dee-Em-Oh, and St. Pavlov Foundation's School for the Primary defense of Mankind," That explains the difference in uniform. Despite the ostentatious tone she takes in saying it, and beneath a thick Parisian French accent, 'Monitor Assistant' sounds very much like 'teacher's assistant'.     "And I am joined by fellow representative, Ms. Mesmer Junior, of the Laplace Rehabilitation Center." A small gesture to the chrome-jacketed doctor, who offers only a short glance and curt nod out at the audience, before returning to working with the dials and cables of the device on the rolling card. Satisfied enough with that, Matilda looks back out to the oversized hall, a confident little smile plastered to her face. She shuffles with notecards, and resumes talking.     "The Foundation wishes it to be known that it. . ." A glance down at the papers she's placed on her podium, "Most strongly condemns the methods employed by Timekeeper Vertin in the efforts of exposing outside and unauthorized persons to the dangers of the Storm, as well as trafficking unauthorized and unregistered persons across secure grounds." Given a few slight falters in her wording, it's clear that Matilda hasn't been given the time to study the message she was to deliver, the contents and tone a bit of a surprise.     "U-um! But, nevertheless, as outside individuals cannot be expected to follow internal Foundation protocol... Don't worry! none of you all," A conspicuous glance towards Sonetto, despite her implicitly not being part of that 'you all', is Matilda's best efforts at offering a comforting assurance, "Are to be held as responsible. All that is asked is that each off-world party involved would be to comply with a few questions, and of course, fill out this form, for recordkeeping. And, as well- perhaps we can be of assistance to answer what questions you have as well!" She's the one who added that on to the assigned tasks, and her beaming smile only confirms it.     With a solid smack, Matilda pats the top of the pile she'd earlier set down. She smiles- she's being helpful, she's doing a job, and she's telling a room full of people to breathe easy, they're off the hook- that's a good thing she's doing! Yay, Matilda! The Monitor Assistant lets out a satisfied sigh.     "Now, could each of you form a single-file queue for me to hand the paperwork out, while my assis- associate  readies the presentation...? Mesmer, how much longer will it be until that, that contraption is working?" "I've got it handled, just give me a minute." Half-whispering, "Are you sure? Let me take a-" "A minute,  Bouanich. Go hand out the forms."     For those that do actually line up to receive the paperwork, they'll be handed a bundle of forms that were clearly meant for employee onboarding, with sections like 'desired department' scratched out with permanent marker, but knowing that doesn't make the asked-for information any less invasive- name, age, country, city, age and birth date, past employment and affiliation, education, skills- sections on 'arcanum' remain, but the checkbox for indicating whether one is an Arcanist is likewise crossed out. A quick "Thank you," and "Please return them before leaving," is spoken with each stapled bundle handed out.     For those that don't queue up to grab them- Matilda, uncertain, gets up from the podium to, wordlessly, hand deliver copies to the sitting Elites.     "Ahem- and, on to our next order of business... May I please have the names, of each and every person present?"
Flamel Parsons	here is my storm safety routine: >t -0:10 i go into the collective unsconious >t -0:05 minutes don't wake up >t -0:00 sonetto brings me to the foundation, don't acknowledge it >t 0:20 matilda shows up to receive me, still unmoving >t 0:25 paperwork is being passed out, onto my lifeless unmoving body     Flamel Parsons, who appeared to be mostly a lifeless and limp corpse being carried around by Tamiel Luxis, suddenly jolts awake as he previously promised, with a long and intense gasp. It's exactly five seconds into however long it would have taken Matilda to be uncertain about whether he's alive.     "HHHHHHHHAAAUAHHHH okay I'm alive." He says, panting heavily. "That was *horrible*. Does anyone have spare sunglasses? Everything's really, really bright. Did we go to the vague yet menacing government organization?" He quickly scans local psychometry. "Okay, we did -- thanks, Ms. Bouanich." He sort of pulls himself into a more sane position. "If you want, I also keep my appropriately-redacted dossier-casefile on-hand for sharing with mysterious Foundations of any good standing." He explains, patting down his jacket pocket for more sunglasses.     "Anyway, I *love* to comply with a few questions. The name's Flamel Parsons! Agent of a vague yet ominous government organization." He's found some spare sunglasses and adjusts them in greeting. "Psychonaut, camp counselor, and mental security expert."
Riku Asakura	The place they are teleported into is vast.  Way larger than he was used to being.  He's surprised that the Foundation doesn't have the resources to help more people.  Right now, he's unaware of the people who were taken out of the storm that just unraveled.  It would break his heart to learn that there was nothing they could do to help the people, and that their effort was for naught.   He follows Sonetto to the meeting room, listening to her appologize for everything, and Riku, now Riku and not Ultraman Geed, shakes his head towards her.  "It's alright, I'm not inconvenienced at all. I can answer some questions." That is until Matilda makes her announcement and declaration that they weren't in any trouble, and that what the Timekeeper did wasn't technically allowed.  Technically, it was something they could be in trouble for.  Not that this bothers Riku; he was helping people and is used to being technically in trouble for doing it.   Ordered to get into a line, he does as requested.  He looks tired, but still wears a smile on his face as he passes some paper and asks to jot down answers to some questions.  "I'm Riku Asakura, by the way.  Nice to meet you both!"
Rita Ma	Rita's either badly dazed or thoughtfully pensive after arrival; with her stiff expression it's hard to tell which. The recent mental tumult of blood and colors still makes her stomach turn; she leans against white marble for a few moments. Tainted rainwater drips smoothly off her dry-looking clothes and hair, puddling at her feet.      When it's time to move, she gathers herself and walks stiff-backed, dull eyes staring out at the dissolving countryside through windows.      "I am sure they will only have a few questions for you before sending you on your way..."      "Ms. Sonetto," Rita says, finally breaking her silence. "I'm thankful for the Foundation sheltering us from the Storm. But I'm sure you appreciate that we aren't free to leave, right now." Implicitly: This is a questioning under duress, and I know that, and that does not encourage honesty.      In the lecture hall, she sits on the edge of a long table, shoes swaying uneasily like she's dawdling on a swingset.      "Department of Multiversal Over- Outreach, pardon,"      Rita's polite smile for the cute blonde girl gets a teeny tiny bit stiffer.      A conspicuous glance towards Sonetto      Ah. Now Rita feels a little bad for having been hard on her. She grimaces sympathetically in Sonetto's direction.      "Thank you. I'm sorry. It's been a long day," Rita says when Matilda comes up to give her the sheaf of intake papers, compulsively polite. These people are just the messengers, she knows, maybe even younger than her. Maybe that's the point. The 'human shields' thing Liza and Red Dwarf talk about. "My name's Rita. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Matilta and Ms. Mesmer."      She holds the pen for a long moment, not yet putting it to paper.
Audrey Basque	Audrey arrives a bit late, courtesy of White; though her fancy black shirt is missing its sleeves, and is torn open completely on the back, she's also put the jacket Natsuki tossed her way on to cover that up; since it's a nice blazer, you'd really not know Audrey's shirt is so messed up unless you looked closely, and that suits her just fine.     It also means she owns Natsuki twice over for the same jacket.     You'll have to forgive her if she looks a bit out of it though, having just witnessed people UNRAVEL and fall apart all the while she was also watching stars shift in real time and this moments after being hit over the head by the Storm Syndrome.     It's certainly been a day.     The fact some five or six billion people just quote unquote died hasn't entirely escaped her awareness but she's had a more direct experience to distract her from that reality just now.     Being escorted to the lecture hall along with everyone else, after settling into the bland and uninspired halls of the Foundation, Audrey gravitates back into Natsuki's orbit, almost subconsciously.     Things revv up; Matilda and Mesmer enter, and they get the whole speech, the reassurance they're not being blamed-- which, with the reprimand, kind of makes Audrey, worn as she is, want to point out if they're unhappy with the methods they can field their own damn personnel next time.     She's too much of a doormat to though.     Instead she's snapped out of it by being handed a form, and replying flatly, more distant and checked out than annoyed or anything of the sort, "O-Oh. Thank you, Ms. Bouanich."     The fact Matilda is so young doesn't even register to her until they're in front of another, given the height difference. So it's not just the Timekeeper and Sonetto. That's a bit disconcerting.     She eyes the form, less and less sure she wants to answer any of it.
Tamiel Luxis	Tamiel finds herself following beside--and occassionally in the wake of--Rita. Her eyes are puffy and red, the weight of the Storm heavy on her concious. ...At least we got some out... she consoled herself, unaware of the fates of those sequestered away. Idly, she found herself glancing downward at Flamel, too exhausted to care about any whispers that might have been murmured about a girl with shard-wings carrying a body through the Foundations.     She laid him down, in a chair, and tried to take his pulse. She found something, but it was faint, and Flash him with a brief infusion of holy light through her hands. Nothing. Are you dead, too? His body was alive, but if his mind had crossed over, and been erased, maybe he was just a vegetable, now. She seemed to have crossed a threshold, distant and shellshocked. She was alarmed, distantly, that she didn't burst out crying.     Absently, she set him down in a chair, posing him like a doll. Eventually, she propped up his face with his palm, like a student who'd fallen asleep sitting up, and slipped into her own seat...Exactly one empty seat away from Rita.     She blinked ahead at Matilda, as she handed out the sheet, only half-understanding, before she looked down at its contents. Her shadow turned its head in the other elite's direction, then to the others, though the real Tamiel was looking straight ahead. "Thank you," she said, hoarse, fiddling for a moment with the pen. "My name is Tamiel. Representative of Vineta."
Veronica	Paperwork. Veronica *hates* paperwork. With good reason; paperwork for her at the Firefly Dam power plant only followed grim news and grisly work. After every 'compromising incident' during her time at the on-site clinic, Veronica had to relive the accident in writing: who was injured or killed, when and how, and how long until the plant could resume normal operations. All to be signed and sealed and sent off to the company's financial adjustors, who would use their damned formulas to weigh just how small a pittance was owed to the bereaved families in recompense.     'An arm and a leg' is cheaper than you'd think, in the City. A human life is, too.     Veronica is also aware of the practical importance of paperwork; not that it's good for the company, no, but that it's the only way to get anything *out* of the company. Get it in writing. No matter what they promise, get. It. In. Writing. At least then you can threaten to take it to court when they shortchange you, and maybe get half what they reneged on back from a settlement.     This does not, however, altogether endear her to the idea of filling out the Foundation's forms. She waits for Matilda to distribute papers to those who don't get in line. "Veronica," is all she says, through half-gritted teeth, as she accepts the papers. She's slow to work through them, double-checking every line item to make sure she isn't signing away legal rights to her blood or whatever.     After she finishes filling out what she's willing to admit to on paper, she walks up to Matilda and leans over her, curling her concrete-and-metal left arm up with elbow on the podium to rest a chin on her fist. "What's the doc here for? I didn't come in for a check-up."
White	Forms... Questions... Ngngngng... So irritating. This is why she preferred Vertin going around the Foundation in the first place. She seriously has to weigh the merits of just bailing on the spot, but eventually a sympathy for Vertin's position manages to overturn her rebelliousness just enough that she half-complies. One little spider is sent to join the queue on her behalf, while she stays comfortably faceplanted on the desk. It can carry paperwork for her, and maybe even fill it out too! Well, if they have plain ink around, rather than just pens and pencils. She does, at least, mutter her name from her cheek-squished-by-desk position. "White..." Whether it's her spider or her that ends up filling it out due to implement availability, the result is similar. She answers Name (White!), Affiliation (Concord, Demon Army), and Country (Japan/Demon Realm, she's a dual citizen!) but leaves basically everything else blank. It's variably because either the answer has too many qualifiers on it to fit into a tiny line (like for her Age), because it's embarrassing (She never even finished highschool after all), or because it's quite simply too much busy-work and too long-winded to answer for her to ignore how intrusive it is. It's not like she can take a screenshot of her skill list and upload it to a piece of paper!! Even if she wanted to. What are they going to do? Try to *arrest* her?
White	White had gone down from the roof with Vertin initially, but as it became clear the Timekeeper planned to stay for as long as possible, White had finally needed to withdraw. Just as she'd trusted Vertin's expertise on other matters, and trusted the clock they kept, she had to trust that strange 'Charisma' of theirs as well... It wasn't like she could do much more. So, in a disoriented but still whole state, she used that anchor-perspective spider that she'd sent along to the others in order to teleport back, helping regather those further away using whatever bits of her scattered network remained strewn through the city without coming to harm before then. She's kind of a mess, the frigid blasts before leaving bits of melting frost on her body in places, her eyes unevenly open as a wince creeps into one side of her face more than the other, and all told... She's glad not to have to teleport the entire group herself, in the last moments.      After arriving in the entrance hall, the first thing she does is walk to a nearby pillar and put her back against it, pull her eyelids shut with her forefinger and thumb, and breathe. Thoughts are still rattling around in her head like ball bearings, and her Parallel Minds are still in forced stasis after being used like a bunch of psychic heatsinks to try and cope with the Syndrome, but it'll get better. She's just very, very un-used to this kind of stress, anymore. Her 'familiars' in the swallowed city are gone, too much of a hassle to retrieve in the time crunch, but she can make more of them later. Eventually she checks her phone during the lull, and provided there's a cue from anyone on the Clover she pushes herself back upright from her lean, and vanishes- likely even in the midst of the Foundation staff talking to the group or trying to give instructions. She hadn't particularly been listening, anyway, not at first. Those who wish to rejoin the group at large are brought with her when she returns, using the sacred and ancient technique of 'holding hands so nobody gets lost'. This, of course, means more people are present now than were when the storm isolated the Foundation initially.      Finally being ushered out of the entrance hall not long after, White trails near the back of the group a bit but follows along toward that lecture hall. She doesn't even pause before sliding herself into one of the seats and laying her upper body on a desk. She wasn't an in-class napper... Or 'Wakaba' wasn't, anyway, but it still feels familiar somehow. Maybe she'd dreamt something like this once. She doesn't have the energy to think much about how the others will feel, as the rescued native people of that era are flensed apart by some kind of corrupt force before their eyes even within a safe haven. If anything, she tries to comfort herself; five minutes into being sat down, she produces a mini-sized stuffed bear and starts squishing it like a stress ball between her slender fingers. Still... She could just *go home* now, and hasn't yet.      Matilda and Mesmer's introductions, unfortunately, do very little to make her stir from her waking coma at first. That's not to say she isn't listening, just that she isn't really giving many signs that she is; eyes shut, face still mostly down on the desk, teddy still being squished slowly. Her dress is wet now, so with her hair disturbed enough to hang in strands down her face she looks a little bit like she's crawled out of a well to haunt someone here.
Tamamo	Tamamo leaned on Lilian to watch the world not-quite end, and when they're eventually shuffled into a waiting room, she's no more animated about it. One part the effect of rain lowering her energy, maybe, and three parts the post-action high crash, needing time to recover in ways that aren't easily resolved with healing magic. She spends that time with her head on Lilian's lap, even when Matilda and Mesmer enter the room, though she's just beginning to rouse at that point. Her robes and fluff being more than mere office chairs can handle, she ends up looking up toward them from a position on the floor, a picnic blanket spread beneath the two.     'Does anyone have spare sunglasses? Everything's really, really bright.'     Oh, someone not quite dead, but similar, is in need of something not quite healing, but related. "Oh, I have sunglasses, here." It's a little effort to rouse herself the rest of the way, but she reaches into one sleeve, and pulls out heart-shaped, polarized lenses tinted in multiple colors. They're sunglasses, as promised.     No sooner has she stepped over the minimum steps necessary to get them within Flamel's reach does she return to Lilian's side, ready to sit back down, and...     'Now, could each of you form a single-file queue for me to hand the paperwork out...'     ...give Matilda a look like she's never been asked that in her life, and is trying to work out how she feels about those words being placed in that order, and what they could mean. It's a bit longer, that time spent with golden eyes staring toward blue, than is fully polite. Finally, she half-turns to Lilian, and asks, "A single-file... is a marching order, yes?" Sotto voce, "Does she believe us soldiers?" The 'what should we do?' is implied.
