just peachy

Isn't everything here suppose to be kinda classified here? Like okay maybe the network is safe and all but I do not feel comfortable putting a lot of personal information here like on my social media pages. Another thing....

[theflimflam]

*   .   ⊹ 𝐹𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐹𝐿𝐴𝑀  a   dependent   blog   for foundationhq   penned   by   issy.    please   be   warned   this   blog   will   contain   mature themes  including   postmodern   horror,    scifi    elements   with   mentions   of   parental   death.  

dossier ~ connections ~ skeleton ~ pinterest ~ playlist ~ navi

[theflimflam]

[  Flimflam  stood,  frozen  in  the  hallway.  Exhaling  sharply.  One  foot  stumping  into  the  ground.  "Oh  my  stars!  For  goodness  sake!"  she  drowned  out  in  fustration.  Firmly  pressing  her  hands  to  cover  her  ears.  "What  is  that  persistantly  aggravating  infernal  buzzing  that  I  keep  on  hearing?!"  It  was  too  soon  for  her  to  make  an  uneeded  trip  to  medical. 

That  card...for  a  later  date... 

"Can  this  loathsome  buzzing  just  stop!" Flimflam  shouted  a  little  too  loudly.  But  just  loudly  enough  for  a  serene  silence  to  follow.  "Thank  you  for  stopping!"  She  says  to  no  one,  or  from  her  research  could  be  someone.  Wait  an  SCP...something  with  buzzing?  "Ahh  such  utter  brillant  observations  Flimflam,"  she  almost  jumps  to  give  herself  a  pat  on  the  back  for  eureka  moment,  her  genius  breakthrough,  her  new  scientfic  discovery.

As  she  jumps....there  is  falls  at  her  feet.  The  source  of  the  buzzing  sound.  A  flush  of  crimson  burns  into  her  cheeks.  Her  pager  laid  on  the  floor.  "Oh....it  was  just  my  pager,"  she  whispers  quietly,"Almost  forgot  I  had  these."  Flimflam  bends  down  to  grab  it.  "And  Yikes....a  few  messages  to  reply  too.  Of  course,  everybody  wants  to  talk  to  me!" 

She  straightens  herself  up,  dusting  off  her  pencil  skirt  pensivly  looking  around.  Scratching  her  head,"At  least  no  one  saw  that  right?  How  utterly  foolish  that  would  be.  How  doranged  I  must  look!"  Flimflam  tries  to  shake  it  off.

Or  did  they?

"Not  to  worry  Flimflam...everyone  will  see  you  the  way  you  choose  them  too."  she  tells  herself  resuming  her  strut  of  confidence...as  she  works  out  how  to  use  this  thing.  How  she  missed  her  modern  technology....]

[theflimflam]

Hello,  for  your  participation  in  the  𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬  𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐬:  𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝  𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬  𝐕𝐨𝐥.  𝟏,  you  have  received  one  (1)  FATE  RE-ROLL  for  any  non-mission  narrative  dice  roll.  This  re-roll  can  be  used  for  random  events,  NPC  checks,  story  beats,  side  stories,  and  other  interactives.  This  re-roll  cannot  be  used  for  personal  threads  with  another  player  (i.e.  PvP).  There  is  no  expiration  date  to  use  it,  and  it  can  only  be  used  once.  Thank  you  again  for  participation;  we  appreciate  it! 

[homegrownkel]

GERMINATION: greeting the world

Introductions are the worst part of meeting new people. Having to think about making a good impression - reading whether or not you gauged correctly, not realizing when you've missed the mark. It's the culmination of the worst part of being of a social species. Trying to move from the other to becoming part of the group. It means Kel knows from the first moment of consciousness that today will be Rough. Luckily the crockpot did its job and there's fresh minestrone for his thermos. Less luckily, half the soup spills on the way to the car.

It's just another blemish on an already rough morning. Kel hasn't had a reaction to any sort of mental influence like this in so many years that they're not the only one caught off guard. Someone will figure out how to mitigate the fog - they can already hear chatter about it in the group, which is much more attention-grabbing than poor Kato. Nice guy, but maybe there will be a better second impression. One that sticks.

And then every thing that needs to go wrong will - apparently the camera used to take the first ID photo wasn't the proper model, or was missing whatever coating the Foundation used in the past to take his ID photos. But the security department needs a new one. Kel can't blame them - if they were a guard and someone handed over a picture of a flower arrangement as a security card, he wouldn't let them in either.

The one in charge seems just the type the commission would pick, observant, experienced, just friendly enough to inspire some level of loyalty. Small flashes of the man in action - usually from a distance, add depth and color to his form, old memories overlaid on a fresh face. They fall into place for some of the others in the room as well, though at least one face is so familiar there's nothing new to learn at a glance.

"Good morning," Kel bobs a nod at their new boss in an attempt to be less... ominously looming, and gives him a perfectly average handshake before moving towards a seat in the back. Then it's time for the parade. And what a show it is. The team is clearly hand picked for something, but even Kel can tell that more than a few people have history of some sort and still others won't mesh well despite the rigid hold an MTF's commander usually has. For at least one that might actually be the problem.

There is something to be said about going in the middle of a set though. Avoiding the nerves of being the first, but also knowing you aren't the last first impression somehow relieves some of the pressure. Or at least it does for Kel. It's easiest to see everything from the metaphorical middle of the pack anyways.

"My turn then?" They smile quickly and straighten up before swallowing down the worst of the brogue they'd never gotten rid of. "Some of you may already know me as Kel or Engineer Trebond, but I guess I'm going by Garden Variety here. Bit of a nod to my hometown, I think. Small place, big on uh... agriculture. I've been working in the foundation research divisions almost 3 decades now. My work's mostly in the actual building of things, more practical application and testing than the theoretical stuff, so I'm a bit excited to see how these things actually run in the field. Fun fact, um..." He sits back in his chair, smile turning nervous. "I'm 209 centimeters tall. Yes, really. Oh I think that's six foot.... ten inches? Math might be a bit off, but I'm past the threshold where people try to say it makes a difference. Anyways - if you need me, send me a page. I like to wander and this campus seems a bit large, so it's better to not pass each other while searching."

And with that, the worst was over. The members of the team grow more and more interesting as they go down the list, but maybe that's just the relaxed nerves speaking.

[theflimflam]

[  Curiosity  was  getting  the  better  of  her.  How  will  relationships  form  with  her  other  co-workers.  Surly  enough  she  was  going  to  be  adored  by  many  if  not  all  of  them.  Some  could  even  be  life  long  friendships,  epecially  with  the  youthful  looks  in  the  room  not  to  mention  some  of  the  greatest  minds.  Others  had  their  uses.  Others  had  the  strong  connection  she  deserves  to  be  apart  of.  She  looks  up  at  the  next  co-worker  to  take  the  floor.]

Kel....Kel....Kel...name  rings  some  kinda  bell.

Kinda  cute.

Engineer  Trebond  hmmmm  have  I  heard  this  name  before?  Possibly??

Agriculture...that  sounds  interesting.  Not  really  my  cup  of  tea  but  again  might  be  the  city  girl  in  me.  Could  learn  a  lot  considering  the  nature  of  folklore  being  in  more  open  agricultural  places.

Could  that  be  a  missing  link?  Go  Danica  Go!  Always  being  so  wise! 

Wait...thirty  decades....thirty  years  in  the  foundation???  No  wayy!  They  had  to  have  wayyy  young  when  they  joined.

MUST.  NEED  THEIR  SKINCARE  SECRETS!

Ooohh  they  are  more  hands  on  than  theoretical.  This  could  be  useful.  Could  have  some  fun  look  at  their  more  practical  application.  I'm  not  one  to  get  my  hands  dirty. 

Do  I  smell  a  budding  partnership  or  alliance  maybe?

Actually  cares  about  the  work  they  do  and  seeing  them  in  the  field  would  be  something  interesting  to  see  for  sure.

209  cm=  6'10  ft....they  are  tallllllllllllllllll.

Wait  for  science  I  have  to  know  who  is  taller  to  the  decimal  is  it  Garden  Variety  or  Old  Sport??

Will  be  hitting  up  their  pager  for  sure! 

Actually  seems  like  they  will  be  a  delight!  Bright  eyed  and  rather  chilled  something  about  them  does  give  off  cool  vibes  too. 

Danica  is  about  the  cool  vibes. 

[agentelevatormusic]

First patient of the second day, Vera thought vaguely as she tabbed through her files. Her little moka pot, ever the trooper, made enough coffee to last the day and then some. Bigger on the inside, she often thought. Or maybe it was love. Vera had been given the pot by her mother when she’d gone off to college. It had been an antique even then. Vera showed it the same care and affection she tended towards all her belongings. Full cleanings that swept the grounds from even the tightest edges followed by a delicate towel drying. Even polish once a month. 

Vera snapped back to reality and frowned at this patient’s codename. The Ethics Committee really was having a laugh at them, wasn’t it? With her brain fog, she must have missed this one at introductions. She placed the chart onto the countertop and opened the door. “Good morning,” Vera said, the corner of her mouth quirked up in welcome. “Come on in. Would you like some coffee?”

@theflimflam

[theflimflam]

Danica  adored  tests.  Especially  when  the  subject  the  examination  was  her.  How  could  she  possibly  get  anything  wrong?  Who  knew  more  about  Danica  Rasquinha  than  the  one  and  only  Danica  Rasquinha?  No  one!  That  was  who!  "At  least  I  hoped  for  the  most  part  about  certain  things  and  choices....no,  no,  no,  now  was  not  the  time  for  negative  self-talk!"  Danica  thinks  to  herself.  No  needing  to  have  doubts  before  an  examination,  would  cloud  her  thoughts  and  unnecessarily  elevate  her  heart  rate. 