Timekeeper	"Ahem! Attention!"     Sonetto startles to straight-backed posture the moment the door even slightly creaks, as if ashamed that she was doing something so *sinfully* leisurely as leaning back after a day-long high stress mission. The voices in particular make her double take again, and she blinks in surprise and responds to them in what's probably a completely arbitrary order.     "Mesmer Jr.? And Matilda as well... I was not aware that you were assigned to such a department." Not that she's going to question it, though! They have a stack of papers! Sonetto, now in the presence of an Official Department Meeting, surreptitiously adjusts the Foundation symbol medal on her dress and strides down the stairs between the desks in order to put herself closer to the front of the room. "The Foundation wishes it to be known that it. . . most strongly condemns the methods employed by Timekeeper Vertin in the efforts of exposing outside and unauthorized persons to the dangers of the Storm, as well as trafficking unauthorized and unregistered persons across secure grounds."     Sonetto clears her throat, trying to look as professionally responsible as she can while her hair is still damp and pathetically hanging around her face and down her back. "On behalf of the Timekeeper, I would like to convey her sincere apologies for the breach of conduct. I believe that it was her assumption that the retrieval of the Philosopher's Stone was high enough priority to justify emergency assistance from the multiverse so as to not put increased strain on the Foundation's resources during a critical time."     Sonetto's expression falls slightly, but she valiantly pulls it back up again. "... However, we did not succesfully retrieve the Philosopher's Stone. I will provide Madam Z with a full report afterwards... or... what duties relating to the multiverse is your department handling...?"     Sonetto doesn't even consider the possibility that people would refuse to do paperwork, so she doesn't feel the need to encourage anyone to do so. *Her* job will be to simultaneously apologize for and attempt to legitimize a scheme that she obviously wasn't informed of until the Elites appeared right in front of her, for a mission that she had been working for days on, that eventually was yanked away from her at the last moment despite everything. While in an idly stiff waiting stance, Flamel's sudden revival shocks her frayed nerves enough that she yelps like a dog whose tail was stepped on, staring at him with wide eyes and a hand over her rapidly rising and falling chest.     "... Oh, so-- so he truly wasn't dead. That's-- I'm... Mesmer Jr., he may need treatment...?" "May I please have the names, of each and every person present?"     How completely unambiguous! This doesn't specify that Sonetto isn't included in this instruction, so after a brief hesitation, she adds her own name.     "I am Chief Investigator Sonetto of the St. Pavlov Foundation, employee ID S-F-3-8-0-0-0-0-0-0-8-0-1-1-0-2-Y..?" She trails slightly upwards at the end, with a faintly reassuring smile towards Matilda. Maybe Matilda just forgot her name! There's lots of people at the Foundation, it happens.
Lilian Rook	What Lilian expected on the other side didn't really matter. She wasn't sure if she had anticipated more like Laplace, or anything at all. Trusting in Sonetto; no, trusting Sonetto with not just her own life, but Tamamo's as well, already felt like too much to think about. The sheer bedlam of the entire day-- no, it's only been forty-five minutes hasn't it? There's nothing left to be shocked by. Or there's nothing spare left inside of her to feel surprise. Just one last dreg, evapourating in fumes, that, when the teleportation disk fires, it reminds her strangely so much of her sister's magic.     . . . . . . . .     And thus, if nothing else, a vast, empty, grave-cold reception feels appropriate. With the world ending just outside, the survivors scurrying around indoors like rats aboard the Ark, there's nothing more appropriate than a silent mausoleum to walk through, Lilian thinks. Surely it'll all seem different in the daylight, used by living souls, but the artisanal bleakness of it is, for no, perhaps what everyone needs. Or at least just her.     'I am... sorry, that you are being inconvenienced by having to stay longer. I am sure they will only have a few questions for you before sending you on your way...'     At first, Lilian had sat down in a nearly random seat near the front, taking a center favourite student position out of habit. Then, she'd begun numbly cleaning the human blood off Night Mist's edge without explanation, repetitively cleansing all traces of arterial runoff before it can form more stubborn residue. Having run out, she had since pushed the bloody cloth aside, sterilized it with magic, propped the weapon up against the inside of her leg, and run checks over her sidearm. Then, finally, having exhausted all manual tasks with it as well, she'd finally slid from being only passive, shoulder-to-shoulder company with Tamamo beside her, into taking her up on the slight absurdity of a picnic blanket on the floor.     It's the first time she manages to smile there, and the first words she's uttered in eight minutes. "Mind if I join you?"     And so Lilian kneels across from the window, sword against her thigh held in one arm like family, her lover's head in her lap, resting her hand in her hair whilst the two of them watch the world end together.     'Ahem! Attention! Attention. On the behalf of the St. Pavlov Foundation's Department of Multiversal Over- Outreach, pardon'     §So you're a 'resident freak' too. Just like Vertin.§     §. . . I'm beginning to see how this place does things. Good luck, Matilda.§     'Most strongly condemns the methods employed by Timekeeper Vertin in the efforts of exposing outside and unauthorized persons to the dangers of the Storm'     "Are all the people out there authorized to be dying in the 'Storm', then?" Lilian says, only shifting her eyes from the window to Matilda's face a blink and a half later. ". . . My apologies. I understand the thrust of the Foundation's sentiment perfectly well. As much as I disapprove of the term 'trafficked' in this case." Mostly because it involves herself.     'Now, could each of you form a single-file queue for me to hand the paperwork out'     Right now, Lilian would usually snap her fingers and have Petra do it; possibly without even the first part. Under these circumstances, she finds herself struggling to care that the year may as well still be nineteen ninety nine, and motions for Matilda instead, subtly jerking her head towards Tamamo and trying to convey that she just set one aside separately. Of course, once she does, it appears in Lilian's hands when she next isn't looking, Tamamo's resting posture undisturbed.
Odette Raskins	On the HMS Clover, an EMT witnesses the effects of the Storm for the first time in perhaps the worst way possible. Taking long sips from an energy drink can to get herself ready for the rest of the work ahead of her, she sucks in too much at once when one of those civilians she's offering a shoulder to bring to one of those treatment tubes suddenly starts to come apart beside her. She coughs and sputters a few times before dropping her can on the floor, spilling the drink (luckily sugar-free) at her feet as she grabs that person by the shoulders as though that might somehow help them retain their shape. "Wha...? H-h-hold on, you're..! The Storm's still affecting the... Here?!" Odette glances around rapidly as she sees more of those people falling apart before her eyes in between choking coughs that she desperately tries to stave off. There's nowhere for her to escape that horrible sight until it's over, either, dropping to her hands and knees when the only people she sees left are those that were here the entire time. She's still not taking it well by the time she joins everyone with Sonetto inside the Foundation's... Headquarters? Base? Facility, and the fact that she's here despite being sworn to secrecy just a little while ago doesn't really enter her mind. Odette's teeth are still chattering lightly as she drags her feet into the hall, taking several seconds just to realize Sonetto's said something to her/the group at large. "It... It's okay, Miss Sonetto, really. Um. It's way better than the... Eugh." She can't bring herself to speak further on what she had seen, looking like she's still fighting the urge to vomit. Luckily, she did that on the Clover already. It's clear on her face that she's not sparing any brainpower towards trying to come up with some kind of silver lining or anything more pleasant to say, too, and she completely averts her gaze from anything resembling a window just to not have to see the Storm rising just outside. The squeaking of the cart finally gets Odette to look over, grateful to hear anything besides the rain by then. Unable to really place either of them neatly into any visual categories, Odette feels the slightest sense of relief that she might be able to go home sooner rather than later once this is done. "Ah... Uh. Hello, Miss Bouanich. M-Miss Jun-uh. Miss Mesmer." Odette's own nod in return is similarly curt and her wave weak, and her body tenses up a bit once she hears the Foundation's position on this whole matter. That doesn't last too long, though, as Matilda offers that reassurance afterwards and gets Odette's shoulders to loosen up again. "S-sure thing. Thank you. That doesn't sound so bad if it's... Not a lot of paperwork?" The barest lift of her face hints at a smile, but Odette's still looking kind of messed up. She's quick to line up, but even quicker to cede her spot in the line to anyone that just walks right in front of her. Name is easy: Odette Raskins. Age and birth date are also easy: 20, January 1st. She omits the year. Country? City? Odette doesn't know which one fits where, so she just puts "The Company" for Country and "Mining Colony #20224" for City. Employment is another easy one, and a convenient cover from her work in Watch: The Company! She also crosses out 'past'. Education and skills are answered truthfully, if omitting a lot of information: EMT training, basic chemistry, and nothing that would suggest she knows a thing about actual combat or even has the slightest connection to the Trideag Association. Even though her name's already on the paperwork, Odette still answers Matilda, a little more animated by the time she's had a chance to digest and breathe and distract herself. "M-my name's Odette. Er. Odette Raskins. It's good to meet you both." A pause, as she finally tries to get out the question that had come to mind earlier. "How is it safe here and not on... Anywhere else?"
Lilian Rook	'Does she believe us soldiers?'     "I'd hope not, given our company." Lilian says to Tamamo, smiling distantly. "It's just something we westerners love to blurt out when we want everyone to behave in a nice and tidy fashion. Particularly in schools and airports. Don't worry, I'll handle it all."     'Ahem- and, on to our next order of business... May I please have the names, of each and every person present?'     "Mm? Even though they're already asking for it on these forms?" Lilian says, eyebrow raised at the contents of the page she's reading rather than Matilda herself. "They were certainly in a hurry." she says, judgemental, before suddenly relenting. "No, I suppose we were too, seeing as the Timekeeper gave us so little warning. I'd be throwing stones in a glass house to start haranguing the organization for paperwork they had even less time to pen." she sighs. "Dame Commander Lilian Rook." she says, in the same general cadence of 'Monitor Assistant Matilda Bouanich'. "Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule."     She stares at the back of Mesmer's head, but it isn't too intense. She's a little curious who this girl is and why she's here, but she hardly seems like a problem. The temptation to resume skimming everyone's minds again is strong, but the mental aura of everyone in the room right now must be miserable.     'I am Chief Investigator Sonetto of the St. Pavlov Foundation, employee ID S-F-3-8-0-0-0-0-0-0-8-0-1-1-0-2-Y..?'     "The entire serial number again?" Lilian whispers, in that same mix of awe-disgust, twice as intense this time. "Did she have to memorize it to get that uniform?" occurs to her first, then Lilian comfortably turns back to focusing on Tamamo with, "You know, considering everything, I could be convinced as well, if that were it."
Einar	BRIEFLY, ON THE CLOVER... Divine General Einar observes the unraveling with his arms folded over his chest, breathing carefully even. There is a reason for this. His armor's video logs are a great deal of how he intends to issue report, and watching what happens directly and unblinkingly is one of the best way he can do it. It isn't the first time he's attempted a rescue of sorts that was impeded by a certain... cosmic entanglement to a specific 'something' that thwarted it, however. A thoughtful rumble emanates from him as the situation quiets down, and he gestures to the medical personnel. "Collect the remaining effects in a bin, if you would. If there are any biological remains, collect, tag, and store them," he commands. Beast-folk scuttle about beginning to do exactly that.     NOW... He won't be there for most of it, though. Einar is a member of the party that is teleported from the Clover and into the Foundation, though somebody hands him a different something he asked for on his way into the group. A couple of different hand-held devices and cable adapters. Once they arrive at a place where things are obviously going to proceed in a specific way, he takes up a position near a wall -- a little out of the way -- and his armor hisses and locks its joints, plates clicking as it begins to open up. The man that steps out is just barely smaller for it in any dimension; that armor must be made of the same shifting metal as the Clover as to be able to achieve that effect without being intolerable to wear. The piloting suit he wears is black-and-gold like the armor, though it bears on its face the emblem of a shield with a spiral within it, wreathed in olive branches, and marked along the bottom with a quartet of pink clovers. His skin is fair -- he must not leave the armor often, and so doing so is most definitely a deliberate statement -- and his hair is a bright blond, so long as to fall to his ankles in a braid when he gives it a light shake. Were it no so bound he would look positively leonine -- particularly when combined with the fact that he looks as if a small armored vehicle would lose a fist fight with him -- but as it is he's clean-shaven and seems dedicated to a certain visual neatness. His eyes are brown, but a series of rings radiate out from the pupil. His age... is a lot harder to nail down. There's no way he's as young as most of those present, but he also doesn't bear the hallmarks of wear that really ought to go with that. A best guess would place him over thirty at least, but he could be well into his forties and it wouldn't seem a terrible surprise. He turned in place as soon as he disembarked from the armor and connected the adapters-and-handheld devices to a port along the armor's neck-- the task that this accomplishes was over in a few moments and became plainer. Einar removed from the devices several different styles of storage mediums-- a USB stick, a magnetic tape back-up, some kind of disk. He takes each of these into hand, along with a pen, which he clips to the neck of his piloting suit.
Einar	It's Rita that Einar ends up falling in next to. He's not... expressive, facially. It might be a poker face, but more likely he's just so used to expressing while wearing armor as a purposeful image-setter that he trained himself to mostly go through gestures. It isn't necessary to seek him out to give him the packet of paperwork being requested, though he doesn't go out of his way to make it more clear who is next between himself and Rita. While she's trying to decide whether or not to answer at all, he's going through each of the papers carefully. He's a quick reader-- and anybody who knows anything about people who indulge bureaucracy can tell immediately that he's one of those people. He's one of those people that figures out a problem is happening by sifting through the accounting and finding the momentary discrepancy. He's either been a logistics man, or he's done something adjacent enough to it to make no difference. He removes all but three sheets of paper and makes them disappear into nonspace without pretense. All three sheets that do remain are those with a large amount of empty space on them-- either for lengthy explanations or simply because they're not double-sided. We will not linger over-long on the details. The first reads: 'Greetings, I am Divine General Einar of the Spiral Frontier Defense Force, hand of Her Highness, Princess Nia zu Teppelin...' and then proceeds to describe in plain but adequately diplomatic terms that he does not give large amounts of intelligence under coercion, and attempts to compel him will become a diplomatic issue. The second describes the number of SFDF personnel involved, naming only Einar himself, and plainly stating that the other two names are aliases and that an entire ship crew was involved. A brief summary of their overall actions is provided. The third and final paper is a cordial conclusion, the diplomatic equivalent of, 'This was messed up and we get why you're asking.' and, 'In the interest of sharing the story as it is pertinent to you, we have provided three different forms of recording of our presence within the associated incident herein enclosed, if you require it in a different format we are all but happy to provide. Further requests may commence in more equitable circumstances'. All of the i's are dotted with Einar's signature clover shape. He returns the package with these three responses, the three forms of recording from his armor's video journal, and then falls back in next to Rita.
Natsuki Nuki	Natsuki, near Audrey and Einar's defense point, had lost the thread of where she was going (and Odette, but the Pikmin hadn't failed to carry the medic off). It hadn't helped that the street had started unspooling around her, the colors wicking and waxing and swirling, but she had been rescued by a certain space-witch and the thankful and timely intervention of one of White's spiders leading her on. "Commander White," Natsuki speaks to the spider like she's talking right to the White woman herself. "That lady samurai commander said that Basque couldn't be trusted, get me *out* of here!" She hisses, a flake of desperate. With White being an endorsed teleporter, having the premium service calms Natsuki enough that as she's swept along through the Clover -- and the u n r a v e l l i n g -- she almost gets calmer before the next horror hits and she's left a sizzling-angry kind of stunned when deposited in the sterile ground. At this point, Natsuki - a tall-for-a-Japanese woman 5'9" Osakan with a platinum blonde fall of her hair that's primarily just been slicked back at this point having lost her hairtie and stopped caring about it during the Storm. She still wears a damp black collared shirt worn with the top four buttons open, a set of swirled gold-on-black bell bottoms riding low on her hips and untucked about her shirt due to the escape and attentive sway-and-peer-about of a thick serpentine 'tail' - really, the front half and head of an onyx serpent. Smudged on the fingers and cheek like she had been working in an engine for hours and palming sweat from her cheeks, the lingering effects of the sludge she had ripped and bit through fade from her, but the look of angry shock doesn't. "But we brought them back." she insists, to everyone and no-one. The pikmin that had attached to Odette as little sleepy pepper babies after delivering her to the Clover had made it through all the way to the Foundation and only upon a moment in open terrain re-transfer back over to Natsuki's shoulders and atop her head between her flat-annoyed tiger ears poking from among her hair. "I did all that *work* and they just...!" Fists clenched and jaw tight, Natsuki is steamed all the way to the meeting room, shoulders squaring with a stormy lean forward. She has just sat down in a self-dropping flop with an avoidant raised sway of tail when Matilda and Mesmer enter and introduce themselves. Ahem! Attention! Attention. Natsuki lifts a pinky while she winces, and leans her head slightly (to a draping scrabble of her pepper child atop head) to motion like something was irritating her ear, stroking gently with a curl of digit before flicking ear and dropping attention finally back to Matildla. There's a language there, a direct note: like being snapped at to zone her back in, the unappreciated lead in received a chilly glare for the first few moments, through 'for the primary defense of Mankind'. Eventually, though, Matilda gets to 'none of you all' and despite the deploying of a class 2 'you people' to the inhabitants of the room Natsuki finally rolls her attention forward and eases off the speechmaker. But she doesn't get up for a form. Oh no. Natsuki notices Matilda weakening on passing them out long before she decides she's fully ready to fill out a form, and so far earlier than she would have gotten up and retrieved one, Matilda is before her, handing a form into the first seat in the row where the Lady Nue has sprawled, dressed down to Counterculture Immigrant (Wet) mode.