  Inhaling  and  exhaling  deeply,  she  composes  herself  with  a  firm  smile  on  her  face.  The  giddiness  bubbling  up  insider,  as  she  approached  the  examination  office.  Danica  had  always  had  a  good  rapport  with  her  previous  medical  teams.  Partly  due  to  them  being  such  willing  listeners  to  anything  and  everything  that  she  had  to  say.  Proudly,  Danica  enters  the  room  with  poise.  For  this  was  her  second  introduction,  the  one  that  would  help  her  solidify  her  first  introduction. 

  Her  face  drops  instantly  instantly  at  the  question  almost  as  if  she  had  been  insulted,  "  Absolutely  not!  Dreadful  stuff,  diabolical  even.  It  is  absolutely  vile  to  my  delicate  taste  palette."  Danica  knew  that  a  simple  no  would  suffice  yet  she  knew  that  she  had  to  stand  her  ground  on  caffeinate  beverages  or  she  would  not  hear  the  end  of  it.  "However,  thank  you  kindly  for  your  gracious  offer.  I  will  always  prefer  the  perfectly  superior  tea.  Now,  I  would  not  peg  myself  as  a  herbal  tea  girlie,  paraphs  on  the  odd  occasion  to  assist  with  stress  or  dietary  needs.  First  and  foremost,  I  am  a  builders  breakfast  tea  aficionado.  Surprisingly,  I  am  more  a  fan  of  more  common  tea  brands  like  Taylors  of  Harrograte  Yorkshire  Tea,  Teatley  Tea  or  Barry's  tea.  Lipton  tea  could  barely  compare!  You'd  be  astonished    at  how  many  would  consider  me  an  earl  grey  drinker  it  is  simply  the  way!" 

"Alas,  this  appointment  was  not  to  speak  of  the  art  of  tea,  now  was  it...Elevator  Music,"  she  speaks  the  codename  as  naturally  as  she  could  for  it  would  take  her  a  while  to  use  those  particular  nouns  as  someone's  title.  Danica  tries  to  recall  back  to  the  many  notes  that  she  had  made.  Ugh,  she  knew  that  she  should  have  turned  them  into  index  cards  to  study  from.  Her  mind  had  been  preoccupied  by  all  the  existing  connections  many  other  co-workers  already  had  in  the  room.  She  could  not  help  but  wonder  if  Elevator  music  was  pre-acquainted  with  any  others.  Obviously,  many  new  who  Flimflam  was...they  had  all  just  been  shy  to  admit  it. 

  Or  a  haunting  wall  of  silence.... 

  Anway!  Flimflam  was  not  one  for  silence,  nor  was  she  for  rudeness.  "Despite  it  being  a  holder  for  coffee,  I  must  say  that  is  a  very  darling  moka  pot  you  have  doctor.  Very  timeless." 

[02pencil]

act i, chapter i - introductions.

bruise - like tender. every razor - edged motion purposeful. calculated. but it wasn't. it never was. because rotting all starts to look the fucking same, michelle. so she begins to dissolve in the very presence of thin - veiled sheep. into an oppressive crawlspace. into a realm that isn't quite here nor there. won't exactly account for the ringed pattern of the floor. or the skewed layout she analyzed the night before. or the chipped paint on the honed - like walls. because she wasn't obtainable. because she didn't think she fucking ... cared. and so it commenced. child - like utterances, hands bound. a vacant stare. a slacked jaw. and not a goddamn thing in hand. she sits. in the back. always in the back. simply quiet. noting the in between's. the haunting  lull  between  the first  breath  and  the  last. the crucifying hum  of  cynicism. the apparition that simply won't find solace in death. and then nothingness.  again. nothingness. the thought, almost acidic. brims  off  the  tips  of  her  fingers sacrilegiously —  rots the  inside  of  her  ribcage.  her  mouth, teeth decaying. always decaying. decaying. decaying. enough. enough. enough.

[theflimflam]

[  Reunions  were  meant  to  be  rejoices  moments,  were  both  could  regale  upon  tender  moments  of  the  past  and  cradle  precious  moments  held  so  dear.  A  bittersweet  symphony  of  tender  moments.  Alas,  all  the  other  duets  song  harmonise  in  a  perfect  key  whilst  they  stand  a  melody  gone  awry,  notes  that  only  offer  chaos  and  disarray.  Their  song  falls  apart. 

  Her  silence  is  deafening. 

  No  tender  hand  reaches  to  touch.  Not  even  an  acknowledgement  of  existence.  A  simple  nod  would  suffice.  The  nothingness  cuts  deep.  Leaving  no  room  for  fake  niceties  to  fall  between  the  silence  and  the  hurt.  On  greeted  with  hollowed  eyes  and  vacant  stares.  Alark,  their  ache  twinges.  Once  she  was  such  a  brilliant  ember  that  use  to  burn  twice  as  bright,  not  a  dulled  flame  that  only  flickers  haunted  shadows  against  their  painted  darkness. 

  Yet  Danica  is  consumed  as  the  reaper  of  dreams.  The  gluttonous  hand  that  picked  apart  Michelle's  starlight,  all  to  fuel  the  golden  glory  to  her  own  dying  legacies.  Her  sky  of  stolen  stars  sparkle  on  as  she  remains  the  in  depleting  in  the  dark.  But  stars  are  meant  to  die,  collapse  and  destroy. 

  Maybe  befriending  the  darkness  and  silence  was  the  safer  sanctuary.  ]

Sorry.

[smoothcperator]

✦ 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝟎𝟎𝟏 | 𝒄𝒉. 𝟎𝟎𝟏: (𝒅𝒊𝒔)𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

Gael awoke with a start, blinking rapidly in the dark and trying to figure out where he was. There was a short moment of stillness before he shifted cautiously to a crouching position—his limbs pulled close like a coil as he pressed his back to the wall behind him. His right hand slowly inched below the pillow where his head had rested moments before—clawing around for the cool metal of a pistol, a knife—but found nothing but the smoothness of 1000-thread cotton sheets.

Squinting, he turned his head to scan his surroundings before letting out an exasperated sigh. Flinging himself back onto the bed so he was lying horizontally across the mattress, he lifted his hands to his face before pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, maintaining gentle pressure for a couple seconds before pulling them away to press his index fingers to either side of his nasal bridge. He then pushed down again and followed the curve of his sinuses outward towards his cheekbones and then back again with small circular motions. He released another deep groan as some of the tension in his face dissipated. Dropping his hands, he squinted beadily at the ceiling as shapes danced in his vision. He laid for another few minutes before finally moving to a sitting position, scooting across the bed until his legs hung over the side.

Time to get up.

Toeing on the pair of slippers haphazardly slewed beside the bed. Gael smothered a yawn behind a hand and stood up with some effort; his bones and nerves still stiff from exhaustion and waning adrenaline. Raising his arms above his head, he rotated his shoulders and shuffled in the general direction of where he thought the bathroom had been. As Gael ventured further into the dark, his eyes adjusted a second before he ran face-first into the bathroom door. Cursing, he reached for the handle, not even bothering to flick on the lights. The sun was also groggily getting up alongside him, lethargically casting a weak beam of light that illuminated his assigned bedroom enough for him to make out the shapes of his toiletries.

In the dim light, he blinked at the dark pane of the mirror as his fingers turned the faucet handle. The rushing sound of water filled his ears as he placed both hands on the sink rim and leaned close to the glass pane. He couldn’t make out the features of his face properly; everything above his nose was still obscured by the fading darkness. He stared blankly at the figure in the mirror for another beat, feeling disconnected from the person staring back. The muscles in his face twitched, then stretched themselves into a wide—almost cartoonish—grin that was imitated by the man in the mirror—was that really him?

Scowling, he diverted his gaze away from his reflection as he cupped his hands under the ice-cold water. The following splash to his face shocked him enough to finally disperse the last remnants of sleep that clung to him like cobwebs. Another series of curse words escaped his lips as he groped blindly for the hot water tab to change the temperature to a much more manageable lukewarm before continuing his morning routine. Lifting his head up from the stream of water, he matched gazes with himself in the mirror. The pair of eyes staring back at him in the now hazily illuminated room were wide-eyed and bloodshot. Grimacing, he yanked a towel from its rack and exited the room. Trudging toward the bedroom, he stopped in front of the duffle bag thrown haphazardly at the foot of the bed and pulled out a fresh change of clothes.

As he began to change, a buzzing sound pulled his attention to the pager he had dumped at the bedside table the night before. Lifting up the device, he read the text on the small green screen.

 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝟝, 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠𝕠𝕟.

The beeper buzzed in his hands once more.

  𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕂𝕒𝕥𝕠, 𝕓𝕥𝕨!

Snorting, Gael made his way towards the front door of the apartment. Grabbing the trenchcoat and messenger bag he had thrown over a chair, he briefly looked through their various pockets. Once he was satisfied everything he needed was accounted for, he exited his apartment and headed towards the lobby.

After a short elevator ride down, he stepped out into the frigid morning air and quickly shambled towards the waiting Jeep parked at the doors of the building. Settling himself into the warm seat of the car, he smiled at the man behind the wheel. “Mornin’,” Gael muttered, ducking his head slightly in acknowledgment as Kato beamed back and started to drive.

The ride itself was a blur, and Gael couldn’t say he fully remembered the conversation he had with Kato in its entirety—only loose fragments here and there, the threads too scattered for him to get the full picture. He wasn’t sure whether the minuscule amount of sleep he had gotten the night before or flight was to blame, but he felt guilty nonetheless. Junichi seemed like a lovely guy—if the photos in Gael’s hands of the man smiling while surrounded by grandkids were anything to go by. Drowsily, Gael shuffled through the handful of photographs of chubby-cheeked kids as the Captain continued chattering away, telling a story Gael didn’t remember the beginning of.

“Ah, here’s your stop, Commander,” The other man said in the middle of describing the lakeside where he taught his grandkids to swim. 

Blinking up at Kato for a second in confusion, Gael gingerly placed the stack of pictures on the center console and reached out his right hand toward the captain for a handshake. "Thank you for the ride, Junichi. And you can call me G—Smooth Operator,” He finished slowly, the smile on his face falling slightly but Kato seemed unfazed by the sudden correction and shook his hand with another cheery grin.

Giving the other man a final nod, Gael stepped out of the car and into Site φ; the receptionist was waiting for him once he stepped through the sliding glass doors. After a brief slew of paperwork and the standard security screening, he was led toward the elevator and instructed to go to the second floor. 

The sun had fully risen at this point, the yellow-white beams of its lights refracting off the ridiculous amount of glass whichever schmuck had designed the place had had a love affair with. He tried to avoid looking at himself as he walked towards the conference room, but it was a losing battle since so much of the second floor was made of glass. There was nothing else to look at but himself reflected back ad nauseam; the image mirrored back at such a frequency likeness was becoming warped. The copies so far removed from the original that they had become borderline grotesque.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gael entered the room and immediately beelined for the blinds graciously hanging over each one of the windows. He felt more and more relief with each as he methodically lowered each blind until the room was only lit by the fluorescent lights above. Sighing with a sense of finality, Gael dropped himself heavily onto the chair directly opposite the door.

Leaning back in the chair, he pressed his forearm to his eyes and wondered if he could get a nap in before the first person showed up; but as he was weighing the pros and cons when the door handle rattled, announcing the arrival of his first new teammate. Moving his arm away from his face, he watched the door from beneath his lashes.

Agent Choi from MTF Iota-10 stepped in and Gael felt his body relax; a moment respite before the storm. Buckley was spoiling him—or maybe it was Kato?

Rising up to his feet, Gael moved across the room to properly greet his favorite Fed. Beaming, he clasped Choi’s hand between both of his own, squeezing gently as he looked up at 'Old Sport.' 

“It’s good to see you," He said, genuinely pleased to have Choi at his side. At the very least, he had one person he could trust his back to. "I’m glad the Committee took my recommendation into account.”

There isn't much time to catch up after that as the rest of MTF Chi-00 slowly trickled in shortly after. And, as the last stragglers made their way in, Gael surveyed the group, fingers drumming on the smooth table in front of him. As a hush slowly enveloped the room, Gael lifted himself up to his feet.

“Well,” he began. “Guess I’ll go first.”

Giving the group a half-hearted wave, he continued, “Hello, everyone. I’m Smooth Operator, and I will be your commander starting from today.” His eyes flicked from one face to the next, taking mental notes of which operatives matched his gaze and who did not.

"Now, while some of you may have heard rumors about me or seen my face before," He winked at Choi. "But I can assure you whatever you've heard is not true—unless it's nice, in which case it is one hundred percent true," He laughed, feeling momentarily uncharacteristically awkward. Tough crowd.

“Anyway, I've worked for the Foundation for something like twenty-four years? Give or take. Spent twelve of those years in Omega-1; that's 'Law's Left Hand' for new guy," He inclined his head at 'Quote Unquote' before continuing in an exaggerated stage whisper. "We're the Ethics Committee's personal Mobile Task Force, but don't worry about it."

Turning back to the rest of the group with a single raised eyebrow, he smiled. "And while I'm sure you've all gone over the briefing on the way here," He muttered wryly. "I'd like to remind everyone that we are under strict orders to refer to each other by codenames during the course of this assignment. However, as a handful of people in this task force already know each other, and since this will be a year-long mission, I am aware that keeping complete secrecy is near impossible. That being said, I would recommend that everyone try to limit the amount of unnecessary information that they choose to disclose going forward. The Committee has a lot of enemies, so you all need to prioritize your safety. That's all.”

Dropping back into his seat, he motioned loosely at the group, "Who wants to go next?"

There was a pause.

“Don’t all jump up at once.”

[theflimflam]

[ Now was the make or break of the silence. Who would be the first to speak? Who would be the very first team member that would create the tone for everyone? Who was going to make themselves known? Would they do it only to get it over with? Would they do it to show leadership? Her attention is drawn by the first voice to take the stage...]

Why  hellooooooooo  there  Commander 

Why  helloooooooooooooooo  there  again  Smooth  Operator,  ten  hut  or  whatever  they  say. 

First  codename  that  is  know....could  it  actually  relate  back  to  how  they  are  as  a  person  or  are  they  random? 

Upon  first  observation,  seems  to  be  very  befitting  to  them.  Something  about  them  does  seem  like  a  smooth  operator,  calm,  composed  and  chill.

Kinda  like  me. 

First  time  seeing  their  face  and  damn  luck  to  the  people  who  have  seen  it  previously. 

Pfft,  rumours  are  just  for  the  people  who  have  nothing  good  to  talk  about,  all  judgements  should  became  from  getting  to  know  a  person  with  their  own  works  and  merits.....projecting  much  Danica.

Maybe  find  out  some  of  the  rumours  just  so  you  know  what  you  are  in  for.  Just  in  case  you  cross  any  lines  and  stuff  that  could  be  useful  to  know. 

Previously  worked  years  at  Omega-1,  has  certainly  seen  thing  and  done  things  type.  Should  be  someone  who  can  take  control  any  time  and  any  day. 

Mentions  certain  terms  in  other  forms  and  similar  forms  to  break  down  for  those  who  will  not  understand.  Cares  about  their  being  clear  team  communication.

DO  NOT  USE  REAL  NAME  FOR  SAFETY

He  cares  about  our  safety  and  doesn't  want  us  to  worry  <3 <3

I  trust  someone  like  him  for  sure. 

[agenthighfidelity]

STORY BEAT; Introductions.

There are a disturbing amount of attractive people in this room. 

Rubbing the temples above his thin-framed glasses, Steve Wilson was trying his hardest to clear the fog that had been lingering in his head since the morning. It was moments like these that made him wonder why he bothered giving up drugs back in ‘95. Judging by his current state of consciousness (ape, roughly), the Foundation clearly had no issue dosing its employees with whatever anomalous version of chloroform they had cooked up in the amnestics lab.

It’s probably something ridiculous, like interstellar weed.

Adjusting his posture in his seat, Steve tried his best to gauge if anyone else in the room was still recovering from an unconventional commute. It could make for good small talk, which would yield a tactical advantage in these early stages.  A quick re-scan of the room confirmed that the Foundation had put together a group of people who could all be the main character in a different multimillion dollar Hollywood production. This included the two people he recognized, one of which he was actively pretending not to. 

I’ve been a model employee for the past three years. They couldn’t possibly know.

Steve quickly compartmentalized this catastrophic train of thought and returned to his analysis. Much more than their looks, the people in this room all brought with them some indispensable skill. Emerging from the brain-fog, the machinery in Steve’s mind started to fully process the raw potential energy emanating within site-φ. A chance for him to make the right connections. To attain the right information. A chance to get everything back.

Small talk will have to wait. Introductions are starting.

Steve waited patiently as five of his new coworkers introduced themselves. His mind was now operating at maximum efficiency, carefully judging the performances and reactions that it could glean. After the fifth introduction, Steve felt he had a solid grasp of the group dynamic, and any more waiting would make him appear shy. Shy would not benefit him in this dynamic. He pushed up the corners of his mouth and gave a slight raise of his hand.  Clearing his throat, he tuned his low, gravelly voice to a warm hum. “Greetings, I’m Stephen Wilson. Call me Steve.” He had been practicing this tone for years.

“I was born and raised in Maine, but I’ve been doing Research at Site-120 for the past 10 years. If you want to know the best Polish chain restaurants, I am the authority.” He caught at least two smiles and one look of genuine interest. “I have my PhD in Biological and Biomedical Sciences from Harvard, and my work in the Foundation has mostly been within the thaumaturgical field. I’m looking forward to working with all of you. Please don’t be afraid to seek me out for any of your reality-warping needs.” Steve leaned back in his chair, giving a friendly nod at anyone still making eye contact. Back in high school and university, introductions used to terrify him. 50 years on this Earth, however, taught him that anything — even social anxiety and a room full of hot people — could be conquered.

[theflimflam]

[ When the next person spoke up, Danica was astonished that not more attention was being drawn. How dare they all not know some of the best researchers in the room when they were stand right there. She looks around her to see who was actually paying attention respectfully and who was not. Danica was making a mental note. Respect is earned with the way that you show it. She pulled back into her seat, giving them her full and undivided attention. ]

OMG IT IS STEPHEN WILSON FROM SITE-120!!!

HE WANTS TO GO BY STEVE. I get to call him Steve ahhhhh.

Wait...remain professional Danica...need to find out their code name, we want to keep it as professional as possible, even if you are really inspired by their work. Still need to keep it professional.

A Harvard alumni, rather impressive.

Certainly at PHD level in Biological and Biomedical Sciences! Even more impressive.

Ask them about the best Polish restaurant chains. Yes because anything they suggest will be insightful and inspired.

Wow, look how wonderful and open they are about inviting others to talk about their speciality!