Natsuki Nuki	"Appreciate it." Natsuki smiles just a bit more than politely (and altogether fangily), while her tail stares at Matilda and flicks out its tongue to taste the air and how awkward the French girl is... "I have my own pen." She announces, dropping smile to read the task and and flip out a gold metal-bodied pen out around her thumb like she was mid doing tricks and not producing a pen with a flick of the wrist and a roll of the fingers. Name, age, and the rest of the details for her go from the natural to the fantastical, but she really is in her early 20's and from Osaka. Past employers, though... A number of Osaka charitable organizations, several temples, and then sometime around the last few years, 'Hell Demon Army (Intern)', 'Ninefold Insect Lords (Work Study)', 'Shadowy Presence Anonymous Association (Secretary)', 'Concord Acquisitions (Mergers & Buyouts)', and of course, currently employed at: Concord (Partner). She embellishes the time and projects in the Concord more than the rest, though she starts using 'see other side' for the boxes. 'Order of business' gets Natsuki to perk her head up again and causing further precarious dangling of pikmin. "Hah? Before the form?" She points down at the page. "Suit yourself. You may address me as 'the Lady Nue', or, if we'll be working together, Natsuki. And what is it that you over--" She smirks, leaning into the earlier stutter. "--Outreach, miss? As an assistant monitor?"
Timekeeper	"Mind if I join you?"     Sonetto, tiredly, doesn't even seem to register Tamamo's head being in Lilian's lap as anything noteworthy, with her eyes just glassily skimming over her, lingering on Lilian's face, and then softening to dip her chin slightly for permission. "I do not mind at all, Dame Rook." "But I'm sure you appreciate that we aren't free to leave, right now."     Sonetto seems genuinely surprised to have this pointed out to her. She nods reassuringly at Rita, with a neutral but wide-eyed expression on her face. "That is... the Foundation is surely aware that none of the Elites are at fault for breaking regulations you were not aware of. The questions will be simple and concise to get things back in order, so there is nothing to be worried about." > A sudden large unknown man appears !     Sonetto doesn't recognize Einar at all without his armor, and might have been under the impression that he was inseperable from it, like a number of her other colleagues are. However, when a large military-looking stranger comes into a room she's in, Sonetto will simply wait and not acknowledge that anything is off to her, because the confusion will probably clear up if she doesn't do anything until she's told. But look at that!! He's writing so much! That has to be good!
Tamamo	'Ahem- and, on to our next order of business... May I please have the names, of each and every person present?'     "I am Tamamo-no-mae," she says, and might have stopped there, but her energy is returning the longer she spends sitting with Lilian. "Bunrei of Amaterasu-omikami, She of the Pale-Gold Face, Goddess of the Sun." Surely these two won't react in any particular way to that.     "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Bouanich, Ms. Junior." Distantly, anyway.     She'll leave filling out the form to Lilian. Lilian said she'd handle it, after all. In the meantime, she looks toward Sonetto, who is only a little bit of a wet cat right now, and thinks of-- <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook after a long pause, says, "Would you like to dry your hair?" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "I've already done mine." <J-IC-Scene> Sonetto says, "Ah... do you have a towel? I would appreciate it." <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "Ah... I do." <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "I have it here, and so... one moment."     First was a picnic blanket, second was a pair of sunglasses, and third is a large towel, made up of blue and white straps. This is less healing-related, but it is care-related, which leaves her glad to make the offer. Once the handover is made...'You know, considering everything, I could be convinced as well, if that were it.'     "To memorize a number, in exchange for a fetching uniform?" Tamamo smiles, at that.     "However, if it is a uniform, why have we not seen... are these two from different schools?" And are they gossiping low enough to be polite? Not that it's likely to matter, but huge auditoriums embolden. "Between the three... oh, they do all wear either hair bands or ribbons. Do you suppose those with the white masks also have their hair tied, beneath it? I did not notice whether they have belts strapped upon one leg and ribbons tied to the other, yet, perhaps... I suppose that could be a personal charm point, but the idea of a uniform requiring symmetry is only an idea, after all. It is not as if armor shows symmetry, for those who favor one arm over the other."     Tamamo isn't pointing, at least. She wouldn't be so rude. Just leaning onto her fiancee and quietly talking about the clothing of people in the same room, while the rain outside falls into the sky. "Though we have not known her long, I already feel as if Ms. Sonetto cannot be imagined in wide-angled shorts. She has that same sort of 'proper' feeling as do you, where there must be a core that is firmly defined, and the accessorization is an outward extra." Nodding along, she feels the need for a snack as she speaks, but that's one thing she didn't bring.
Einar	"Not everyone has been treated so kindly as to be able to make such an assumption, young lady," Einar rumbles at Sonetto, gesturing faintly with his left hand as he does so. "I do not think that anything at hand is too out-of-order but a certain amount of the expectations and boundaries that are at play are mismatched as a consequence of the serious nature of what your Foundation must deal with. Believe me when I say that I understand." He's probably easy enough to re-identify by voice. But he seems to realize his error and points at himself, "I am Einar, by the way."
James Bond	Bond snaps the lapels of his jacket and straightens his tie after getting back to his feet. He has time, guided by Sonetto, to use a kerchief and wipe the drying blood from his forehead. Placing it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. He tries not to observe the clear signs that no one was prepared for him to be here, his steely blue gaze drilling determined holes straight ahead into the wall.     Being directed to different rooms he handles with quiet resilience, confident that someone at some point will give a correct answer, and that his is simply to endure until then. So it is that he is among those shuttled into the lecture hall. He takes a seat. I am... sorry, that you are being inconvenienced by having to stay longer.     "I'd rather be inconvenienced than dead." I am Monitor Assistant Matilda Bouanich ... And I am joined by fellow representative, Ms. Mesmer Junior.     "Enchante." All that is asked is that each off-world party involved would be to comply with a few questions, and of course, fill out this form, for recordkeeping.     Bond has had his share of debriefings in his life. He's also had his share of smiling faces giving good-sounding news to pre-dispose the answers to those briefings. They won't like that she moved before they had their committees formed and the funds arranged. They're deciding how much they want to punish her, weighed against the potential doors she opened for them with this stunt. Now, could each of you form a single-file queue for me to hand the paperwork out     Bond sighs and gets into line, not because he wants to, but because of a mix of other reasons that compel him to. His eyes flick down towards one of the marked-out sections, and back up, skeptically, towards Matilda. He has his own pen. May I please have the names, of each and every person present?     "James Bond," says Bond, not looking up from his papers as he fills in the same. Place of Birth: Scotland, United Kingdom DOB: 11/11/1943 Age: 44 Residence: Vienna, Austria Past Employment/Affiliation: Commander (United Kingdom Royal Naval Reserve), Officer (UK Intelligence Community) Bond scrawls a note in the margins next to that second part. Your discretion appreciated. Current Employment: Paladins Chevalier Education: Eton College (2 halves), Fettes College (4 years), University of Geneva (2 years) Skills: Marksmanship, self defense, information gathering, driving, flight certification in numerous vehicles, on-site procurement, discretion
Foundation Scions	'Are all the people out there authorized to be dying in the 'Storm', then?'     Matilda, up at her marble podium, *winces*. "N-no, ma'am. I believe the Foundation is, perhaps, more concerned that it was the... direct, actions, of one of its own, in principle and blame more than overall harm." A short pause, recognizing Lilian's follow-up apology- "I'll return a note on the terminology used, if it is of any ease."     Matilda is not in the least bit dissapointed that barely anyone actually lines up to grab the papers! It's fine! She can scramble around and give them out- it earns Riku and Odette an extra-special Smile of Authority Approval- a normal smile, for listening to her. 'HHHHHHHHAAAUAHHHH okay I'm alive.'     "Ahh! I- I see! I knew that!" Matilda lies. "Are you feeling well, Mister Parsons..? I can see if someone could fetch you treatment. I was told you had already been screened for residual Storm Syndrome..?" Concerned, she starts to try and wave over Mesmer over, but puts her hand down once he begins to talk more lively-like. Then- '... Oh, so-- so he truly wasn't dead. That's-- I'm... Mesmer Jr., he may need treatment...?'     "Ah, yes! Mesmer, please do come quickly!" An *immediate* change of intent the moment Sonetto makes the suggestion. Matilda waves her whole arm above her, flagging down her associate from only a few rows of desks away. Mesmer does, reluctantly, take notice- but not before a cartridge *cli-thunk*'s into place within the projector, setting it abuzz with electromagnetic whirring. As Mesmer approaches Flamel, right up in the air overhead the projector, a slideshow titlepage appears, holographic: 'So you survived the Storm: Foundation Orientation programme vol. 2'. It doesn't click forwards on its own.     "Where does it hurt, which hemisphere of your vision is affected, and-" Mesmer raises a small device, with a circular antenna, towards Flamel, and wrinkles her nose up as to what she senses from it. Be it Flamel's physiology or psychology, his recent whereabouts and actions, or something else, it's a sour look he gets. "What type of medication works on you," She asks, with no consideration for tact.     Muttering, after Flamel continues, "Vague, yet menacing? I assure you, that the St. Pavlov Foundation is the premier the peace and stability needed by the world. The masks general its staff wear are only for safety and preservation of image- nothing scary!" That doesn't sound particularly un-menacing, but Matilda's perspective is biased. "But you most certainly have found yourself within the safest location in all of the world, mister ...?"     'If you want, I also keep my appropriately-redacted dossier-casefile on-hand'     Matilda blinks, surprised at how ridiculously forward Flamel is. "Ah, um, yes, that would be most helpful, actually! If you are so eager for further questioning, could I inquire as to what a 'Psychonaut'," Matilda pauses, the quote-marks audible, "Is?"     'My name is Tamiel. Representative of Vineta.'     "Vin-et-a..." Matilda repeats, not writing it down, but clearly trying to ensure she'll remember the occurences here- "Is that, perhaps, a region of Italy, Miss?"
Foundation Scions	'What's the doc here for? I didn't come in for a check-up.'     "Excuse me? Ms. Mesmer is an exceptional practitioner of her fields of arcanum and medicine, Miss, she is more than qualified for most any Foundation position, as am I, of course- she is not here for 'check up''s on you?" She's here because she knows Vertin, really. But that isn't what Matilda is going to just tell any newcomer. And it'd look bad for her, too! 'Thank you. I'm sorry. It's been a long day,'     Matilda is surprised, just a little bit, to be apologized to off the bat. She sets the papers down before responding. "Ah, yes, it very much has." A sympathetic nod, and- "The pen won't require an inkwell, Miss. It will write if you put it to paper..?" Clearly that's why Rita isn't starting her paperwork! Not everyone who comes to the foundation knows how a ballpoint pen works, after all! She's so helpful!     'I am Chief Investigator Sonetto of the St. Pavlov Foundation, employee ID S-F-3-8-0-0-0-0-0-0-8-0-1-1-0-2-Y..?'     Under her breath, "-1-1-0-2-y..." Matilda whispers along the string a step ahead of Sonetto saying it, demonstrating to herself that she's memorized perhaps the most important string of random numbers and letters that's ever been put together, like a string of poetry or music, the way they flow one after the other, and in Sonetto's voice, at such a simple instruction, just becuase Matilda, the Great and ever-helpful Matilda asked it of her- oh no, oh God, that tone! Matilda grimaces like she's been shot. "A-ah! Do not worry, Investigator Sonetto, your presence amongst this group has already been documented!"     '... However, we did not succesfully retrieve the Philosopher's Stone. I will provide Madam Z with a full report afterwards... or... what duties relating to the multiverse is your department handling...?'     This is the first time either Matilda or Mesmer have heard of a Philosopher's stone- the nature of Vertin's mission simply did not matter in the briefings they've been given, but obviously, Matilda cannot say so! "Ah, I see, it would be most prudent for you to complete that report quickly, Investigator Sonetto- as for this Department's duties- well! That is of secondary importance to the topics of today's meeting, I'm afraid." The Department's duty is for there to be a Department responsible, the delegate's duties are to acquire information as to how Vertin managed to accomplish such a maneuver- and as such...     "Ahem, onto our second order of business-" Mesmer, unhelpfully, clicks through a few slides on the off-topic projector, cursing under her breath that the presentation cartridge is clearly the wrong one. The holographic slide now simply reads 'Grief is Understandable'. "Our second order of business, I said. For those of you of off-world origins... how is it that you first came into contact with Timekeeper Vertin..?"
James Bond	How is it that you first came into contact with Timekeeper Vertin..?     Damage control. Here we go. "I didn't speak with Vertin directly," says Bond. "Not in regards to this operation. I was notified of it after it had already been planned, and didn't make direct contact until it was underway." He looks up from his paperwork after the last invasive question is answered, and holds it out for Matilda to come and collect.
Lilian Rook	Einar arriving is a relief. Odette is incidental. Audrey less than so. Truthfully, Lilian hadn't quite known what to expect, given all that about 'space' with a capital S. She at least wants to greet the general, given his rank and her prior experience with him, but seeing him without the armour puts pause to the words on her lips. It'd take someone less secure than him by far to think that she hesitates the way she does because of his hair, but not being so doesn't make it much more clear.     Whatever she was about to say shrivels up into a stiff "Welcome back." at the news that travels with him. She no longer feels like greeting the others who came with him. Lilian forces herself to find more words, and says "I appreciate the degree to which you and your people are already prepared to accommodate such an extemporaneous outreach." a moment later. She's still staring at her own forms, like deadwood to chop before bed. Rather than starting at the top, Lilian pettily checks the 'human' box overtop the layer of permanent marker, then sets them aside. <J-IC-Scene> Sonetto says, "The Timekeeper mentioned some past attempts of theirs to use the suitcase to shelter people from the Storm, but... I believe they were unsuccessful." <J-IC-Scene> Sonetto says, quietly, "This is the first time I have personally witnessed the Storm, so I am not well-informed to talk about it." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "I see." <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook after a long pause, says, "Would you like to dry your hair?" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "I've already done mine."     It's not often that she does so with anyone newly met, but the circumstances are currently dire enough that Sonetto, soggy and tense and overwhelmed, meets the threshold at which Lilian can soothe herself with mundane nonsense. When Sonetto receives Tamamo's towel, Lilian motions with her to crouch or kneel down, then turn around. With permission, she helps her out in the way she does her own hair; following where Sonetto pats the excess moisture out with tiny motes of magic down each section that accelarate the evapouration of water while carefully not affecting the cuticle; the product of fifteen years of practice. It's easy enough that she even slips into hairdresser talk with Tamamo.     'Do you suppose those with the white masks also have their hair tied, beneath it?'     "If not, then it must be fairly short. Vertin's is tied fairly diligently, even if somewhat rakish, and the Laplace woman's isn't exactly long. They do seem the sort to prioritize an 'orderly' appearance in that regard, so I imagine Sonetto must be an especially star-studded example given the degree to which that one aspect of uniformity is intentionally relaxed." Lilian chatters away to Tamamo, as if she isn't like a foot away from Sonetto at most. She repeats 'Proper' back in a giggle-adjacent tone, and says, "Oh I do rather appreciate what Miss Bouanich is going for, though. Even if it's not what I would, it's only a difference in values, wouldn't you say?"     'Is that, perhaps, a region of Italy, Miss?'     Lilian looks up, and very loudly thinks 'Good luck Matilda.'     'What type of medication works on you'     "Does any?" says Lilian, raising her voice a little from halfway thinking aloud. "Parsons? Are you the sort of rock that just needs a good mineral salt bath, or is the whole 'agent' part prevalent enough that taking some ibuprofin has a psychic effect?" Anyone could flip a coin on whether she's doing a recreational microaggression or genuinely curious.
Lilian Rook	'Our second order of business, I said. For those of you of off-world origins... how is it that you first came into contact with Timekeeper Vertin..?'     Lilian, if she is currently anywhere near Sonetto's hair, doesn't get to stare at her and shake her head threateningly. She just has to be first to the punch and say "If I'm to be proper, I'd have to say that I became familiar with Timekeeper Vertin, and Sonetto of course, due to their forthright volunteering to assist in a matter of humanitarian medical aid, through which I was involved by my elder sister."     Grief is understandable indeed.
Rita Ma	Rita scoots just a little wiggle closer to Tamiel, on the opposite side of her from Einar- enough to say 'thanks for being next to me', but not enough to actually distance herself from her new tall friend. Crossing her legs atop the table, she chews the pen a little, sparing a glance over at Einar's answers and nodding slowly.      That's a smart way to handle it, she thinks. But I don't know if I could get away with that. If I want to keep helping Ms. Timekeeper, I can't seem uncooperative... but they already know who 'Rita Ma' is, and probably think she's someone violent and unpredictable.      "Th... thank you, Ms. Matilda. I'll get right on it," she says, smiling tiredly. Oh no. Sonetto and Matilda really are the most peachy-faced interlocutors a bureaucracy could have. So this is how they get you...      Sonetto, too: "Since you've been at the Foundation a long time, if you still feel that way, that's reassuring." That's all the endorsement Rita can muster! "It's nobody's fault I'm stuck here. That's just... the way it is."      Well, there are a couple people she could prevail upon to get her out. That does make her feel a little better. NAME: Rita Ma.               DOB: ??/??/2172             AGE: Twenty-four, I think.   EDUCATION: None.             SKILLS:                          That's the one she stares at for a little while, leaving sharp little dents in the pen's cap with her teeth. After an uncomfortable pause, she glances over. "... Thank you for doing your best, Mr. Einar. Even if they only got a few extra minutes... that's still..."      Rita is only used to the logics of 'already too far gone' and 'a good death' in very different contexts. She struggles to apply them here. "... well, thank you," she finishes lamely. SKILLS: None.                    Hm. She scribbles. SKILLS: None. Infiltration, assassination, monster handling, cooking.          They've got the footage. Dishonesty can only marginally help her now. Already too far gone.
Riku Asakura	'Grief is understandable.' Riku looks up at the projector from his paperwork.  His eyes are sad, and his smile has dropped because he's learned that the people they rescued are gone.  Unraveled and disappeared, connected with the Era they came from.  He stops writing and puts his face into his hands, unable to keep the grief back any longer.   Tears come; unable to stop the disaster or save anyone from it is a huge blow to him.  There isn't anything he can do about them, except let them come and occasionally wipe his sleeve across his face and simply sit there with his grief.
Flamel Parsons	"I'm actually," Flamel rambles to Sonetto, now that he's active again. "Probably going to be fine! I've got a team back at the Motherlobe to correct any damage, but I think I mostly suffered the conventional kind of psychic stress." He adjusts his sunglasses confidently, an optimistic beaming expression on his face. "Besides! I got... a *lot* of data from that, I need to get it onto Psychonauts records ASAP. By the way," Aside to Tamiel. "Never got a chance to say while I was between existences -- thanks for the ride."     He's filling out the form. He figures, partway through, that he should be functionally substituting 'psychic' in whenever he sees the word 'arcanist'. He does, and the forms make a startling degree of sense. When Mesmer approaches to help, he gives her a beaming smile. "Oh, purely astral medicines are best, but my connectomes do have memories of most conventional! I'll be fine though, you know, not the first rodeo and all. Still, never turn down help if it's offered! If you've got any painkilling techniques, aim mostly where the visual cortex is, and make sure not to nick the long-term memory center."     He's brightly cheerful and rambling lots, "*Mesmer Jr.* though, that's a mentalist lineage if I ever heard one. You look the most familiar of just about anything I've seen around here!" His small-talk with her works as a good explanation for Matilda. "My specialty's in collective astral projection into mental planes, plus data-gathering and stealth, plus my main psychic health focus. That's why I was so quick to take Vertin's invitation, actually -- because it gave me a chance to take a good shot at globally dampening the Storm Syndrome!"     Ah, yes, Vertin. "I've monitoring her a bit! I love to keep tabs on agents of a vague yet ominous organization, especially anyone with secret knowledge that could upset the world on a global scale! I brought another batch of files she said you'd all love -- where are they... here! -- about some other events similar to the Storm that I've studied. Global-scale disasters and metaphysical cycles that the Multiverse's structure was containing, and then suddenly not containing. Anyway, while I was surveilling her, she was looking to make contacts who would respond to big disasters like that. And I'm a bit of a hobbyist academic about those! Especially anything with a psychic element. So I'd *love* to network with you guys about helping with this, you seem to run a great operation."
Einar	Contemplating how Bond responds to the entire 'how did you even get involved' question, Einar stews on it a little. He decides that he will simply treat it as one of the questions he will only answer under more equitable circumstances-- and allows himself therefore to be distracted by other considerations at hand. Brown eyes drift from a spot vaguely to the right of Mesmer -- staring a hole in the world -- over towards Lilian. Just as seemed to be the case when he first took his armor off, though-- he's just really not very facially expressive. What that look means doesn't translate well to anything in particular. Raising his left hand to rest a knuckle against his chin, he makes a vague-but-acknowledging rumbling noise. Evidently that has nothing to do with his armor, he just makes noises like that in general. If not for the fact that he was half-way standing sentry for Rita, he probably would've gone over-- his weight shifts from one foot to the other, but stops shy of actualizing into proper movement. As it happens though, what Rita has to say about the people aboard the Clover allows him to address both things that are of interest to him simultaneously, even if he can't actually physically approach all persons of interest in the moment. "At times the information at hand simply does not exist adequately to give us the tools we need to succeed at what we are trying to do. The only thing that can now be done is taking what we learned and apply it to the best of our ability to correct the course in the future. There is no comforting reality to be found there, Rita. But I thank you for your kind words," he replies, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes turn towards Riku for a moment, and then return to nothing in particular.
Veronica	Though vaguely dissatisfied with Matilda's non-answer about what Mesmer is here to actually *do*, Veronica grunts in affirmation and returns to a seat near-enough to projector to read whatever's on the screen.     Word spreads among the Elites that the civilians from 1966 are gone. On hearing the news, Veronica slams her fist once on the little fold-out desk attached to her seat - a fist made of concrete, breaking the desk panel off entirely and sending it clattering to the floor. She doesn't move to pick it up. Bigger things to worry about.     Was there anything they could have done? There has to have been. If they'd acted sooner, taken more precautions, fought a little harder, maybe even *one* of those people could still be here. Instead they - unraveled. "Damn it!" she curses. This isn't the first time she's failed to save someone - but failing to save someone, while possibly having a chance to do so, is still novel after only a few months with her EGO.     Einar: "At times the information at hand simply does not exist adequately to give us the tools we need to succeed at what we are trying to do. The only thing that can now be done is taking what we learned and apply it to the best of our ability to correct the course in the future. There is no comforting reality to be found there."     Veronica uncurls and clenches her fist, and idle exercise as she ponders Einar's perspective. "Y-yeah," she manages, half choked. "We'll get it next time. Or- or the time after."     "For those of you of off-world origins... how is it that you first came into contact with Timekeeper Vertin..?"     Veronica, nearly startled by the abrupt change in topic, nearly answers right away. She just barely stops herself, returns to sulking, and mutters. "Dunno. Heard some friends were rolling out to something big, had the time to help... Didn't see Vertin til I had my feet on the ground here."
Tamiel Luxis	"Is that, perhaps, a region of Italy, Miss?"     The expression that finally broke through the dam of Tamiel's haze was an apologetic smile. "The universal translator is doing its best... There isn't really a super clear transfer of meaning...We think it latched onto an old story from a lot of worlds, of a city where...bad things happened, that vanished one day."     She took a deep breath. "We're a soverign city-state of refugees from a partially integrated world." She begins to fill out her own form. "It didn't really have a lot of clean overlap with the countries and cultures you typically see, if our records are right..."     "We don't really have a lot of formal contact with outside organizations..." She admits. "In our home world, we had a policy of avoiding direct intervention. And after integration, there was some...awful trouble with the superfactions..."     "...But, they saw the worth having someone involved with elite outreach...And that was me." There weren't, exactly, a lot of people jumping to take the job. Name: Tamiel Luxis Affiliation: Vineta, Gloaming Anatheneum Age: 52 Occupation: Vineta Ambassatory, Anathemeum Aquisitions Agent Skills: Shadow-Shaping, Curative Light, Curator Duties, Database Management, Investigation, Demon Slaying (Theoretical)     Tamiel's report is relatively honest--but on some empty spaces, she simply neglects to put down anything that might link her to the Watch. Nothing was, strictly speaking...missing. Simply blended into something.     "Miss Vertin announced herself on the multiversal elite radio. I heard that keeping on contact with us was part of her duties." She wondered, for a moment, if Vertin had been lying about that...But was banking on the thought that she had not. "She described what it was like in her world, and I wanted to help. It wouldn't be right to overlook that...And it would reflect well on Vineta to help, I think."     "So. When she sent an request on emergency channels....I responded."
White	White finishes her half-assed paperwork faster than most with her DECISIVE, TACTICAL MIND (lazybones), so she gets to put more time into quietly recovering, gathering her thoughts and watching others work. She, of course, finds it effortless to see what others are writing down from just about anywhere. Being able to watch people work from the back and get a better idea of where their heads are at helps her gather her own thoughts too, so it's not too much longer before she's at least sitting straight up again instead of slumped over the desk. Rita might feel the slight tingle of a telepathic thread from White, about to make a nosy suggestion like 'Marine salvage' or 'Ocean fishing', but it fades when White realizes Rita's made her mind up on her own.      Still, she only bothers to add a handful of things to the paperwork after seeing everyone else work. She adds Age: 15-31 (it depends on how you count it) and Skills: Teleportation, Weaving, Matter Dissembly, like those three things are equal without context. She's still unwilling to give everything she has up, but like others noticed it wouldn't do any good to hide whatever's already going into Einar's footage... And she kind of wants to scare whoever reads the form, just a little bit. Her spider carries the paperwork straight back to Matilda, and she starts to take the cue from *other* kinds of work being done, to start fixing her appearance. Thread manipulation makes her dress-cloth *clench*, squeezing moisture out of itself, and then she starts moving small individual threads from her fingertips through her own hair, correcting her braid and bangs with a slow but extremely fastidious attention to detail. She knows how she likes it down to nearly the individual hairs, it seems.      It'd be hard for a normal person to miss the difference in her emotional state, outwardly, compared to others like Riku right now. She could certainly justify her mute reactions in at least a handful of ways, but she's just... Distant. She'd never planned on saving a world, or saving people she didn't know the names of. She hadn't tried, so she hadn't failed in the same way others had. Until she finds out for certain what happened with Vertin and Regulus, she doesn't yet have much of anything to grieve over, or so she's decided. There's a strange feeling in her chest, small and vague when she glances at those who are clearly more suffering than herself, but... She can't quite put a finger on what. Only that she feels like, perhaps, she's missing something. She's lacking a key item necessary to access that content, or some such.
Tamamo	'Oh I do rather appreciate what Miss Bouanich is going for, though. Even if it's not what I would, it's only a difference in values, wouldn't you say?     "Of course. Oh, but is it also a uniform? Perhaps not -- no, surely not the accessories, at least? I see that sparkle upon her tie. The contrast above and below the waist is striking in its own way, but where one appearance shows a unified whole, this, perhaps, attempts two messages at once." It's not psychoanalysis if it's about clothing, technically, because one's clothes can speak without them. "That sort of thick sweater feeling is more my own than yours, I would hazard the guess, being a focus purely upon the softly comfortable."     '...through which I was involved by my elder sister.     "That was our first meeting, for myself, as well." Tamamo nods along, helpfully adding, "We were in Japan, at the time. Likewise, I imagined that our assistance would involve disaster relief, however... as it seems, we were unable to render this."     She leans further toward Lilian, while looking toward Flamel and Mesmer, to say, "Is that a tattoo on her leg, or is it..." It's harder for her to talk overlong about technofuture fashion, but she's thinking about it.
Einar	"At present it appears as if any sort of removal is impossible. Our hypothetical objectives in a repeat scenario would be very different," Einar replies to Veronica, coolly. "Given that there is finite available time, and removal to non-local is simply not safe at all, local stabilization prior to our own retreat is necessary. I am not sure what this accomplishes, however. Tamamo is confident that the outcome of this thing is not cessation. The only way to draw conclusions at this point is experimentation or through information provided by the local authorities." Which was to say, the Foundation itself.
Odette Raskins	Although Odette couldn't identify Einar earlier just by seeing him without his armor, his presence besides Rita is still noted in passing. White's a more immediately recognizable face, but Odette can only spare her a quick little wave when it doesn't feel like Matilda or Mesmer Jr. are looking her way. She still needs to be careful about outing herself as having a second employer, after all! It's only when Einar actually speaks and outright names himself that she actually stares right at him. There's still a slight flutter, but... No, she still feels too shitty to linger even on that for long. Damp, too, when she's reminded about how she's still kind of soggy after seeing Tamamo and Lilian on that picnic blanket. She's not surprised to see either of them here, and she can still feel some semblance of safety with Rita  around. Even seeing Audrey and Tamiel and Riku around reminds her that more people than none got out of all that, but that tightness in her chest continues to linger. Slipping a hand into her carrying case, Odette briefly fumbles around inside of it before taking out a small face towel. It's not nearly enough to get her hair dry, but at least she can wipe a bit of the dirt off her face to be just a little more presentable to the Foundation's representatives. Getting Matilda's extra special Smile does help Odette feel a little better about being here, at least. "Mesmer Jr., he may need treatment...?" Even though Odette isn't Mesmer Jr., she's still reminded to do her job as medical personnel. She's had enough of a breather waiting for Matilda and Mesmer Jr. to come here, anyway. "Ah.. Right. Does anyone.. Is anyone still hurt? Er. Physically?" She makes sure to specify, getting up with a weary noise before starting to do the rounds in checking on everyone with her case still half-packed with medication and gauze and other first aid supplies. She also loiters near Mesmer and Flamel, to take some mental notes and compare their styles. "how is it that you first came into contact with Timekeeper Vertin..?" Odette's thankful that James Bond is the first one to answer, as he gives her both an opportunity to stall/be polite by not speaking over him, and also come up with how to answer that question. Listening to other answers helps her remember she's already given a false answer to the Foundation agents that Regulus had captured, too, and... She hasn't seen Regulus here, either. Swallowing down a bit of anxiety at not seeing her nor Vertin for this long, Odette rubs her neck lightly before giving her headset a light tap. "I heard the Timekeeper speaking a little before, but I was on leave when all this was going on. She asked for help, and.... I mean, I couldn't not, you know? Not while all that Storm stuff was going on, even if-" "I did all that *work* and they just...!" Odette's face pales slightly as she recalls Natsuki's upset reaction to what happened aboard the Clover The peeling, the ash, the sudden emptiness in her arms aside from the pile of clothes left behind. She glances over at Natsuki while trying not to clam up completely, then forces another swallow before turning back to Mesmer. "-it... Didn't really change things."