Any and all questions about reality-wrapping, I will be coming to them for sure!

But maybe hold it back a little bit Danica, don't want to come on too strong with them. Could be a bad idea getting all the attention because face it you will get a lot of attention....would it be a good kind?

Play it ear, Danica...still how wonderful that they are apart of the same as someone as talented as I!!!!!!!!

[rohanabb]

ABBASI, ROHAN: an introduction, of sorts

Following immediately after Seth.

It’s widely considered bad form to start one's story with their protagonist waking. So let us begin, then, what is most assuredly not a story – something quite smaller and grander in scale – with most assuredly not our protagonist – lacking categorically across the board – with, of our own forthright admission, an interlude on morning routines and the spiraling outwards of them.

Like most mornings, Rohan rises with the bile-bitter tongued feeling that he’s already late for something important.

Unlike most mornings, he does so in a bed his body does not recognize and without the usual sunlight streaming across his face. The sky, from what Rohan can see of it, sits lower here than in Arizona, a singular grey plane through which it feels little can escape between. What light does is equally low and flat, casting the as-yet-unfamiliar room in unflattering shades of, well, more grey. Rohan reaches semi-blindly for the bedside lamp for what little it'll help, his face still half-pressed to the pillow and — a protein bar.

He hadn't dreamed it, then. Seth had been here. The silver, crinkling assault of Kirkland's Worst nestled in the indent only just previously occupied by Rohan's head enough to rematerialize — something of the morning. God fuck, what time was it?

Rohan swings his legs over the side of the bed. It's cold. Of course it's cold, it's February, and for most of Rohan's life February has meant fucking cold. But Arizona, clearly, has made him soft. Cold-blooded, in need of a large, smooth rock to stretch out on for a few more hours. Missing the same sun he had complained so thoroughly about for so much of the year. Maybe he should think about investing in a sun lamp; any chance Amazon will still honor a two-day delivery?

...

When Rohan does arrive at the right room, it's under frankly more layers than he has any business wearing and would be embarrassed by in nearly any other circumstance. And he still feels cold — though, if we're to be entirely honest, as much as Rohan is ignorant to it beyond wishing he'd worn another jacket, it likely has more to do with the freezing waves rolling off the rest of the team than any real change in air temperature.

Rohan, for his part, started practically vibrating the second he so much as stepped foot in the building. To say he's operating on a different wavelength than many of his coworkers might be, perhaps, an understatement. He enters brightly, bristling with awareness of each pair of eyes that swivel towards him. This, at least, is in some way familiar. Orientation; a round table of stiff-mouthed and too-rehearsed introductions, even if Rohan is the only one leaking genuine excitement and anxiety on making a good first impression out of every pore.

If there is any hesitation in Rohan's step, it's not in taking his seat. That's easy. He slides into the space held for him, Seth's bag deposited gently on the back of his chair and Rohan's slung the same. A matching pair. He gives Seth a gentle tap on the ankle to say what he needs to and won't in the presence of strangers. Hi. Good morning. Thank you. Don't look at me like that. Pay attention.

Beyond that, Rohan is by all accounts well-behaved and characteristically himself. He does not take notes, does not cross his arms and avert his gaze. Rohan sits forward in his seat, chin propped in hand, making as much direct eye contact with each speaker as they'll allow. In the space between he leans back, settles beside Seth, and allows himself the brief vice of workplace gossip with his best friend.

When his turn comes around, by virtue of it just having been Seth's, Rohan slides again to the very edge of his chair, elbows planted on his knees, and gives a half wave.

"Hi, all," he starts with a smile, trying and failing to meet the eye of everyone left in the room through it. "I'm Rohan. Just Rohan, please. Dr. Abbasi if you feel especially professionally compelled, but really I'd prefer if we kept things more casual and friendly, seeing as it looks like we're going to be spending some serious time together. You're welcome to call me Tree Hugger, if that feels right to you, but you might have to say it a few times to get my attention."

He tries for a self-deprecating smile, drops it, and tries again with something a little more honest and open.

"With that said, please forgive me if I'm slow on the uptake when it comes to call-signs. I'm in my seventh year at the Foundation, but it's all been on the research side of things. Lab work, mostly. I'd be more than happy to go into details with anyone who's interested, as Seth knows I can go on all day about it and then some, but I'll spare you all the gory parts and give you the rundown: I'm a neuroscientist and pharmacology guy by training with a more recent focus on amnestic applications in animal and humanoid SCP recovery. I definitely consider myself a pretty active participant in the Foundation's scientific community. One of my long-term goals that I've had — pretty much since I started here has been to incorporate academic and modern medical research principals into what we do. It's something I bring to work with me every day and I'm more than excited for the opportunity to continue bringing it but on a much larger scale and alongside all of you.

"So — yeah. That's about it on my end. Again, pleasure to meet all of you. Please feel free to grab me afterwards for anything or any reason. I'm also on the hunt for a running partner, maybe someone else interested in starting a journal club of sorts — so. Yeah. Grab me if that's you. Thanks for listening. Onto the next."

[theflimflam]

[One speech and straight into another, almost as if it had been rehearsed. Wait, had people co-ordinated with other people here already? Was that even allowed. Wait....from how some have been it appears that their was a familiarity that came along as if they knew each other. That was allowed? People could come in pairs? If she had a pair....she was sure she would get the same treatment right? Danica keeps a close on, interest certainly pecked. ]

Tree  Hugger  +  Cowboy  Greeting  =  Bromance??

Tree  Hugger  +  Cowboy  Greeting  =  Dating???  <3  <3

Both  are  pretty  cute.

Possible  ship  names:  Tree  Greeting?  Hugger  Greeting?  Trugger?  Cowboy  Hugger??  Hugger  Cowboy?  Hugboy?  Trowboy?  Roeth?  Sethan?....  need  to  think  about  knowing  them  more.  Ship  name  will  come  naturally. 

LISTEN  TO  THE  OTHER  DETAILS  DANICA 

Could  we  make  a  fun  trio....or  would  it  be  too  much  of  a  third  wheel?

Okay  curious  to  know  what  kinda  Doctor/Dr  they  are!

Awwwwww  talking  about  Seth  Cowboy  Greeting  during  speech...there  has  got  to  be  something  going  on  there!!!!

Ahhhhhh!  Fellow  research!  They  might  be  familiar  with  some  of  my  work.  Maybe....I'll  ask  about  theirs.

Wait  they  shared:  appear  to  specialise  in  neuroscientist  and  pharmacology...  with  focus  on  amnestic  applications  in  animal  and  humanoid  SCP  recovery  colour  me  impressed! 

Rather  interesting  to  see  the  crossing  that  bridge.  Have  read  a  few  speculations  on  this,  need  to  get  Tree  Huggers  insights  on  this.  Curious  to  know  their  curiosities. 

Is  a  bit  of  a  dreamer  with  goals,  something  held  on  to  a  long  time.  Refreshing  to  see  something  like  that. 

Time  will  tell  if  they  will  reach  their  goal. 

Think  that  the  two  of  us  could  be  some  besties.  Get  the  tea  on  them  and  Cowboy

Running....ew. 

Journal  club...now  that  does  sound  rather  interesting  I  must  confess.

[agentmyth]

Bailey's last assignment had been nothing like "The Broken Scales of Themis."

There was certainly some level of formality to it, but only so much could be managed when half the new recruits were stumbling sideways as waves tipped the ship to and fro. Their commander shouted over the creak of the boat to a small gaggle of newcomers who didn't know the meaning of "sea legs" yet. They'd voiced their understanding of their orders, shaking and wet, while trying to hold down supper and not really understanding much at all.

Even her orientation had felt somehow...less. They'd impressed upon her the importance of what she was to be doing, and there was a good chunk of movement from one place to the next that she simply couldn't remember. She'd learned quickly memories were slippery in organizations built around secrecy. It hadn't killed her excitement, however; she still popped up at the end of orientation with a smile and eagerly accepted her first assignment.

This was different. This was cool eyes watching her movement across the room, a group of strangers all sitting in a circle looking less inclined to introductions and more inclined to simply get down to the brass tacks. On the ship, they'd found time to laugh, to play pranks. Bailey couldn't see that same levity here.

She took her seat, offering a nod to who she assumed was the Commander, and glanced at her fellow teammates. Coworkers? Peers. There was a heaviness to the air that sat on her shoulders, weighing her down into the curve of her seat. She wondered if she could sink right in, wait for the others to finish. But that's not who Bailey Brennan was, and she rolled her shoulders to shake the weight away. This wasn't a hole to get buried in, this was an opportunity. She was so good at grabbing those with both hands. So she sat up straight and held onto the edges of a smile as introductions worked their way around the circle until they made it to her.

"Hiya, I'm Bailey. Urban Myth." Her smile ticked up, just at the edges. She liked the moniker that had been given to her. "I'm a little less Bigfoot," she crooks a thumb towards the one who'd introduced themselves as Loch, "And a little more deep-sea mythology. Think I get more seasick on land than on a boat at this point."

Bailey thought a lot of things, it was sort of a specialty of hers. Think herself silly, think herself into a PhD. Think herself into a foundation that seemed to value her thinking just enough to ship her to the middle of the forest to think on their terms just a little longer. Gosh, she wished she knew just what she was doing, sitting in a room full of people who varied from I shouldn't be here to lighting a cigarette and telling the boss to take five. She just couldn't think herself around that one.

She grins, "Don't think we'll be finding Scylla or Charybdis out here, but I've got you covered, if we do."

[theflimflam]

[ So far there had been so many unfamiliar faces in the crowd, not that she was making a pre-judgement of course! She was going to allow the speeches to really speak for themselves, allow them to speak their truths. What did people really want to make known about themselves. How confident were they in a crowd? Would they want it over with or really do in the keep end. She waits for the next speaker and notes down ever so quickly.]

Urban  Myth  is  an  utterly  charming  code  name!  I  am  actually  jealous. 

Appears  to  be  sweet  and  friendly,  yet  nickname  suggests  something  deeper  and  mysterious  to  them. 

Doesn't  seem  to  be  the  type  that  would  hide  anything. 

Or  maybe  that  is  all  a  rues!  Most  keep  a  close  eye  to  check  for  secret  hidden  depths.  Or  you  could  just  be  over  thinking  it  all. 

A  Little  Bigfoot....now  that  is  absolutely  adorable,  witty  and  charming.  Seems  to  have  a  sense  of  humour  too!

*REMEMBER  TO  INCLUDE  WITTY  JOKES  IN  YOUR  SPEECH  DANICA. 

Why  can't  I  have  a  cool  code  name....instead  of  flimflam.  No  all  the  code  names  are  random. 

WAIT  WAIT  WAIT  WAIT  WAIT  DEEP  SEE  SEA  MYTHOLOGY??!?!?  WAIT  THERE  IS  ACTUALLY  VALUE  IN  THAT  RESEARCH!!!! 

Okay  even  more  so  curious  about  their  knowledge  about  deep  sea  mythology!

Must  have  discussions  about  theories  and  curiosities  especially  thoughts  on  Atlantis  and  Mermaids.... 

Could  be  a  mermaid...being  seasick  on  land? 

OMGOMGOMG  URBAN  MYTH  =  LITTLE  MERMAID????...  must  be  something  more  to  investigate....

Scylla  or  Charybdis..must  ask  or  research.

Think  she  could  be  fun....maybe  a  friend  to  be  made?

[theflimflam]

𝙰𝚌𝚝  𝙾𝚗𝚎,  𝚂𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎  𝙾𝚗𝚎:  “𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜  𝚒𝚗  𝚊  𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎? 

tw: Parental Death Mentioned.

Timing  was  pivotal  when  making  a  first  impression.  Being  first  so  speak  showed  confidence  with  leadership  capabilities-  to  be  the  first  one  to  break  the  silence  whilst  setting  tone  and  expectation  for  the  others.  However,  the  drawbacks  were  detrimental  as  they  are  the  one  who  may  have  inspired  other  speeches,  other  speeches  that  could  easily  outshine  theirs  and  be  nothing  like  a  forgotten  memory.  Many  fools  saw  such  glory  in  being  first,  it  was  the  wise  ones,  such  as  herself,  knew  that  glory  came  in  other  ways. 

  Those  who  followed  on  from  the  first  speaker  fall  into  two  categories:  those  who  were  inspired  by  the  first  speech  and  those  who  simply  wanted  it  over.  Those  talks  were  ones  that  became  mummers  as  others  were  too  preoccupied  with  their  own  performances.  And  being  someone  who  aimed  to  be  a  final  speaker  was  a  spot  reserved  for  the  shy  or  time  wasters.  Everyone's  attention  spans  wavering  in  the  delight  that  the  showcase  was  drawn  to  an  end. 

  For  Danica,  none  of  this  would  suffice!  If  she  was  to  deliver  a  delectable  speech,  she  would  need  to  be  in  her  sweet  spot.  Upon  her  calculation,  after  two  more  introductions  it  would  be  her  time  to  shine.  Her  grand  moment  to  paint  the  greatest  speeches  among  her  co-workers.  Not  like  some  of  them  would  be  that  difficult  to  outshine. 

  With  her  golden  moment  creeping  in,  she  barely  allowed  the  other  person  to  finish  their  speech,  Danica  was  already  on  her  feet.  Snapping  her  notebook  shut  with  a  loud  thud,  loudly,  to  have  everyone's  undivided  attention.  With  all  eyes  were  on  her,  she  stood  tall,  shoulders  back  whilst  smoothing  out  her  black  pencil  skirt  and  tucking  her  hair  behind  her  ears.  Oh  how  she  felt  undressed  for  this  occasion.  If  they  had  only  allowed  her  to  bring  her  seventeen  cases  she  had  meticulously  packed  then  she  would  truly  be  dressed  for  success.  Instead,  a  simple  capsule  wardrobe  would  have  to  suffice.  Still  Danica  Rasquinha  would  make  do  with  poise  and  grace. 

  "My,  oh,  my,  what  a  charming  team  I  think  we  are  all  going  to  make  for  the  unforeseeable  future.  How  heartwarming  it  is  to  see  so  many  lovely  new  faces  and  charmed  to  be  acquainted  with  a  few  of  you  once  more,"  Danica  slowly  begins  her  speech  making  eye  contact  with  each  member  to  enhance  the  natural  connection  with  them  that  will  blossom  beautifully  overtime.  "Originally,  I  had  a  PowerPoint  Presentation  ready  for  a  moment  like  this  but  alas,  after  not  being  briefed  on  the  no  tech  access,  I  do  humbly  apologies  for  my  lack  of  preparation  and  how  unpolished  my  introduction  is."   

  On  that  note,  she  carefully  slides  out  personalized  index  cards  from  her  journal.  The  golden  gilded  cursive  embossing  shone  slightly  in  the  florescent  lightly.  Neatly,  Danica  tired  the  stack  of  cards  in  her  hands,  perfectly  prepared  for  her  unprepared  speech.  No  need  for  her  to  be  nervous,  she  totally  had  this  in  the  bag.  Everybody  adored  her.  Who  couldn't  adore  her?  She  is  the  epidemy  of  excellence. 

    Taking  a  deep  breath,  she  continues  on,"Now  I  fear  that  I  need  no  introductions  to  who  I  am.  Most,  if  not  all  would  be  familiar  with  my  Papa  and  Mama  the  late  parents  Dr  and  Dr  Rasquinha,  both,  high  regarded,  esteemed,  academically  brilliant  researchers  for  Department  of  Mythology  and  Folkloristics.  Now  I  am  not  allowed  to  even  talk  some  of  their  spellbinding  findings,"  she  pauses  laughing  at  her  own  joke.  Of  course  it  was  funny!  One  should  never  disclose  any  personal  information  with  the  fae  after  all!"Just  a  little  Fae  humor  for  you.  If  you  know,  you  know  but  should  certainly  not  be  disclosing  about  it." 

  [Give  a  playful  little  wink  to  someone  in  the  room.]     

"Goodness  look  at  me  prattling  on,  do  Pardon  me!  I  just  never  waste  a  moment  to  talk  about  Papa  and  Mama's  greatest  achievements,"  she  places  one  hand  on  her  heart,  a  way  to  project  sincerity,  "Speaking  of...let's  get  back  to  me  then,  shall  we?" 

  [Pace  around  the  space  with  permitted.]       

  Danica  eyes  the  space  in  the  room,  making  the  judgement  call  to  pace  around  a  little.  Keep  her  audience  engaged,  always  on  their  toes.  Her  eyes  scan  as  she  maps  the  routine  as  she  starts  to  pace  the  room.  "For  the  sake  of  protocols,  please  refer  to  myself  as  Flimflam.  Rather  a  bewitching  code  name,  wouldn't  you  say?"  Danica  compliments  her  own  nickname.  Now  although  it  is  not  the  most  attractive  code  name  she  has  received,  she  knew  she  could  make  anything  look  good  on  her  if  she  tried  hard  enough  too.  "Evidently  upon  speculations  and  all  the  few  wonderous  speeches  so  far  I  can  deduce  these  are  randomly  assigned  with  no  correlation  whatsoever  to  who  they  are  attached  too,"  she  shared  her  astute  observation  which  surly  should  get  a  few  heads  nodding.  "So  if  you  would  please  call  me  Flimflam  even  just  Flim  or  Flam  or  Flimmy-  now  that  is  a  cute  nickname  wouldn't  mind  that  one  single  bit.  Not  Flammy-  something  about  that  is  rather  repugnant." 

  She  positions  herself  at  her  first  spot  in  the  room,  halting  to  get  even  more  personal  with  her  team  members.  Danica  leans  a  little  forward,  almost  as  if  she  is  welcoming  them  in  on  a  little  secret,  "Surly,  you  have  guessed  by  now,  that  I  followed  in  my  parents  greatness  continuing  on  their  legacy  as  a  brighter,  bolder  flame.  I,  myself  am  a  Staff  Researcher  for  Site-12  in  the  Department  of  Mythology  and  Folkloristic.  Parting  with  my  previous  team  was  such  sweet  sorrow,  a  place  where  my  presence  will  truly  be  missed."  she  pulls  away  dramatically  swinging  her  arm  to  cover  her  face,  at  how  disheartening  her  departure  was,  how  her  utter  brilliance  would  be  missed.    "Alas,"  Danica  sighs  heavily,  "I  am  now  here  ready  to  share  my  brilliance  with  you  all!  Oh,  I  may  add  that  I  have  casually  dabbled  as  a  contributor  to  Observer:  An  SCP  Foundation  Journal.  Perhaps  some  of  you  may  be  familiar  with  my  work  on  SCP-5525?  Of  course  some  of  you  have,"  Danica  gestures  towards  her  fellow  researchers-  maybe  somewhere  there  would  be  one  of  her  biggest  readers  ,"  I  have  to  say  I'm  rather  proud  of  the  title:  SCP-6505  Man's  Best  Friend  Helping  During  Ruff  Times.  Honestly  give  it  a  read,  it'll  leave  you  all  warm  and  fluffy.  That's  only  one  among  all  my  submitted  works.  Now  you  must  be  thinking,  how  does  she  find  the  time?" 