Natsuki Nuki	'Grief is Understandable' Our second order of business, I said. Natsuki looks up and chirpingly laughs, a 'twi-cheeet' of Finchlike warbling at the sheer audacity of the slide and then the topic, dropping to a 'chuu' of exhaled breath and brow-wiping with pen-balanced hand. "Over-outreach." She repeats, as if it explains everything, and mostly to herself, and slides deeper into the tight lecture seat. Bored, her tail settles across into the seat next to Natsuki, smug that it doesn't have to do paperwork and waiting for something interesting to happen at a reptilian recline. Down at Skills, Natsuki starts to write 'The nue, invincible, unstoppable, my anger blots the sky,' and gets to a comma before peeking up and seeing the giant man near her having flipped over HIS paper and led with his rank and title and the Lady Nue understands that while she is no sucker, Perhaps there was a better way, and to do as a lecture attendee might do and copy off her neighbor brazenly. Flipping over her paper with a 'see Other Side' and a little doodled curly arrow, she begins with proper header. ATTN: PAYROLL MANAGER OR CHIEF FINANCIAL OFFICER To Whom it May Concern, 'I, Natsuki N. of Osaka, am the highest officer of a foreign limited liability corporation, and guarantee my assets as a public Concord Partner. Please direct business inquiries about short or long term agreements for services, opening lines of credit, and logistical assistance with my organization to my personal line or in the alternative mailing address in Sotenbori, Osaka.' Then, Natsuki signs that and looks up at the real question asked of her. "I didn't receive a satisfying answer about what an 'arcanist' is, as compared to a human. Miss Vertin provided me an example that helped answer my questions. Though, they seem quite rare still. I've only met the one - a polite gentleman named Rabies? Oh, I suppose there was that apple spirit, but I didn't really meet that one." She is operating under several extremely incorrect presumptions. "Do many Arcanists live here?" Confidently wrong in several directions, Natsuki goes back to spinning her pen around sooty thumb while waiting to hear where the other yokai-shaped people are.
Timekeeper	"I am Einar, by the way."     "Oh! I'm sorry, I had not recognized you." Sonetto doesn't specify why, even though it's obvious. It's impolite to give any more context when admitting fault!     As to the rest of what he says, Sonetto's momentarily guarded expression eases off into a commiserative nod. "The St. Pavlov Foundation has never been anything but upstanding and professional in my experience, and I hope that your worries will be put to rest soon. You'll see that they only want the best for everyone, unlike many other organizations in the world... so I have heard." "I have it here, and so... one moment."     "Oh! Thank you, Miss Tamamo." Given that no one was actually holding a large towel, Sonetto had been expecting something along the lines of a handkerchief, or a handtowel at best. With her hair split in two half-ponytails that travel all the way down to the base of her spine, though, even a full-sized towel is barely enough to handle it. She pulls her wet mass of hair up off of her neck to tuck the towel underneath it, airing out her damp uniform by tugging at the collar. Not having expected Lilian's assistance to be anything more than 'advice', when she's beckoned to sit down, Sonetto hesitates, glances at the front of the room-- maybe if these were superiors, she'd hold herself together more, but this is just two of her former classmates-- and then politely plops herself down in front of Lilian, straight-backed, on her knees with her hands in her lap.     Sonetto tugs the ribbons holding her ponytails loose, letting her hair down likely for the first time Matilda's seen in years. She begins to thoroughly section out her hair and lightly squeeze the ends dry, and when Lilian touches her she involutarily lets out a shiver. "O-oh... I'm sorry, it just took me by surprise. Are you using arcanum?" "She has that same sort of 'proper' feeling as do you, where there must be a core that is firmly defined, and the accessorization is an outward extra."     Now that Sonetto is within arm's reach of Lilian, she doesn't have a choice but to overhear Tamamo and Lilian gossiping, about her. As implausible as it is, she tries to stay sooooo politely still as if she can't hear any of it, but this gradually strains over time. "Oh, um... thank you...?" ". . . so I imagine Sonetto must be an especially star-studded example given the degree to which that one aspect of uniformity is intentionally relaxed."     This is something Sonetto can't verbally respond to unless directly prompted, but she does quietly look down at the section of hair that's yet to be dried, long enough to curl on top of her thighs while she kneels on the blanket. "Do not worry, Investigator Sonetto, your presence amongst this group has already been documented!"     While kneeling down in motionless attentiveness, having her hair rapidly dried by Lilian like a greyhound at the groomer's, Sonetto's response to the correction is completely neutrally unaffected. "Oh, of course. I just wanted to be sure." "That is of secondary importance to the topics of today's meeting, I'm afraid."     "Understood. I will be sure to follow up with your supervisor later... who is it?"
Timekeeper	"For those of you of off-world origins... how is it that you first came into contact with Timekeeper Vertin..?"     Now that Sonetto's been neatly sectioned off from the others, she doesn't have to divert any brainpower to wondering whether she's expected to respond or not. This does, however, mean that she's freed up to notice the oddly evasive ways that nearly everyone reports on the way they met Vertin-- Sonetto, after all, was not their main or most frequent contact on the radio, so she can briefly convince herself that she's just missing context, but even that doesn't adequately account for the things people are actually saying.     The uncertain expression is clear on her face as she slows down patting her hair, but it's Lilian's response that clears it away like clouds before the sun. "Oh...! Yes, that was where I first--" 'First saw Lilian' isn't strictly true, because of a cursed and shameful image contained within the neighboring compound. "First met Dame Rook as well as her sister and several others. I have already given a report on that volunteer mission, and turned in some data I collected at the time."     That probably isn't something Matilda and Mesmer were told about either, though.
Einar	I'm sorry, I had not recognized you. "It's quite alright, I wasn't making myself recognizable. Masks, you see," Einar replies.
Rita Ma	Peeping at Tamiel's papers before handing her own dossier over like she's cheating on a test, Rita's eyes bug out for a second.      <X-Watch-Chatter> [4] Rita Ma says, "You're fifty-two?!"      about to make a nosy suggestion like 'Marine salvage' or 'Ocean fishing'      "Those aren't real 'skills'. You just keep swimming down," Rita thinks back at White, a teeny bit grumpily. It's important to acknowledge her own Fish Privilege.      She has time to collect herself and settle back into a dulled mood as papers are handed in and others answer questions. Her fingers pick at the folds of her skirt idly, and her eyes settle down on them.      There is no comforting reality to be found there, Rita.      Rita nods, slowly, without raising her eyes. "Yeah. I guess the best avenues now are figuring out how to stop the Storm, or how to expand resistance to it," she says. "With the time we had, I don't think we could've." Something else lingers on the tip of her tongue afterwards, about that woman who threw herself from a rooftop, but it takes a while to leave her lips.      "Mr. Einar. If you'd known all those people were definitely going to die, would you still have agreed with me catching her?" It's not a question for herself; not a 'should I have'.
Foundation Scions	'Enchante.'     Matilda doesn't directly respond to Bond mid-spiel, but she does notice the fleeting speck of French Language used- that's a good thing! She likes that! A+ for Mister James Bond in Debriefing Class, as decided by instructor Matilda! 'How is it safe here and not on... Anywhere else?'     Matilda inhales, puffing out her cheeks to think harder how to explain and unsatisfying answer. "Well, Ms. Raskins... there are numerous theories as to why, of course, but the mechanism of the Storm itself is, as yet... unknown. Without knowledge as to that, the places that are and are not safe, are still under continuous investigation. We know it to be safe, here, we know it to be *un*-safe, there-" She points out the window, with the glass streaming upside-down droplets- and lowers her arm, looking out quietly for a moment longer than ought be professional. 'And what is it that you over--''--Outreach, miss? As an assistant monitor?'     "Monitor Assistant," Matilda grumpy-grumbles. It's an important job! She's honored to have been selected for it! "I am to believe, that the outreach department is to coordinate with outside actors such as you all, Lady Nue." Natsuki can likely intuit, on interaction, that Matilda will get properly nervous when reading over her list of former employers.     Quietly, as Einar whisks away sheets of paper to make other-than-the-intended use of them, Matilda looks down at the bundle of forms she still has left to give out- "Sir.. I can provide you with a second copy, should you need..?" She hasn't read his intent! She doesn't quite get how redundant that is! Whoopsie.
Foundation Scions	'If you've got any painkilling techniques, aim mostly where the visual cortex is, and make sure not to nick the long-term memory center.'     The fact that Flamel follows up his assurance of being fine with still requesting Mesmer take action, seems to annoy her just slightly less than the smiley-nonsense tone he speaks in. "Close your eyes, bite your tongue." Another strange device- hooked around her wrist and palm, conviniently, gets held up to Flamel's temple. If he's keen, he'll notice it isn't beeping or even on- but a buzz of electromagnetics erupts anyways, a silent whine in the back of the brain. Precision-targeted, a slight cognitive readjustment dials down his pain immediately. '*Mesmer Jr.* though, that's a mentalist lineage if I ever heard one.'     And immediately she regrets helping him. "Yes. The Mesmer family is the preeminent bloodline of Arcanist psychiatrics. I- beg pardon, your intent was a perspective on global Storm syndrome effects?" That should be something she sounds interested in! Instead, it sounds like she's withering, a bit- the bags under her eyes are not quite hidden well enough by concealer, the sent of antiseptic around her is Strong. More work, more to care about- in this moment, it's a pure negative. What's more- that's under *her* department. Mesmer pinches the bridge of her nose.     "If your report amounts fo anything, carbon copy a writeup to this--" She scrawls down a few esoteric instruction, to internal delivery systems, before pulling away from him, "And I'll read it after my shift." 'If I'm to be proper, I'd have to say that I became familiar with Timekeeper Vertin, and Sonetto of course, due to their forthright volunteering to assist in a matter of humanitarian medical aid,'     Matilda, who, frankly, has an overall positive perspective on Vertin (And Sonetto, of course), is still surprised by how Goody-Two-Shoes an image Lilian's report paints of her. "Understood, Miss Rook." Matilda 'hmph's' in pleased surprise- Mesmer, not paying the most attention, simply scowls. 'Oh...! Yes, that was where I first--'     "Ah, of course! Only naturally, it would already be on file." Matilda hasn't seen the file. She's smiling- why is she smiling about this, actually?     'I was notified of it after it had already been planned, and didn't make direct contact until it was underway."'     Oh, that's a curious answer. It's Mesmer who pipes up, surprisingly, given her apprehension for, well, people, apparently. "Who was it that notified you, in that case? It's of equivalent importance." 'I didn't receive a satisfying answer about what an 'arcanist' is, as compared to a human.' 'Do many Arcanists live here?'     "Ah, um... Lady Nue, the Foundation concerns itself heavily with the management of Arcanist affairs and the upholding of peace and order, and to those ends, employs a significant number of Arcanists. I, myself, am an Arcanist, as is my associate.." Matilda fades off for a second, as Mesmer prickles up. "And of course, to answer most simply, those with Arcanist blood, as opposed to Humans, are capable of practicing and performing Arcanum. Divination and alchemy, as such, are a few example fields of Arcanum." There's a tangible note of embarrassment to explaining this- not shame, from Matilda, but weirdness from having to explain a textbook answer for something everyone else already knows. It feels weird!     "Is that to your satisfaction, Miss?"
Riku Asakura	Veronica breaks a desk out of sheer anger over what happened, and this snaps Riku out of tears and into... well, shock.  He's stunned at her anger, rather than grief.  It snaps him out of his grief for a moment, and he notices Einar's brief stare.  He takes a breath, steadying himself, and tries to smile, but it fails to manifest. He works on his paperwork slowly, filling out the important parts, and gets back to work, trying to avoid a relapse into depression again.  It's written on his face how bad this has affected him.  He also listens to Einar's words about next time and applying their knowledge.   "R-right... next time we will..." he says, taking a breath to steady himself.  He finishes his paperwork and hands it over to Matilda.
Lilian Rook	'O-oh... I'm sorry, it just took me by surprise. Are you using arcanum?'     Lilian used to be 4x type-weak to women shuddering or flinching when she touches them. Through hard work and exhaustive psychological effort over many years of gruelling emotional training, she is now only 2x weak.     "I'm exaggerating the microscopic differential between the water and your hair that's experienced due to their position relative to your own mass field." Lilian says, stiff-smilingly as though it were the answer Sonetto asked for, 'walking off' her urge to flinch first until the words come naturally. "By geometrically amplifying the delta of the water's own mass field, due to the vibration of its own molecules, and especially the conductive thermal exchange with the air around it, its rate of natural evapouration in air is experienced with a one thousand times coefficient while the coefficient of its delta in keratin remains unchanged; thus the water vapour is removed in only one direction, and it doesn't cause your hair to undergo hydrogic fatigue."     Lilian's soft pattering on is about ninety percent true, which makes it easier to say in a calming way, despite the slightly-off math. "You could think of it like a heatless blowdryer. I've been using it since I was very young." she continues on, next reassuring Sonetto of its safety and reliability, and thus subtly completing a circuit around every reason she could be asking. "A soldier looks good coming back from the battlefield covered in scars, but, for some strange reason, no one wants to buy vegetables from a farmer with dirty hands. I find this the perfect way to address those symptoms of the times." She gestures offhandedly in White's direction. "We all find our own ways. See?"     'Of course. Oh, but is it also a uniform? Perhaps not -- no, surely not the accessories, at least? I see that sparkle upon her tie. The contrast above and below the waist is striking in its own way, but where one appearance shows a unified whole, this, perhaps, attempts two messages at once.'     "I see." Lilian says, nodding as if Tamamo had said something trivial yet revelatory. "You can see it in the skirt-like profile of the shorts-garment as well, can't you? I actually rather like when two ostensible 'opposites' find a point of balance that isn't just a compromise in the middle, though, don't you? The skirt and leggings that are at once dress and trousers is another example right in front of us, after all!" she continues on, pleasantly idle-thoughtful.     "Considering how well it fits her, the graduates are allowed an unusual amount of leeway in uniform direction and personalization? It wasn't that way at Nova Heliosanctus, but Arx Zenith was fairly trusting in that regard; and I can't imagine Sonetto anything but a trusted and experienced student, can you? Like a more responsible version of Satsuki."     'Is that a tattoo on her leg, or is it...'     "Hmm?" Lilian blinks, then looks out of the corner of her eye; then turns her whole head. About ten different things strike her in very rapid succession, and as if reeling from a flurry of narrowly avoided bows to the head, Lilian says, "It must be." followed by, "Well, I can think of a few potential meanings to it, but it's best to simply ask, once social convention makes it appropriate to do so. I'd like to not speak carelessly, given my own and all." Obviously hers isn't nearly so coy though. Gosh.     Unfortunately, Lilian isn't unfamiliar with a very particular kind of nurse. It sets her nerves just a little on edge.
Foundation Scions	Upon having White's completed paperwork spider-delivered, Matilda, jumps a few inches straight up in the air- she definitely wasn't staring at Sonetto's hair in the process of being hand-dried by Lilian, and definitely isn't imagining being in Lilian's place- she's making a mental note to keep a hair towel on her person from here on out, just in case, though. No, the spider totally catches her as focused as can be- and she responds to the *spider*, itself, not assuming it to be some sort of messenger or underling.     "Excuse me? This is yours..? I don't believe I saw you amongst the other offworlders- thank you for making sure to get the proper forms!" Wow! A spider that's taking this seriously! 'Understood. I will be sure to follow up with your supervisor later... who is it?'     "Reports can be delivered to, ah, let's see, the assigned office was... Tower 2, room 1309." That's not a supervisor! That's a room! One that won't even have a report basket in place unless Matilda can get on that task before Sonetto is ready to drop a writeup off! She'll also find that there isn't an assigned supervisor just quite yet, but that's better than announcing it in front of everyone. Every staffer in Charge that Matilda and Mesmer have had to talk to today were from other departments facilitating this, with permanent organization still in the early works. Matilda looks flushed for a handful of reasons- one is simply working her brain on overtime to hide embarrassing truths about the Foundation's rushed rollout of this all.