  [Pause  to  allow  them  to  contemplate  your  work  ethic  .]     

  "Speaking  of  my  time  here,  I  do  intend  to  follow  this  literal  mantra,  a  poetic  pros  of  excellence  if  you  will,"  Danica  cleared  her  throats,"  To  be  the  very  best,  like  no  one  ever  was.    It  carries  a  rather  excellent  use  of  iambic  pentameter,  which  makes  it  rather  memorable.  To  me,  it  is  rather  profound,  wouldn't  you  all  consider?"  she  speaks  to  all  of  them,"A  means  that  we  should  all  highly  aspire  to  be.  For  if  it  is  not  greatness  that  we  are  striving  for  in  what  we  do,  what  exactly  is  one  doing  here?" 

  [  Make  a  though  provoking  and  inspirational  insight  that  they  will  think  about  for  a  lifetime.  Say  it  proudly.] 

 "And  with  that  very  thought  I  will  leave  you  all,"  Danica  slightly  bows  to  all  of  them  whilst  strategically  making  her  way  back  to  her  seat.  "For  any  further  curiosities,  compliments  or  conversations,  please  do  not  hesitate  to  come  and  find  me,  I,  Flimflam,  would  be  more  than  happy  to  oblige.  However  please  reframe  from  chitchat  with  me  before  my  morning  cuppa  and  my  evening  tea-  both  important  daily  rituals  where  I  require  my  personal  time.  Thank  your  for  obliging  and  listening.  I  look  forward  to  working  harmoniously  with  you  all.  My  lovely  team." 

Flimflam  tucks  herself  back  into  her  sheet  as  she  looks  down  at  her  final  card,  hoping  her  manifestation  would  come  to  fruition.

  [Hold for applause and/or standing ovation.]

[cowboygreeting]

𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚒. 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚒. 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

cw: drug mention

Canvas saddle bag. Mnemosyne steno pad – A5, of course. Two LEUCHTTERM1917 Drehgriffel – ballpoint pens, black and red ink, moss and orange barrels. Extra-firm Blackwing pencil. Steel Blackwing pencil sharpener. Travel-sized Neutrogena Norwegian hand cream, half-empty. 16oz water bottle, insulated, with a little sippy straw. Loop earplugs, case hooked onto one of the straps. Vape. Vape charger. Extra juice cart. Protein bar, in case he's hungry. Two extra protein bars, in case someone else is hungry. No cellphone, not allowed that here, but his Discman and his earbuds fit inconspicuously enough, so he slides them in as well. He can wear them for the walk over. It might help to soothe his nerves a little.

He still has two hours before the orientation starts. So at least one and a half before he's reasonably allowed to leave his room. And hypothetically, he could leave his room at any time, he doesn't think they lock them in at night; it would be nice, maybe go for an early morning stroll — early, early morning stroll — hit his vape (he's not about to test the smoke detector sensitivity on his first night, thank you) in peace and try to stop his chest from thudding like it's been since he'd arrived, but — he hasn't. Nobody's told him the rules, and if there's one thing Seth likes, it's guidelines. Acceptable parameters. Or something to gauge off of — someone else to make the mistake, ask the question first. He will if he has to, but if he doesn't have to —

— well. The time passes anyways. He fixes his hair in the mirror twice, combing the pomade through and fussing with it until it looks bad enough that he has to take a do-over – Blind Barber, for the record. Smells like amber and tonka. Delicious. He loves the notes of almond. Leaves a little earlier than he told himself he would to give Rohan a little wake up call; he yanks the blanket off the bed like he did when they were in college, and tosses a bar at his head, only wincing a little when it actually hits him. It's soothing and familiar enough that, for a moment, when he slips his earbuds in and starts down the hall, it feels a little more like a university dorm than it does a hospital wing.

The feeling carries him through the door and into a chair with an empty seat beside it. His bag lands in the seat next to him, which he hopes his colleagues take as a hint, because it's never stopped feeling embarrassing to be an adult saying sorry, saving this for someone, but he is, so. He pulls his notepad and pens from his bag, lays them out on the table in front of him, and dates the first page, ORIENTATION in big block letters at the top. He's one of the first, and only pulls his earbuds out and shuts his Discman off as more of the others start filing in. The room starts to swell with sound and movement — just shuffling and murmurs, but it's enough for the wind to fall from his sails completely when he raises his head and starts looking around.

Not a lot of familiar faces. Some too familiar, but impossible to place. Enough to give him the lightheaded, dizzy feeling that's plagued him — most of his life, but flares any time anyone at the Foundation has him doing anything but minding his own business. Ro's explained the difference between amnestics and dissociatives a million times, but the shit they dose them with just feels like ketamine with tendrils. And, God, are people talking already? It's all ringing in his ears and the RBF he knows he's making and wishes he wasn't – eye contact and smile, goddammit – he'd to stop his lip from twitching first. It takes him a second. He's used to it. Hopefully, the smile that follows – once he feels like a person again – isn't as alarming as it feels.

Rohan's filled the seat beside him at some point during his little episode, slung his bag on the back of his seat, and between the jab at his ribs and the water bottle he's retrieved for Seth, he's able to check back in, with enough time to start sketching down names and impressions — chicken scratch that can't be read over his shoulder and an inconsistent shorthand that'd be harder to decode than it's worth if they could, but the sounds of pen on paper is unmistakable. He watches for people's reactions to the fact of his note-taking. Sorry, folks. That's what he's here for. Studying you.

God. Do any of these people want to be here?

It's almost a comfort, the grimness emanating from so many corners of the room. The assurance he's not the only one with concerns, and the — freedom from being the biggest buzzkill of the pack. He might be sour on the assignment, but he can sit through an orientation like a professional, more than — the operatives among them especially — seem to be able to manage. A kick under the table seems to signal his turn and he refreshes his smile, fully human and mostly authentic this time – trying to be, at the very least.

"Hey everybody! I'm – Cowboy Greeting?" It's half a question when he says it, call sign still foreign and gaudy in his voice. "But Seth's fine, whatever you prefer. It's, uh – well. I'm looking forward to getting to work with all of you; most for the first time, I believe, though I know I have one or two past co-conspirators in the room."

The chuckle he chases that with is half-hearted, maybe more artificial than the overhead LEDs, and painfully social worker-coded. Jesus Christ. And his mouth is even drier, almost as dry as the room. A fucking mess. A debacle, no saving it. "I'm a junior researcher, currently under AEED.. I haven't been here long, but I've bounced between a few different departments and facilities as part of my work — kind of big-picture policy review? Are people doing what they're supposed to do, do we want them doing what they're supposed to be doing right now, looking at outcomes, that sort of thing. My background prior to starting with the Foundation was in social work and nonprofit policy, so."

Definitely the most long-winded description of paper-pushing legitimacy-bestowing bullshit he could give — and maybe that would've been a better approach for some of his new colleagues, but he's never been in the business of giving his bosses a reason to eliminate his position, and he's not about to start.

"Anyways. Again. Really excited to work with all of you. And if anyone's looking for a gym buddy for their time here, definitely hit me up. Know that's gonna be my first stop after we're done the official tour."

First stop. Definitely. Right after a vape break. He's going to need it.

[theflimflam]

[Details  matter.  The  littlest  thing  could  give  away  so  much  more  than  one  could  really  know.  She  was  keeping  an  eye  out.  After  all  she  was  a  researcher.  This  was  research  into  her  co-workers.  Right  now  she  was  flexing  the  muscle  as  it  has  been  a  minute  she  had  began  an  assignment.  For  a  moment  she  stretches  out  her  hand  and  begins  to  note  down  any  useful  observations.]

Moleskin   Pens!!!!!   >   LEUCHTTERM1917   Drehgriffel.  

PRO:   Moleskin   pens   are   far   more   ergonomically   comfortable   with   much   better   ink   flow.

CON:   Limitation   of   colour   options,   though   what   highlighters   are   for.

Talking   point?   A   keen   eye   for   stationery   or   just   "it's   a   pen"   person?   -   Can   tell   a   lot   about   about   them   from   this!  

Cowboy   greeting....sounds   unsure   of   nickname.   Why   didn't   they   start   with   Howdy?   Maybe   not   an   actual   cowboy.   Yee-nah   or   Yee-ha?  

Not   getting   Sheriff   Woody   vibes.   Has   not   addressed   everybody   as   partner  or  partners  as  a  collective.

Maybe   is   a   cowboy   but   image   has   been   tainted   by   the   media?  Did  Toy  Story  lie  to  me  about  that  :(  :(  :(  :(

Cowboy  Greeting  ≠  Sheriff  Woody. 

Fellow   Researcher!!!   Yay!   Under   the   AEED-   will   ask   follow   up   questions  to  understand  more  about  AEED.  

Previously   worked   on   big   picture   stuff?   How   big   picture   stuff?

Wait...omg!   Will   be   judging.   Wait   are   they   taking   notes   too??? 

Plays   by   the   book?   Eyes   to   make   sure   that   someone   is   going   something   right?   Curious   to   know   if   they   know   about   the thing.       

Would  they  have  come  cross  any  of  my  files?  Would  they  know  who  I  am? 

Focus...focus  on  them  and  look  up  when  you  are  writing.  This  is  not  a  diary!  It  is  notes  astute  observations  on  fellow  teammates. 