Lilian Rook	'Miss Vertin provided me an example that helped answer my questions. Though, they seem quite rare still. I've only met the one - a polite gentleman named Rabies? Oh, I suppose there was that apple spirit, but I didn't really meet that one.'     "Don't you mean six?" Lilian says, glancing across to Natsuki in the spirit of conversation. "Vertin and Sonetto are arcanists as well, aren't they?" Moving towards wrapping up taking care of Sonetto's hair, Lilian adds, "I haven't seen Vertin's yet, but Sonetto's is rather notable, don't you think?" She doesn't think it's relevant to say 'arcanum' because she think it's implicit. "Clean, beautiful, striking and yet flexible. A whole different class than Regulus and that apple's."     Lilian is too-subtly trying to convey that it's a little demeaning for Natsuki to not even recognize Sonetto as an arcanist.     'Yes. The Mesmer family is the preeminent bloodline of Arcanist psychiatrics.'     Of course she catches Mesmer's scowl, so that's what it has to be about, right? "Oh goodness. My apologies." Lilian says, using her now-free hands to politely stage gasp. "Eight, then. And largely quite esteemed company as well; would-be pirate basket case aside." She waves off all thought of Regulus and APPLe for the time being. "If you like, Monitor Assistant, I can provide references for my sister's medical practice, though I expect Miss Sonetto's report is all in order."     She glares at her paperwork misgivingly, sighs, and moves it back over to where she can write on it. Now she feels a little bad for the 'HUMAN' checkmark.
Einar	Mr. Einar. If you'd known all those people were definitely going to die, would you still have agreed with me catching her? "Yes." Einar says, unfolding his arms to gesture once again with the left. "I am capable of and trained to make more cold decisions than that, Rita, but it is not what comes naturally to me. The only thing that stayed my hand is that you were already in motion. To answer again within the context of our current strategic understanding of the situation, as well, it remains that 'deaths within the Storm's striking zone are a problem in some way we do not understand', which means that on some metaphysical level dissolution beneath the Storm and dying or becoming deranged prior to the Storm landing are distinct fates with distinct outcomes for the impacted individual and differing impacts on the surrounding substance of reality." "Mercy delivered but unwarranted or undeserved is rarely a mistake, but the opposite usually is." His attention swings onto Matilda. "No, young lady, I am afraid that I have made somewhat freeform use of them. Familiar though I am with the peculiarities of bureaucracy, I am an agent of a government and cannot acquiesce to a significant number of the questions that you are asking on paper. My response, and a thorough video record of the events that have transpired, are in that package I have returned. If you would like me to write an extra note begging your superior's indulgence on your behalf, I would be quite glad to do it."
James Bond	Who was it that notified you, in that case? It's of equivalent importance.     Now muddy the waters. Make it easier to reward the good than to punish the 'bad.' "To answer that, I have to provide a little context. I'm used to working in a certain way, Mesmer," says Bond. "Having a certain amount of information ahead of time, clear objectives, a clear way in and out. That's the way I like it; it keeps me focused and neat. Crisis response is neither." An apologetic smile. Worn a little thin, given the circumstances with the Clover and its would-be rescue operation. "It's a new responsibility I'm learning to adapt to."     The smile fades. Enough of the truth to be true, not enough to pin down. "This operation was marked as both urgent and important; the Commonwealth takes the Storm and its impact on your world very seriously. I'd scarcely finished the briefing before I was out the door. I'm afraid I couldn't tell you which senior analyst it was that called the emergency meeting--I know the names of all of them but the two new ones, but the atmosphere was... frantic. I tend to respond first and review second, for that kind of briefing. Remind me and I'll give you a point of contact." Put the work on them to do the digging. It took them this long to even get all of us in one room.
Tamiel Luxis	<X-Watch-Chatter> 4 Rita Ma says, "You're fifty-two?!"     Tamiel visibly withers, as this inevitable but unpleasant revelation leaks into public conciousness. Her eyes drop toward the ground, wings drawing close. She certainly didn't look--or act--fifty-two. Sheltered? Slow maturity? Her own temperment? All of the above?     Hard to know.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel blinks in surprise for a moment when that little buzz of electromagnetics activates... "Transcranial electromagnetic stimulation?" He brightly rambles. "But with a *lot* of precision, maybe... That's pretty excellent!"     "I- beg pardon, your intent was a perspective on global Storm syndrome effects?"     "My whole business is global psychohazards." He explains. "Which means developing a procedure to dampen the Syndrome. I managed to execute a theoretical version of it with a pretty extensive process, but, we didn't have any chance to confirm or measure the effects. And it'd be tough to do it again in the next one."     He cheerfully listens to the explanation of what an Arcanist *is*, as well. "It reminds me of the relationship between psychics and nonpsychics! The Psychonauts that I work for mostly spend their time keeping the mental peace when it comes to psychohazards, so I *definitely* get the feeling we'll get along great. I'll file up some data I've got, and *you* can tell me all about what you all know about Storm Syndrome, so I'm not doing redundant work! Running an operation as tight as yours, you must know plenty already -- I even heard that Vertin lady using a structured personal countermeasure with Sonetto!" Beaming at Mesmer, "Have *you* been developing many countermeasures?" He's instantly treating her like a peer, a colleague, a Fellow Of The Field.
Natsuki Nuki	Until Matilda reads her list of employers and the tale of inevitable fall from polite temple-minder to Hell Army Intern and then into *banking*, Natsuki is just someone wrong about basic facts of the world. Because, really, to her. . . it's not that clear! And Flamel Parson's loud-ass mouth makes it worse. "Ohh, sou sou," Natsuki sagely considers, taking chin in hand and tapping pen to side of cheek. "It's about bloodlines, then? So, you've got spirits, and those of spiritual bloodlines? Your associate..." Natsuki looks over at the real sour Mesmer and then back to Matilda understanding the path of lesser resistance was through her original target. "... and yourself, then. Well, your associate's explained themselves, what bloodline are you of? I'm not as familiar with European spirits but I'm sure there were some notable ones! There were several notable alchemists overseas I tried to become familiar with, but I couldn't name them off the top of my head." And even if she could, she wants Matilda's answer now. Now she's interested. Natsuki gets up, approaching the front with her papers, and flashing the letter on the back of one of the folded-over back pages so Matilda's aware, and then turns it in like she's first one done with a test, all to lean in and inquire, personal space invading: "What sort of ancestor do you claim, Monitor Assistant?" After a bit of sweating Matilda, Natsuki relents regardless of outcome, heading back to her to drop back into with a flop and take up space, tail annoyedly resettling into a vague noodle-out of resumed relaxation in the folded lecture-bucket. "Is it just... magic power?" She finally asks, incredulous. "Vertin said it had to do with... Reason? If it's just spiritual bloodline based, that makes sense to me." Natsuki continues (to rationalize not being wrong).
Tamamo	...and when Lilian touches her she involutarily lets out a shiver.     Golden eyes notice this, shifting for the barest moment, one ear turning just slightly.     '...an especially star-studded example...'     ...kneeling down in motionless attentiveness...     "I had wondered, Ms. Sonetto," is accompanied by a change in tone and volume, the audible shifting of occupation of space in vocal form, "how much of your uniform is personal choice, after all. Your ribbons, perhaps...? Oh! Or, perhaps, is your clothing like mine, after all?"     That being a question of no clearly obvious meaning, given how entirely different her visual representation is, Tamamo goes on. "Though it is also appropriate for ceremony, these are worn for certain enhancements of my craft. Do you employ such methods with arcanum?" As if there hadn't been any gossiping going on at all -- or, perhaps more accurately, like no one's in a position to call her out on it.     'I actually rather like when two ostensible 'opposites' find a point of balance that isn't just a compromise in the middle, though, don't you?'     Nod, nod. "Yes, certainly. One wishes to send a double-meaning, but not a muddled message. In the same way, one wishes to speak of two capabilities that do not contradict; it is not 'being between two points,' but 'being fully capable of either position.' That should be one's wish, at the least. If it were stated poorly, then a subtler message would not be so delivered."     'Like a more responsible version of Satsuki.'     "Oh? Oho? Has Satsuki-san been irresponsible, after all?" Eyes light at this, too, and one, trailing sleeve is raised to cover her smile.     'We know it to be safe, here, we know it to be *un*-safe, there-'     "I had been wondering, concerning that point. It is a very... uncommonly narrow line, to be the building's own walls, without having accomplished some very... intentional work, in its construction."     'Yes. The Mesmer family is...'     Oh no! Tamamo realizes she'd made a mistake in greeting 'Ms. Junior.' "Ah, is Junior your personal name? Please accept my apologies."
Lilian Rook	'If you'd known all those people were definitely going to die, would you still have agreed with me catching her?'     'Yes.'     Lilian's gaze sinks back to her papers properly, this time, deprived of the energy necessary to want to look anywhere else. Tapping her pen on the first line for entirely too long, she idles on mentally workshopping lines about how fundamentally all forms of saving lives are simply forms of life extension, tries to figure out where to go from there, and finally gives up before signing her name.     She feels guily for letting that woman drop to her death, but not ashamed. In that situation, the only standards she trusts were very clear that it was the right thing to do. It's normal to feel bad about doing the right thing. Name. Easy. Age. Keep it simple at twenty-five. Birth date? Separately? Well, that makes sense. Dec/21/2066. Will that look weird? At least more professional than all the 'dunnos' most likely going around. Affiliation is public. Employment is public.     Lilian pauses down the line at country and city. Surely anything is better than sounding like a weird hermit, right? But Vertin is British, Sonetto seems to be as well, Matilda is French, Mesmer sounds American; is there any right answer to score points with at all? Does she write '(former)'? Nobody even uses the word 'city' anymore unless they're old. It's rapidly begun gaining the same flavour as 'kingdom'. Assuming it's about contact information, Lilian scribbles in a GBR/IRE dual code, and hopes for the best.     Education? Skills? Arcanum? Lilian finally looks up there, making a bit of a face. "Excuse me, but are these actually for the clerical benefit of your archivists?" she says. "I feel as if I'm filling in a job application. How are any of these fields relevant to debriefing, recordkeeping, or followup contact?"
Odette Raskins	"We know it to be safe, here, we know it to be *un*-safe, there-" Odette knows she doesn't actually have to look outside ot know where Matilda is pointing, but she looks over anyway. It might not be the answer she wanted, but it does help confirm several Whys she's had floating in her head.. She doesn't answer right away while Matilda is still looking out the window, waiting at least until she turns back around to continue. "That's better than nothing at all, then. If it's not safe anywhere outside of here, then the only way to get people to safety would be to bring them all..." She doesn't say 'here', instead trailing off while looking around the lecture hall herself. "And there's... Nn. Probably not enough room anything close to however many people would be caught out there. A-and this isn't the first time it's happened, is it?" Somehow, thinking about the potential scale of the Storm's head count doesn't set Odette off like seeing it up front had. "Then-" Odette jerks up abruptly at hearing Veronica's sudden breaking of the desk, startled at the sound and clenching her hands near herself defensively. "Then... Uh. What was it...?" Odette questions herself briefly, needing a moment to settle back down and remind herself that this area is still safe from the Storm coming in. "If people can't be saved unless they're in here, then what does the Foundation do during these Storms?" She hesitates, not quite sure if Matilda and Mesmer would even be the right people to ask.. "Who gets... Ergh. Prioritized?"
White	The delivery-spider takes the startled, then accepting and even praising reaction from Matilda with an obviously wordless but visibly gluttonous relish. The papers were just kind of perched upon its back, and it shimmies to the side to let them slide off neatly before lifting its forelegs and halfway crossing them under its face, like it's smugly posing for a photoshoot. White, not that far away, has to once again determine if it's worth correcting a misunderstanding, sacrificing something funny (and inconvenient for someone else), for the sake of being polite. She, as might be expected, chooses to let the misunderstanding go uncorrected and instead vent the urge to be nice on someone else, so she doesn't have to choose!      She gets up from the desk and seems to take a cue from Tamamo, spooling together simple white silk towels between her hands, not bath-towel sized but enough for people's faces and maybe their hair; she lays one beside Rita on the way by, then Tamiel. She subtly teleports one to Flamel, Bond and Riku each (and sends the tiny stuffed bear she was stress-squeezing before with the towel to Riku too), and then finishes her little stroll beside Natsuki. The Nue gets a little silk towel too, but also a small purple ribbon to replace her hairtie. She then pauses there beside Natsuki and looks around a bit, still closed-eyed, like she's not quite sure where to go from there; Veronica's desk-smashing method of venting frustration has her hesitating to complete the circuit that way.      It's hard to think of ways to reassure people. It just feels like something she's supposed to be doing... Or rather, that *someone* is supposed to be doing. She looks at Lilian, and how she's taking care of Sonetto's hair. She looks back at Natsuki, and picks the towel back up off her desk, and kind of... Looms beside the larger woman with it, holding it more like she's going to smother her with a pillow than dry her hair. She does, actually, wait for Natsuki to give assent though before committing to anything. If Natsuki doesn't notice her for long enough, she'll probably just set the towel back down and wordlessly take the next seat beside her, at a loss for what else to do (except maybe spare Matilda some confusion later). She... Still hasn't said a word to the question of how she met Vertin, either. If she's pressed, she'll just end up pointing at Lilian probably.
Lilian Rook	'Oh? Oho? Has Satsuki-san been irresponsible, after all?'     "Hey now. I'm not going to speak badly of her." Lilian glides on, conversationally. "She does all her work on time, follows directions, asks questions if she's unclear on something, and doesn't take unnecessary risks. Perhaps I should call it . . . what was that scholar on about again? Perhaps she's only lacking in 'the virtue of propriety'." she says, pausing a moment in thought. "Well, I'd already decided to forgive that somewhat, considering the family she's from. If she has to be a bit of a rebellious princess to deal with it, she's found the healthiest way to handle it, hasn't she? Not like that 'other one'."     This is how she avoids thinking about the other thing.
Timekeeper	"Though, they seem quite rare still. I've only met the one - a polite gentleman named Rabies?"     Sonetto sits up as if she's been called upon, rotating around to look at Natsuki and pausing in her hair routine. Slightly confused, with murmuring-low uncertainty, she explains, "... I am an arcanist as well, as are Matilda and Mesmer Jr. When was it that you met Mister Rabies?"     She apparently doesn't know about him being in the suitcase recently! She didn't take transport in the suitcase either to the mission or back, but evidently it's either that Sonetto isn't thinking clearly from post-mission exhaustion, or that even the Timekeeper's assistant doesn't get informed about which arcanists are hanging around in their suitcase. "I guess the best avenues now are figuring out how to stop the Storm, or how to expand resistance to it,"     "That is... something that many departments in the Foundation are dedicated to." This is good news, to Sonetto! There's many cases where people from more unregulated parts of the world show hesitance towards the Foundation, and Sonetto's been brought on for presentations, speeches, and even missions to help ease that worry. Being able to explain that Rita's goal is something the Foundation is working on already is the best way to do that! "I heard that the Philosopher's Stone was meant to be studied by one of them. ... Perhaps there will be another opportunity, in another era." "I'm exaggerating the microscopic differential between the water and your hair that's experienced due to their position relative to your own mass field."     Sonetto's shiver seemed to be more from 'having her hair interacted with' than Lilian's touch specifically. Her rigidly seiza-esque posture is probably rooted in her personality, rather than nerves around Lilian, a fact that is evidenced by the way that she gradually slumps her shoulders while Lilian explains-- not out of 'relief', but in tandem with her voice drooping softer and lower.     "I see... is this a combination of the 'temporal' and 'earth' mediums of arcanum that your sister referred to...? The precision necessary for such a technique is... impressive. I can tell that you are very... highly educated as well as skilled." "It wasn't that way at Nova Heliosanctus, but Arx Zenith was fairly trusting in that regard; and I can't imagine Sonetto anything but a trusted and experienced student, can you?"     Sonetto dimly nods while patting her hair with the towel, chin much quicker to fall than rise. "While we were students at the SPDM, we all wore the same uniforms, but then our internships diverged, and after graduation, we..." Sonetto suddenly hiccups, and she claps a hand to her mouth in mortification, jolted fully back awake. After a short silence where she's definitely holding her breath as hard as she can, she finishes, "... After graduation we are only given special privileges based on merit, and job. My uniform is... bespoke, but only somewhat altered." "Or, perhaps, is your clothing like mine, after all?"     "Like yours?" Sonetto raises up her head to investigate Tamamo's clothing before her meaning becomes clear. "Ah... no, it does not influence my arcane skill. It is simply..." She awkwardly averts her eyes. "... A personal request I made some years ago when I began performing work externally. It was likely an overstep of my role, but... it was approved." "Reports can be delivered to, ah, let's see, the assigned office was... Tower 2, room 1309."     "I will make sure to deliver it before midnight, then," Sonetto says firmly, eager to impress this new department supervisor. It can't be all that long before midnight anyways, five hours at most, and it's more work to do while she's already exhausted.
Natsuki Nuki	> 'The White Towel Strangler Incident' White has a good second or two to loom, really think about her choices and position, fidgit or not as to her preference, and then the tiger-eared lady leans her head back to look behind and upside-down at White. Despite the bend of the neck she manages to maintain her articulation: "You're gonna have to pick if you're gonna try to be a real reluctant assassin or a very polite hairdryer, Commander White. Or are you just offering? Because it's more effective if you come around the front if you are." Natsuki drawls, lifting her head up again to look down at the lecture area. Permission? Maybe! It certainly was a 'do you want it? come and take it' type challenge. Whether or not White was going to try and actually strangle her with the towel didn't seem to really be a concern.
Veronica	Veronica notices Riku staring, and turns to look back, half-glaring from lingering frustration. "What, aren't you angry too? Maybe you should be," she says as she puts her feet up on the back of the chair in front of her. She makes a show of inspecting her fingernails - but on her left hand, where the closest she has to fingernails might be actual nails embedded in the concrete.     Her clear show of exaggerated boredom established, she raises her voice and calls out to Matilda. "Hey, uh, monitor lady. Are you gonna get on with this lecture or will you be trying to keep us here all day? I've got dinner waiting back home by now."
White	White manages to 'blink' with her eyes shut, lids fluttering a quarter-way open before settling closed again. She pauses another two or three seconds, before going in for the kill...      Or rather, she quite competently presses the towel to Natsuki's hair and starts gently massaging to get the moisture out. It really shouldn't be a great surprise that someone like White can handle hair properly, though she can't quite be sure how to handle Natsuki's ears... She settles for only gently brushing them from the back, and not touching the front. Cats don't like when their ears are *squeezed* as far as she knows! It's a fair bit later that she quietly says, "Good fight." She saw some of it, secondhand anyway.
Riku Asakura	The towel and stress bear are delivered to Riku, who takes both gingerly and manages a smile up at White.  "Thank you," he says and nods once to her, inclining his head in a slight bow of respect to her.  He takes the towel and starts drying his hair off, which causes his hair to poof slightly.  He spends time trying to straighten it out again.  He holds the bear in one hand, smiling slightly at the gift.   'What, aren't you angry too? Maybe you should be,' "I'm not angry, I'm sad about the loss of those people and at the inability to do anything about it.  Getting angry about it seems pointless... It isn't like some person created The Storm or something.  I..." he slowly loses what he was going to say, and shakes his head.  "All I can do right now is grieve over what was lost..."
Natsuki Nuki	'... I am an arcanist as well, as are Matilda and Mesmer Jr. When was it that you met Mister Rabies?' "Aren't you a priestess?" Natsuki asks, blinking. "Invocations of power, incantations, summoning of natural forces... If you got out bow and shot blessed arrows I'd be completely certain, but..." A roll up of wrist and wobble of palm is her uncertain motion towards the point she's only sort of making. "European bloodlines aren't my specialty. Do you elevate your great artists? I remember some writing-work before we were separated." Conversational even while she completely fails to get it, though there's a lot of implication on what 'it' is now, Natsuki leans into the hairbrushing when White applies any kind of care to the act, tough enough to resist far worse than she gets. It's rather nice, actually! And as she does, Sonetto asks a different question. "Rabies? Vertin introduced us. The Timekeeper invited me in," And everyone else, but Natsuki speaks for herself. "-to meet Mister Rabies. Pleasant, bit of an accent. Made of straw. Scarecrow, right? Classic." She has such the wrong impression.
Foundation Scions	'Having a certain amount of information ahead of time, clear objectives, a clear way in and out. That's the way I like it; it keeps me focused and neat. Crisis response is neither.'     Mesmer Jr. exhales air out of her nose. She doesn't add a response onto Bond's pseudoclarifications, nor really does she seem satisfied, but it's the kind of response she can record, explain, and not be pressured over having not pushed further into. It's a rational way to do things, if she were to take him at his word, but that's not quite her priority. 'I had been wondering, concerning that point. It is a very... uncommonly narrow line, to be the building's own walls, without having accomplished some very... intentional work, in its construction.'     Matilda lets out a somewhat-tense exhale. "Yes. Quite so. And yet..." The young Arcanist trails off, unsure how else to finish the thought. >The Delivery Spider Interaction     Matilda, in trying to be polite to such a serious and efficient spider, mimics its foreleg-posture with her index fingers, crossing them in front of herself- and seemingly, is immensely pleased with herself. The Magnificent Matilda Bouanich, Spider-Whisperer! 'Ah, is Junior your personal name? Please accept my apologies.'     "It isn't." 'Well, your associate's explained themselves, what bloodline are you of? I'm not as familiar with European spirits but I'm sure there were some notable ones!'     "Ah, what an excellent question that is! The Bouanich family is perhaps the most excellent line of crystal Diviners in the past two centuries, trusted foretellers and artisans of the highest quality. We- hein?? What spirit..?" "It's a bloodline transmission in the sense of Huntington's disease, not fantastical inheritances. Ma'am." Matilda grimaces at Mesmer's sour comment, but just leaves it be. 'Have *you* been developing many countermeasures?'     "The Laplace Rehabilitation Center is responsible for the treatment of Storm syndrome amongst personnel. I manage its Artificial Somnambulism department- our methodologies result in the most efficient treatment of Storm syndrome cases to date. I would talk shop with you, but," She checks a pager that hasn't been buzzing, "I'm afraid my patients will require attendance." She doesn't actually seem to be in a hurry.     Curt, "Another time."
Foundation Scions	'If people can't be saved unless they're in here, then what does the Foundation do during these Storms?' 'Who gets... Ergh. Prioritized?'     Matilda glances at Odette, clearly uncomfortable. "Personnel are recruited each and every era, and... archival information, pieces of technology, and vital data, are all collected, in the grand hope of returning to our future. Prioritization..." Matilda lets it drop. The periodic death of billions of people is, frankly, impossible to wrap one's head around. Matilda has lived through it time and time again, how few people get to never stops tasting bitter. 'I will make sure to deliver it before midnight, then,'     Ahah, what? Sonetto will be dropping by the FDMO office by midnight, for a romantic moonlit getaw- to deliver papers to an empty office that Matilda now has a strict time limit on when to set up. Matilda gulps. "O-of course, I'll ensure the supervisor is informed of such." Hah! Now it's Matilda who's seeming responsible to a supervisor--- who still doesn't exist! Goddammit!! 'Hey, uh, monitor lady. Are you gonna get on with this lecture or will you be trying to keep us here all day?'     "Oh, yes! Yes, the last order of business, really..." Matilda's fumbling it, far from prepared to keep order. Questions on the Elites, their identifications, information that can be used in threat analysis, and... fragmentary ideas of how Vertin was able to convince them all to come along with her... she looks down at the pile of papers remaining on the podium, "Right. I am to distribute visitor's passes so that you all may be escorted back to the warpgate, once the security staff are available in numbers by which to do so. And- to inform you all that Vertin is henceforth instructed to provide prior indications of her wishes to invite off-world persons, for approval. For those that have yet to complete the forms- it would be a convenient time to do so, and turn them in to me, as I distribute the passes!"     Clearly she's far more used to herding younger (and quite obedient) kids. This was never going to work well.
Rita Ma	"deaths within the Storm's striking zone are a problem in some way we do not understand..."      "Right," Rita breathes, straightening up and running a hand through her hair. "Because 'Manus Vindictae' was still trying to hurt people and drive them crazy. Maybe... if there's a way to reverse it, people will still be in the state they were when they 'dissolved'? Or maybe it's something to do with an afterlife..."      She shakes her head, ending that train of thought. Baseless wondering.      "Mercy delivered but unwarranted or undeserved is rarely a mistake, but the opposite usually is."      Finally her gaze leaves her lap. Her head tilts to the side and up, managing a weak-but-sincere smile.      "Then I'm glad I understand you, Mr. Einar. You're..." She rolls the words around in her head for a second, trying to get them to fit right. They click after a second. She nods, self-satisfied: "... a very comforting person to be aligned with."      "That is... something that many departments in the Foundation are dedicated to."      Picking up on Sonetto's relief in having found a shared interest, Rita manages a smile after wiping her face- "Thank you, Ms. White"- with a silken towel. Her feet kick a little more animatedly. "I'm really glad to hear that, Ms. Sonetto. I know some of the other people here know a lot more about science or magic than me, and... if there's any way I can help the Foundation on missions about that, I'd be happy to volunteer."      A question percolates up through her brain. Directed at the space somewhere between Sonetto and Matilda, after a little glance back at Einar:      "I know the Foundation must have a capacity on how many people they save, but... do you know the process used to determine who's going to be 'recruited'? It doesn't *look* anywhere near full, yet."
Tamamo	'... A personal request I made some years ago when I began performing work externally.'     "Oh, I see! It had felt to me as if there was a personal touch, but I could not be certain of this without having asked you, or else, by seeing others of the same uniform. The credit goes to you, then, even if it is also owed to others."     'Rabies? Vertin introduced us.'     "And to the energetic Ms. TTT, as well." There was also someone much less energetic there, but TTT was the one about whom Tamamo wanted to ask. "I had assumed her to be an item-spirit, but she seemed not to be bound to one item in particular. Am I mistaken?"     'Ah, is Junior your personal name?'     'It isn't.'     Tamamo looks at Mesmer, waiting for that to either make sense or be elaborated upon. Finally, she looks to Sonetto and Lilian. Her troubled expression pleads for help.
Veronica	Veronica frowns at Riku. "We can be sad and let those Manus whoever creeps catch us slacking, or we can get mad and *do something* about them. There's time to cry after they're dealt with."     "Vertin is henceforth instructed to provide prior indications of her wishes to invite off-world persons, for approval."     Veronica manages half a sneer. "Aww, she needs permission before she can have friends over? And we need *hall passes*? What is this, fourth grade?"
Lilian Rook	'I heard that the Philosopher's Stone was meant to be studied by one of them. ... Perhaps there will be another opportunity, in another era.'     "The Magnum Opus has been around for centuries. I'd be shocked if there weren't." Lilian says, trying to be reassuring.     'I see... is this a combination of the 'temporal' and 'earth' mediums of arcanum that your sister referred to...? The precision necessary for such a technique is... impressive. I can tell that you are very... highly educated as well as skilled.'     Lilian relaxes as she starts to realize that Sonetto is just very sleepy. "That's actually quite close; from almost no information as well. You're quite sharp, Miss Sonetto. I'm impressed." she says, in increasingly softer tones. "It is quite similar to what Katrina does, though opposite along the axis." It is, in fact, the most similar thing Lilian does compared with her sister by far. "She's much better at the use of earth mediums, though. I typically prefer to . . ." Lilian trails off, smiling behind Sonetto's head, at her increasingly evident exhaustion. "Allow me to ask you about yours, sometime. I find it quite interesting." she says.     And then makes her sky high reflex roll not to laugh when Sonetto wakes herself up with her own hiccup like a startled puppy.     '... A personal request I made some years ago when I began performing work externally. It was likely an overstep of my role, but... it was approved.'     "She has excellent sense, doesn't she?" Lilian says, looking over to Tamamo, only then saying to Sonetto, who is still literally right there, "You've been active in the field since at least the twenty-four hour advance warning, haven't you? It's understandable that you'd be tired. No, it'd be staggering if you weren't." Knowing better who she's dealing with, now, Lilian places a hand on Sonetto's shoulder, exactly straddling the line between gentle and firm, and says, softly, "Be patient with yourself."     'Hey, uh, monitor lady. Are you gonna get on with this lecture or will you be trying to keep us here all day? I've got dinner waiting back home by now.'     "By all means. The exit to your left, and the dustpan to sweep up the fine particles you'll turn into is in the cupboard on the right." Lilian shoots across the room in a totally different tone; namely her 'these girls are trying so hard' tone. "If you want dinner that badly, then find a vending machine and turn off your emergency transponder next time."     'Yes. Quite so. And yet...'     'It isn't.'     'Ah, what an excellent question that is!'     'I't's a bloodline transmission in the sense of Huntington's disease'     §You people couldn't even pay enough attention to sort your resident freaks properly? Compared to Vertin and Sonetto, these two don't even use the same frequency.§     "Divination? The classical style, too?" Lilian interjects, mostly for the sake of making Matilda feel less put out by Mesmer's attitude. It is just a little bit transparent, actually. "What an interesting coincidence. I had been idly listening in on just that subject being discussed by a pair of experts yesterday. This and that about the Book of Changes versus the alignments of the celestial bodies." Lilian pushes a little bit more when Odette asks the question she really shouldn't. "From the same school as Miss Sonetto as well? Now I'm almost envious; the quality of conversation here must be on another level compared to 'that' radio."
Lilian Rook	'I am to distribute visitor's passes so that you all may be escorted back to the warpgate, once the security staff are available in numbers by which to do so'     But she still, silently yet visibly, double-takes at that. "Is that necessary? Surely it doesn't lead anywhere more secure than this." she says, now actually staring a hole through the back of Mesmer's head from the corner of her eye. "If the Foundation is concerned for the idea of restless baby ducklings waddling around where they aren't supposed to be, I'd be happy to offer my personal guarantee." she says, gradually standing up; a motion in immaculate parallel axis to her resting sword, such that her fingers glide all the way up the flat and alight on the pommel without tilting a degree in either direction.     Two simultaneous arcs in perpendicular axis bring it to rest flat across her shoulder with all the weight of a perching songbird. Lilian reaches to offer a hand up to Tamamo. Both sets of their papers are neatly folded up on Matilda's stack, along with the pen.
Einar	"I could only speculate. My involvement in this is, temporally, very recent. If we are using Regulus as a compass, we may state with reasonable certainty that potential loyalty is not particularly of interest, neither is a conflicting attitude overall, and that it is possible for an object carried by an Arcanist to be of greater interest than the Arcanist themselves," Einar replies to Rita, shrugging faintly. "I have approximately the same information you do, though, so I understand if that is not very helpful."
Riku Asakura	'We can be sad and let those Manus whoever creeps catch us slacking, or we can get mad and *do something* about them. There's time to cry after they're dealt with.' "We can do something about them without getting mad," Riku says, firmly.  "Getting mad about it won't get us anywhere either.  Right now, we can mourn the dead, but once we're out there, our souls should be ready to take on anything.  Including the Manus creeps." "It's alright if you don't agree, but I think it'll be better to let out the grief first." Then, there are mentions of a hall pass to get them to the warp gate.   "This is just like school all over again..." he says with a sigh.
Odette Raskins	The White Towel Strangler Incident Odette, without realizing it, finds herself studying White's technique with Natsuki's hair before long. The EMT's already desperate to look at anything but the Storm outside, but something about what's going on there really grabs her attention in confusingly compelling ways. She looks at her own packed towel, and she drops it into a bag before shoving it in her case so it doesn't soak all her medical supplies. She'll really need to wash off properly once she leaves. "Personnel . . . archival information, pieces of technology, and vital data" "Prioritization..." Recruiting and information gathering being the Foundation's main focus during the Storms makes enough sense to ODette that she finds herself nodding after Matilda. "I think I get it... More ways to solve it means less people have to die later. And if you can stop the Storms from happening outright... Y-yeah, that'd get you to the right time sooner or later." Part of ODette starts to wonder if the Storm could even reach her home, given enough time. That discomfort Odette senses from Matilda is one that she shares, too, and the lack of an answer still tells her quite a bit about Matilda. "Ah...! S-sorry, Miss Bouanich. Thank you for the.. Um. Answering all the questions about this off the cuff." She reaches over and hesitates for a moment before giving the Monitor Assistant a gently reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's... It's been a long day. I don't know how much help I could be going forward, but..." While Matilda prepares the visitor passes, Odette offers her and Mesmer a few Company-issued business cards with her own contact information written down on them alongside her completed information forms! She's not high-ranking enough to get cards that are actually custom printed, after all. "That way, I can pitch whatever I'm doing here as off-station outreach."