Social   work   and   non-profit,   has   ♥   not   someone   in   it   for   £££

Possibly  a  team  player?  Debatable  if  they  are  someone  willing  to  know. 

Real  question  is  how  much  do  they  know  about  each  of  the  others?  What  notes  do  they  have?  Maybe  willing  to  share  the  information? 

Gym   rat?   For   self-care?   Escapism?

[agentelevatormusic]

Introductions

Vera was wide awake by the time the first rays of morning flickered through the blinds. Her body was taught, stiff as a board, and pressed against the edge of the mattress so tightly that she might have fallen off if not for the knuckle-white grip of her fists against the sheets. Her memories of the dream were hazy and splintered.

Her mind felt off. Like a snow globe that a child had picked up and shaken. But she could hardly acknowledge the bigger picture until she could move again.

She stared up at the ceiling and tried to breathe. It was Tom. That much was clear. She could remember his warm eyes. His inviting smile. Maybe he’d been telling her something? Vera could not remember. Everything fragmented and split from there. Something about a walk in the forest. Footprints. Dread. Hidden marvels. 

The face of it tore at her and she curled into a ball. Eyes shut. None of Tom’s treasures had been enough to protect Vera from its presence. Nothing had been able to stop it from haunting her since the night it first arrived. It wasn’t just the dreams of Tom that it padded through, either. Circling her. Watching her. Laughing at her, if such a thing could laugh. 

There, she sighed. She had remembered enough of it to breathe easier. To know what she was up against. The dreams had been chasing her for so long that Vera worked them out like a knot and forced them out of her way. There was no alternative. 

Vera rolled out of bed and lay on the floor. Closing out the creature and the nightmares and, instead, softly humming a piece of Brahms and letting the notes form on their bars in her head.

Strange, then, to find herself riding along with Captain Kato. The Hungarian Dances still lingering in her fog-addled mind. Pieces were out of place. Information out of position. Vera smiled, nodded, and focused her full attention on putting herself back together. 

She highly suspected that they had tampered with her the night before. There was nothing to be done about it. There was no point in being angry at the Foundation. She gestured excitedly at a beautiful rock formation to keep up appearances with poor Captain Kato. This was not his fault. He deserved more from her than the occasional polite laugh. She would make it up to him if given the chance. 

“Next time we meet, let’s hope I’ve had a better night’s sleep, Captain,” Vera said, smiling apologetically. “Be safe out there.” 

The Level 0 Clearance keycard was a nice touch, but not nearly so nice as the promise of another photo shoot. Vera did an inventory of her belongings as she wandered up to the second floor. Had she brought an outfit that captured the “essence” of an employee ID card? It seemed unlikely. 

Glass walls. Blinds closed. 

“Morning,” Vera answered, walking right over. She accepted the apparent Commander’s handshake carefully, but not because she didn't want to shake his hand. The increasingly popular idea of the firm handshake had given her trouble over the years. It wasn’t a problem with other surgeons, who understood the importance and the value of their hands, but it had been an issue with Foundation soldiers with something to prove in the past. After one incident early in her career, Vera had taken to avoiding unfamiliar hi-fives as well. 

She shot the Commander a toothy grin, hoping that would push past the awkwardness of her cautious handshake, and felt some of the brightness finally returning to her eyes after the early morning’s difficulty. 

Then, with a polite wave at Steve, she chose a seat second from the end of the row. She hung her ancient green jacket over the back of the first chair and sat in silence. Her thoughts dipped between her odds of escape, a firm zero percent, and Guin.

Guin who arrived almost last of all and did not come to sit next to her. Barely looked at her. Vera gave him a tired smile. Her eyes filled with hurt. Then she nodded simply with something akin to understanding and turned her gaze back to the window. Back to thoughts of impossible escape and sorting out her head.

Vera rose when she felt enough of the room had spoken that they would still have the energy to listen, but they would also have heard enough to respect that she actually had something to say. She wasn’t tall, but she had a presence that had served her well addressing teams over the years. Standing in the front, it was easier to face the group as well as to provide her enough time to think of something to draw the brightness back into her eyes. Zebras!

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Vera Nair. Elevator Music. Or Dr. Elevator Music, if we’re feeling formal,” she said amiably, the corner of her lips curling upwards at the man with the fish. “You can call me what feels comfortable. I’ll be your primary healthcare provider this year on and off the field. I know it won’t make a difference to some of you,” Vera added, stealing a tiny smile at Guin, “but it does help some people to know that I received Board Certification in Internal Medicine from Harvard Med and in Trauma Surgery from Johns Hopkins.” It wasn’t at all a boast. If anything, Vera looked a little red when she said it. Tom had shown her the research years before, though. It was a best practice. Patients tended to do better when they believed in the qualifications of their doctors. 

Still, Vera felt relieved to move past it. “I’ll be meeting with you all for physical exams at some point in the next few days, but I think right now that it’s more important that I tell you first,” she nodded slowly as she built up to it. “I won’t make any promises I can’t keep.” Vera gazed slowly across the room. At first glance, she was looking straight into their eyes. Each of them seeing the face of an experienced doctor. Sad and gentle and knowing. The keen observer might note that Vera was looking respectfully through them, instead, at a line of those she’d lost.

“I will use every tool in my arsenal to keep each of you alive,” she said, continuing with confidence. “Follow my directions.” Her eyes brightened. “Don’t lie to me.” The toothy grin took over again. “Cover me when I’m working on one of your teammates.” Her curly hair practically sparked with excitement. “And for the love of all that is holy, if you must get shot, don’t get shot in the head.” Vera stopped and squinted. “Easy to forget that you’re not all doctors. My last surgical team would have been falling out of their chairs.” She shrugged. “I’m here for you. Everything is going to be alright.”

She began to walk back to her seat, before realizing that she needed to say more about herself. “Okay, let’s see.” She tilted her head back and forth. “About me. I’ll give you three truths and no lies. One, I have been scuba diving in Baltimore Harbor. No, I would not recommend it. Two, I once won ten thousand dollars playing a sport which I hate only to have all of it stolen on the same day. Three, I do haircuts. For a price,” she added, teasing. “Unless the Foundation has a barber hidden in one of the containment cells.”

Momentarily satisfied, Vera stopped short to finish with one last thing. “My office is always open. Page me if you need me. I don’t care if it’s stupid. Outside of that? I’ll be swimming or doing yoga or reading somewhere quiet. If you can find me, maybe I’ll show you a coin trick.” 

With that, Vera sat down and put her hand in her pocket to play with her 1978 half dollar. Her head was finally clearing up. 

[theflimflam]

[Slowly  but  surely  the  introductions  were  revealing  more  than  what  the  person  was  speaking.  Danica  was  intrigued  with  each  new  information  she  obtaining  from  the  people   she  would  be  relying  on  to  aid  her  brilliance.  Her  notebook  was  brimming  with  thoughts.  She  looks  up  at  the  next  candidate  awaiting  another  page  to  be  filled.]   

Another  that  likes  to  disclose  their  name.  Shall  regard  them  as  Dr  Elevator  Music.

Curious  to  see  the  connection  between  them  and  Elevator  Music.  When  thinking  of  Elevator  Music,  thinks  waiting,  patience....doctor  and  patience...could  that  be  the  connection?!

So  a  smarty  pants  hmmm?  Internal  Medicine  and  Trauma  Surgery 

Harvard  Med  Alumni,  my  oh  my  considered  me  somewhat  impressed.  Very  fancy  degree  indeed.

Physical  exams  to  be  done...like  every  exam  I  have  taken,  I  will  pass  with  flying  characters.

Don't  lie...easy  one!  Hahahaha  :)  .

Note...don't  get  shot  in  the  head. 

Suba  diving  in  Baltimore  Harbor,  they  do  not  recommend.  Truth.  Lie.  Truth.  Lie,  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  enough  information  offered.  Thus  far  they  like  to  talk  about  achievements  and  their  brilliance. 

Once  won  money  playing  a  sport  they  hate  and  stolen  the  same  day.  True,  Lie,  Lie,  True.  Seems  like  they  enjoy  sports  for  a  relaxation  point  of  view,  not  as  a  competitive  type.  From  swimming  and  Yoga  that  could  suggest  it.  May  suggest  it  was  something  they  had  to  endure.

Haircuts?  They  give  haircuts...someone  who  actually  appreciates  styles  and  the  love  for  all  things  hair??!  Please,  please.  Forget  trust  in  a  doctor,  there  is  always  trust  in  a  hairdresser.  TRUE  TRUE  TRUE  TRUE

Not  a  smoker. 

Also  a  reader!  Seems  like  they  like  their  quite  time.   

[lieutenanthowell]

ACT I, chapter i, STORY BEAT - Introductions

He wasn't late. Just arriving no earlier, at all, than was remotely acceptable. Because he didn't want to fucking be there. It was nothing more malicious than that. Guin could read a goddamn site map. Could keep himself fed, watered, laundered, caffeinated. When a need arose, he'd hunt down whatever was on the other end of it. Point was, given back the who-knows-how-long this whole affair turned out to be, he'd figure out some better way to spend the time. Wouldn't be hard.

Still, low as his expectations were, Chi-00 managed worse. Ankle-shattering, really. He'd swayed to a stop just inside the door, his scan of the small, settling crowd fixing once, twice. Christ. So. That's how it was. That's just how it was gonna be.

Well. Spared him figuring out a few texts, anyway. Didn't it? No. Not really. He'd never been one for silver linings. That shit was always thin as tinfoil, when you really looked at it.