James Bond	Finished, for now. Good. By the time they pick it back up, Vertin ought to be two steps ahead. Bond nods at Mesmer Jr. % And- to inform you all that Vertin is henceforth instructed to provide prior indications of her wishes to invite off-world persons, for approval.      "I'm certain she would have, under a less strict timetable. You have a good one, with her."     Bond's paperwork has a curious quality; Matilda can read over it herself, but not long after she does, certain parts of it disappear. A chemical compound mixed in with the ink at the command of his index finger along the pen as he wrote washes the ink from the paper's fibers gradually as it reacts to the air and light. As the reaction fades and it evaporates, the fibers stiffen and straighten, leaving neither trace of the ink nor of the pressure from the pen's head. Mentions of things like 'infiltration, exfiltration' and other parts that suggest his ties to MI6 are able to be gleaned by her, but not by anyone who'd look them over after she does. To any of those people, he'd appear to be a particularly competent reservist soldier who changed career paths later in life.      "In the interest of future operations going as smoothly as the Storm will allow, I'd also like to request any documentation you have on standard procedure during missions. It doesn't need to be ready right away, but ideally, soon."
Veronica	"It's alright if you don't agree, but I think it'll be better to let out the grief first."     "If you gotta, then you gotta. Just..." Veronica refuses to consider that there were towns just like hers out in the Storm-tossed world around her. "Be ready when it's time to be ready."     "By all means. The exit to your left, and the dustpan to sweep up the fine particles you'll turn into is in the cupboard on the right."     "Hey, what's the big idea sassing *me*? I'm not the one keeping the lot of us in detention." A pause, a sigh as the flash of indignation cools off. "I guess you have a point, though. Nobody's tried to use a warpgate during the Storm before. I'll tell Auntie not to wait up for me." She pulls out her phone and types out a message, then waits with just a bit of visible anxiety to see if it delivers through the Storm.
Timekeeper	"You've been active in the field since at least the twenty-four hour advance warning, haven't you? It's understandable that you'd be tired." tSonetto is the kind of girl that responds to praise by redoubling all of her efforts, even when that praise is explicitly about deserving to take it easier on herself. With her hair fully dried, she bundles it up to not accidentally plant her hand on it while standing, and then gives Lilian a reenergized nod. "Thank you, Dame Rook." For both the praise and hair-drying.     "I will find time to rest tonight, after preparations for the next era and reports have been made." Her ribbons, which she never let go of during all that time, go back into her hair while she ties it up again as if she's prepping herself for another full day's work. "Aren't you a priestess?"     "A-am I?" Sonetto seems uncertain herself, after Natsuki declares it so authoritatively. "Um... many great poets and artists were arcanists, but I do not believe I am related to any of them. My bloodline is uncertain, as I have no memory of my parents." "Who gets... Ergh. Prioritized?"     Having gone through the car wash and emerged with her HP bar fully green, Sonetto's posture as Chief Investigator and Assistant to the Timekeeper is back in full force, and her words cut across both Odette's question and Matilda's uncomfortable response, like a greyhound pointedly interceding between them. "Please educate yourself on the Foundation's highly complicated protocols before insinuating that any people are 'prioritized' over others. The Foundation suffers from a lack of manpower due to our dangerous and unique work, which is both why it can always accept new members that apply and why its resources are limited to those who do not." "I know the Foundation must have a capacity on how many people they save, but... do you know the process used to determine who's going to be 'recruited'?"     Rita's question is much better worded, and Sonetto's hackles settle down somewhat in response. "It is... not my department to hire new applicants, though there have been occasions where I was sent to make contact with an organization to discuss hiring from their trusted ranks. The Timekeeper would have a more thorough explanation... when they return." > Finally, she looks to Sonetto and Lilian. Her troubled expression pleads for help.     This is a cultural gap that Sonetto can't quite intuit, having essentially no knowledge of any nation east of Germany and certainly not Japan. She tries to assist, but her explanation isn't well tailored for Tamamo especially, and instead awkward with some other, unspoken baggage. "... She prefers to simply be known as 'Mesmer Jr.'. That is all." "Aww, she needs permission before she can have friends over? And we need *hall passes*?"     Sonetto grimaces again at Veronica. "Please be mindful of your tone, Miss Veronica. These are *procedures*, and they should be *followed*. All rules have a reason for existing."
Timekeeper	Then, without any warning, a small sunburst of light flares into existance in the back of the room, shining for a second before expanding into a flash. Out of it, with a couple clacking steps on marble to catch herself, drops the Timekeeper in all her somewhat-disheveled glory, a full half-hour after the beginning of the Storm. With one hand she grips onto the diamond-pattered suitcase, and with the other, she adjusts the brim of her top hat, with a splash of technicolor rain soaked into the underside.     "Apologies for keeping you waiting." Vertin's appearance in the far end of the room, raised up by the lecture hall stairs, gives off the impression that it immediately reverses the contextual framing of the chamber. Where Matilda is standing, and where a lecturer normally would, suddenly becomes the 'back', as Vertin casually assumes the height of the far desks as a podium.     Having no further explanation until completing their demonstration, Vertin lays out the suitcase, flips it open, and pulls Regulus out of the starry space one-handedly by the back of her shirt like a stray kitten. Dropping her on the ground beside them, Vertin closes the suitcase and shifts it back into their hand, talking to project to the entire room without even having acknowledged Matilda and Mesmer yet.     "I've discovered that my suitcase can, in fact, act as a limited shelter against the Storm, despite Laplace's previous conclusions; I'll have details for them sometime later. As for Regulus, while the Philosopher's Stone will be turned over to Laplace, she isn't quite willing to give up on captaining her own ship yet, and so she isn't willing to apply for a position within the Foundation. In accordance with guidelines involving temporally-displaced individuals that are not affiliated with the Foundation, I will be minimizing her contact with the new era by giving her temporary residence within my suitcase. It's 1928, by the way."     Having dumped all of that information at once, Vertin adjusts the suitcase in their hand and strolls down the stairs towards the doors at the front of the hall, with Regulus simply dragged along behind them. Once practically adjacent to the new members of the Foundation's Department of Multiversal Overreach, Vertin comes to a stop and looks to their side, offering the two of them a faint, but surprisingly heartfelt, smile. "It's good to see you; Matilda, Mesmer. It's been some time."     Lastly, before departing, they make a motion to summon Sonetto to their side, which she hastily obliges. Vertin raises their chin to look at the Elites scattered across the room, in various states of frustration and disappointment. "Thank you all for your assistance, as well. I'm sure every one of you have places you'd rather be, so now that they've been properly debriefed, I'll have Sonetto escort them to the warpgate with her clearance as my assistant, while I report to Madam Z. That way there's the least work for all of us, right?"
Regulus	As it turns out, as Vertin reaches into the suitcase, Rita gets to smell some familar blood hit her nostrils as Regulus is yoinked out, of the suitcase by the back of the top of her miniskirt, dangling briefly like a stray kitten before getting deposited down. A bloody q-tip Regulus was using drops on the floor along with her. "Uwa....Vertin...! A little warning...!" She stands herself up, dusts herself off her miniskirt in a habitual gesture, and pushes up her sunglasses. She's still a little damp, overall, though her backpack seems to be missing, as does the weirdly shaped stone bangle that was dangling off of it. APPLe floats out of the suitcase shortly thereafter, lazily bobbing in the air. "Ahem...!" She throws out a peace-sign. "Sorry for the trouble, everyone! Captain Regulus, alchemical genius, newest member of Vertin's team, at your service!" Regulus is grinning confidently despite having all the wet cat energy and also despite being in a room full of people she had chase her all around London. "So do you have any Dr. Pepper around here? I'm dreadfully thirsty, I've been running around all day and--ahh--going already? Byyyyeeee." She holds that position while Vertin drags her around out of sight.
Tamiel Luxis	"Uwa....Vertin...! A little warning...!"     There's a long beat. A staring, openmouthed, at Regulus.     "You're alive!" It comes near an outburst, as Tamiel stands up out of her sheet. "You stupid pirate, do you have any idea--!" But her words don't match up; she laughs, her grief and despair short-circuiting into brief, palpable relief.     That momentary, impossible victory is enough to outright bring tears to her eyes. "You gave us...SO much trouble...!" Her smile was big and earnest and warm, even as Vertin dragged the pirate away, in spite of all the trouble she'd put them all through.
Odette Raskins	"Please educate yourself" Odette had already looked somewhat apologetic at Matilda's response to her question, and Sonetto's far more pointed reply has her outright straightening up like a scolded student. "S... Sorry, Miss Sonetto! No, I... Yeah, I understand. It makes sense, really. I just...Wasn't sure how to..." She trails off, looking positively guilty about that now. There's probably other bigger things to feel guilty about, too, but this is the newest and freshest one! "Apologies for keeping you waiting." Vertin's arrival helps perk Odette up a little, moreso because of their being a familiar face and revealing that Regulus survived that entire ordeal. There's a lot of information to take in considering how tired and wired she is from the work and energy drink, respectively, but Odette still gets her hand coordinated enough to snap her fingers lightly. "Great to hear, Miss Vertin. Even if it's limited, a little more shelter is better than nothing. And.. Oh, i-is Miss Regulus around, then? That means..." Odette's posture slackens a bit as she looks out at the Storm, not quite able to smile about it, but at least not slumping just from visual contact. "More room to save anyone."
White	White is near-enough done with Natsuki's hair and in the process of replacing her hairtie at the moment Vertin reappears at the back of the room. After double-checking that it's the Timekeeper and not some other intruding weirdo, she takes the last few needed moments to finish tying the little purple ribbon before turning around fully to face them. The colorful rain on their hat... Well. When someone comes home from a hard day's work, it's only good to greet them properly. White isn't much good at that, but she can still spool together another silk towel for the Timekeeper and offer it to them as they pass by, even in the hurry they're in. And Regulus...      Gets a can of Dr. Pepper tossed against her chest as she's dragged by. The can definitely looks different than she's familiar with, though! She can't think of anything suitable to say- her relief that her confidence was rightly placed, and that her work wasn't wasted isn't the kind of thing you can easily sum up in a way that sounds complimentary- but she does raise her hand in a minute wave as both of them leave. If one's charitable, they might even say she smiled for a moment.
Foundation Scions	'I'd also like to request any documentation you have on standard procedure during missions. It doesn't need to be ready right away, but ideally, soon.'     "Oh, of course!" Thumbing through Bond's form, she's noted that he's Commonwealth affiliated- Paladins. Thus, sending him documentation ought to be somewhat possible- nobody has provided her the means by which to facilitate that, yet, but she can figure it out! She can also figure out how to get those documents in the first place- Matilda isn't a field investigator! She doesn't have her own copy of that, even, and would have to ask someone to ensure applicant study materials are even the same! It's fine! She's got this. 'Divination? The classical style, too?' 'This and that about the Book of Changes versus the alignments of the celestial bodies.'     Matilda interest: Acquired! "My afflatus is in oracular and oneiromantic readings, dependent on astrological environs, through mediums of crystal quartz and the light and tides of the moon. Cleromantic methodologies are not within the bounds of my study, but... that sounds like you keep interesting conversation partners around, nonetheless!" She's not jealous! Or lonely! 'From the same school as Miss Sonetto as well?     Matilda absolutely beams at that comment. "Envy is only proper, of course! There exists no better an establishment for the education of Arcanum, and it's graduates are simply, the best," Her eyes are on Sonetto the entire time she's saying this, with a tangible wistful note. "Such as yours truly, a prodigy Diviner and world-class Monitor Assistant- and Investigator Sonetto... Did you know, aheh, that back in school, she and I were neck and neck competitors for the position of top student amongst the academy?" It wasn't neck and neck at all.     Odette's cards are paperclipped to her own paperwork, kept to go on file off with them, perhaps redundant in its information, but useful still in constructing a picture of the people Vertin has inadvertently made the Foundation interact with.     In fact, speaking of Vertin. . . 'It's good to see you; Matilda, Mesmer. It's been some time.'     Caught right while organizing a pile of visitor's passes, Matilda, gobsmacked, drops the stack of little papers- such that they erupt into an unholy mess she'll have to pick up. Mesmer, both at that- and at Vertin's audacity, pinches the bridge of her nose, as if she can close her eyes, count to three, and the world will be neat and orderly again. In all her years, it's never once worked. Vertin's reversal of focus takes the wind out of Matilda's sails, but despite having no reason *not* to expect her former classmate to be fine, it's still a relief to see someone who's ventured out into the Storm be fine and safe.     "Hein?!? You're leaving so soon- wait! Timekeeper Vertin- don't turn to head out that door until you've been given your official reprimand, and-!" She's already going... Matilda looks, half-pleadingly, at Sonetto, in the hopes that she'll communicate the Authority's sentiments unto her boss- the other half of the glance is sympathetic, that she must be involved in the thick of this as well. 'Is that necessary? Surely it doesn't lead anywhere more secure than this.' 'I'll have Sonetto escort them to the warpgate with her clearance as my assistant,'     Well, it certainly isn't necessary anymore. Matilda purses her lips, acquiescing by nature of simply not continuing to voice her thoughts on the matter.
Lilian Rook	'Thank you, Dame Rook. I will find time to rest tonight'     "Nine hours." Lilian says, firmly.     'My bloodline is uncertain, as I have no memory of my parents.     ". . . I'm sorry to hear that." says the woman who has no good memories of hers.     Still, Sonetto's tone in responding to Elite bullshit is what she'd hoped for. Matilda is clearly out of her element with no proper warning, and Mesmer just doesn't want to be here, but Vertin used the natural inclination of Elites well, and Sonetto isn't unusually deferent to anyone she shouldn't be, thus she only watches the string of interactions with a worn-out but satisfied expression.     'My afflatus is in oracular and oneiromantic readings, dependent on astrological environs, through mediums of crystal quartz and the light and tides of the moon.'     Finally. Someone giving her a second datapoint as to what they mean by 'afflatus'. Lilian can work with this.     "I see." she says, in that way, for the second time, to someone else and for different reasons "An intersection between minerology and natural rhythm is perhaps precisely where I might meet you in the middle, with a little reading, if that's a subject you're eager to talk about." says Lilian. "I try to keep a broad mileu, for a multitude of reasons; though, of course, properly curated; not the least of which is to stave off the encroachment of a narrowminded and boring life that never leaving one's comfort zone brings on." Another of which is having allies and informants in basically every organization she interacts with.     She kind of wants to give Matilda a headpat. But that's weird, so she doesn't. "As the top of my year as well, I salute you." Lilian says, with dry warmth. "It's a fine thing to carry with you." She is perhaps slightly mistaken about this premise, erring on assuming that Matilda is graciously complimenting her worthy rival's noble attempt. "I can speak highly of her work, so I hope to see yours sometime as well."     'Apologies for keeping you waiting.'     "Now?!" Lilian blurts out, without explanation.     She'd heard already that Vertin is allegedly immune to the storm, and factored that aspect into her operation plan already. Seeing Regulus dumped out is what gobsmacks her into silence. She nearly completely misses when Vertin casually mentions the year offhand and starts to traipse away. "Beg pardon Timekeeper, but have you been rehearsing all of this on the way back?" she asks, exasperated. The look of the returning hero isn't lost on her, and thus, nor is the sense of being the Foundation's 'prodigal daughter'.     The one that never properly fits it, but despite their best efforts, nobody ever succeeds at reining in. The way Matilda, Mesmer, and Sonetto all respond to her, are shades of queasy-familiar. It's a feeling she wears on her sleeve; there's no need to hide something nobody would ever register.     "Good luck." Lilian says, bitterly. Being on the side of the flame that someone is trying to pass through as quickly as possible to get minimally burnt sits ill at ease with her.     'Sorry for the trouble, everyone! Captain Regulus, alchemical genius, newest member of Vertin's team, at your service!'     "Your apology is pending further review before it will be accepted or denied." Lilian says, still in a mood. "But sorry for injury your leg as well. There were operational exigencies that necessitated it." she adds, utterly offhandedly on her way out of the room.