So he sat. At the back. Nearest the door. Easy to see everything he might need to, from there. Easy to leave, first, after however these my-dumbass-callsign-is-s were done with. Not that it mattered too much, in his case; what the hell could a codename really do for him? Hardly any of his life at all was on record. At least, outside the Foundation itself. And the closest thing he had to connections, people to keep compartmentalized away from all this - if he'd been the kind of moron who figured he could pull that off, which he never was - were here. Or dead. Or gone.

The get-to-know-yous dragged on for a little longer, out there; Guin, he'd set his combat boots flat on the floor and closed his eyes. Against the simmering fluorescent lights, all these eyes he did and didn't know. Didn't do dick for the noise, of course, echoing off the glassy walls of this too-small room. Couldn't close them out, either. Both of them, the last two people he - Christ. Both of them. Vera, with that loved-thin green jacket slung over the chair next to her. Like she was waiting for someone. That someone they'd been waiting for, ever since that night in the snow. And Nadia, wound tighter than any steel trap. Could see that grip she had on herself working all the way up her arms, caught between her teeth, the lock of her jaw.

He'd seen them. They'd seen him. And they'd all have a goddamn year locked into this, to - do their jobs. Together. Again. Shit.

He could do that. Sure. He could do this, too. Wasn't even any microphone in hand, onstage crap. Guin stayed put as the first impressions kicked off, tracking the room's interest from person to person. His own ticked to each face in turn, then away, as he listened to everybody storm or stumble through their introductions. Then - then all that attention settled on his shoulders. He didn't stand. Just spread his hands. Present. Accounted for. "I'm, ah - Dying Breed. Apparently." Which was funny, seeing as... he had something like a laugh about it, anyway. Only vaguely like a laugh. "All you need to know is: I'll do whatever I can to get you out of any trouble you're in. That'll be the case even if I don't like you much. And if all you are is pieces, then - same goes. I'll get something of you home, if I can." He side-slid his jaw, feeling the tug of that still-newish scar, tight. His stare had found the analog clock tick-ticking on the wall; it glared back, like there was something else he was supposed to say, or do, but... God, there was always something. Wasn't there? That's what all that debriefing always came down to, right? That there was always something you should've done different. Would've, could've.

His cut-up cheek twitched - snarl-like, a glimpse of teeth to it - as he lipped a cigarette out of the pack he'd fished from his tac pants. "But chances are you won't hear shit from me until we're in the field in any kind of way. Or unless this place goes to hell." Guin scuffed the low knuckle of his thumb across and around the socket of his left eye, squinting as he considered his matchbook. "So - until then. Uh..." Another toss of his hands, a half-shake of his head. "Watch out." On that dead-flat note, he rocked out of his chair. "Taking a fifteen, boss," he rasped, flicking a loose salute in the general direction of their new commander, presumably. Then he did precisely that.

[theflimflam]

[Danica  searched  the  room  like  everyone  else  for  the  next  speaker.  Seemed  like  a  pattern  was  developing  that  people  didn't  want  to  stand  proud  and  talk  about  themselves.  A  little  bit  of  a  pity  considering  most  in  the  room  were  meant  to  be  some  of  the  best.  Still  this  was  only  first  impressions  after  all.  ]

Dying  Breed....codename  would  suggest  that  they  are  the  last  of  their  kind.  Don't  think  that  is  the  case,  merely  someone  who  has  gone  an  utter  a  lot. 

One  of  the  few  that  does  not  disclose  actual  name.  Adds  a  layer  of  mystery.  Or  maybe  they  are  one  to  actually  follow  the  protocols  that  have  been  put  in  place.  Or  just  doesn't  have  a  nice  name  that  would  like  to  share. 

Scars  show  serious  business.  Has  been  in  fights.  Maybe  have  stories  to  tell.  Would  be  curious  to  know  those  stories. 

Possible  investigation:  get  to  know  some  of  those  stories,  help  paint  a  deeper  image  of  Dying  Breed. 

Blood  on  hands?

Dark  and  brooding  type.  Could  it  be  true  to  the  character  archetype.

Not  much  of  a  big  talker?  Could  be  a  big  listener?  Could  talk  his  ear  off!  Maybe  that  is  where  an  excellent  connection  can  form.  Might  only  say  a  few  words  but  they  offer  a  deeper  insight,  something  clear  cut  to  match  the  vibes. 

Could  also  kick  my  ass  and  I'd  say  thank  you. 

Doesn't  matter  if  I  piss  off  will  save  my  sorry  ass.  Good  to  know  as  I  don't  know  how  to  defend  myself  in  the  slightest.

No  one  gets  left  behind  sentiment.  Is  that  a  refine  to  his  duty  or  maybe  under  the  bravado  their  is  a  hidden  bleeding  heart?

Hypothesis:  Might  not  like  a  heroic  welcome,  hug,  cheer  or  gratitude.  More  than  likely  respond  they  were  just  doing  that  duty. 

Everything  is  rather  direct  and  to  the  point  with  them.  Really  is  a  straight  shooter...possibly  a  reflection  to  their  combat  techniques.  Would  hope  so  if  they  are  one  that  will  be  saving  my  sorry  ass. 

Another  smoker  in  the  group.  Do  I  take  up  smoking  to  be  social  with  others?  Something  that  I  could  be  considering. 

[21stcenterry]

✺ — story beat: introductions.

TW: mention of guns, mild reference to injury

Terry was displeased to know that they had not, in fact, blown the interview. Details were foggier than The Big Smoke after returning to their regular workplace, but Terry had assumed they must've done something rightfully wrong to avoid getting the call to action the day after. No, siree, mediocrity was Terry's birthright, and they weren't looking to be some up-and-comer with expectations placed on them.

But a week later, the mobile buzzed during a rerun of Bargain Hunt on the 'BC, and before they could argue, Terry was off to Dear Ol' Freedom-land in a metal deathtrap. It had been several days since landing in a gloomier version of Galloway Forest, and to top off the perilous journey, Terry was still nursing a headache that reminded him too closely of Liverpool pubs on the waterfront. What did the Americans put in their aspirin? It wouldn't surprise Terry if they had gotten sugar pills.

Temples pounded as they leaned back into their chair. While rubbing at his scalp, it took Terry a while to notice the mandatory workplace introductions had come around to his end. Rat's arse, me already? Terry thought, fixing their slouch slightly in front of the group. But only slightly.

No matter what, they couldn't turn back from their plan now. There was no way in hell he was going to be any bloody Red Shirt, and he intended to return to Site-91 even if he'd get bollocks for it. It was a tightrope act. Look foolish enough that they'd send him back but not utterly useless that the Foundation'd fire him outright. No pressure, mate. They cleared their throat.

"Right on... Uh. The name's Terry, kinda. Perfect Stranger, that's it, innit?"

They shrug. "Not to alarm you, mates, but I am literally the equivalent of a mall cop sitting with you M16s. The deadliest thing I've ever wielded was a heavy-duty torch."

There was also the standard handgun, but seeing how trigger-happy some of his fellows had been at Site-91, Terry wasn't as keen on accidentally blasting a toe off at the mere mention of an SCP. If anything, he was a novice.

"I have no business in securing, containing, or protecting anything. I'm the actual bog standard." Terry gestured plainly at themselves. So far so good, they were selling themselves like a discounted apple at Tesco's. It was not entirely great, but the low price gave it a somewhat decent mull-over in the brain.

"Prolly got picked from my lot 'cause I was the, erm, lucky one if you get me. Honestly, I'd be proper 'standing if the paperwork got filed wrong and you're supposed to get someone much more qualified. No hard feelings and such if I'm not a fit."

They shrugged, not even caring at this point to not come across a total wanker.

Terry continued, "You've got to have someone tiptop watching your back. Dangerous out there, we all know that, innit. I also haven't had an eye exam in years, so I should check on that. Pleasure meeting you, though. Cheers."

Terry threw up a thumb unenthusiastically and slouched back into his seat. There. Now, to head back to his pad and start packing his stuff again, before the higher-ups had their chats and hopefully prepared for their expulsion.

[theflimflam]

[  Her  left  hand  starts  to  cramp  slightly  from  all  the  notetaking  that  she  passes  the  pen  over  to  her  left  hand.  She  adverts  her  gaze  onto  the  other  team  member  who  was  now  taking  the  stage.  Hearing  their  accent  was  like  a  breath  of  British  air  hitting  her  right  in  the  face.  At  least  she  was  not  going  to  be  the  only  Brit  here.  Listening  again,  she  starts  to  write.] 

Cute.  Not  as  cute  as  me.

A  fellow  Brit  init?  Not  posh  like  I  one  of  those  Chavs,  if  I  am  correct?

SOMEONE  TO  SHARE  A  GOOD  CUPPA  WITH??! 

Have  to  know  order  they  make  their  tea.  There  is  only  ONE  correct  answer!

Will  these  Americans  understand  such  witty  British  charms  and  phrases?  Maybe  could  translate  for  them? 

M16s=  British  equivalent  to  FBI  or  Secret  Service  or  you  The  Foundation! 

Bog=restroom,  however,  in  the  context  of  bog  standard  to  mean  uninspired  or  basic. 

Oh  dear...a  mall  cop?  Heavy-duty  torch?  This  does  not  sound  too  hopeful.

Poor  soul  has  never  dealt  with  SCP,  evidently. 

Maybe  I  could  be  the  one  to  show  them  the  ropes!  A  chum!  And  even  more  of  my  brilliance  and  prestige  can  be  shared  with  another  lost  soul.  I  will  be  the  one  to  guide  the  wayward  soul!  Delightful!! 

Questionable  though  on  the  Ethic  committee's  choices.  For  they  wanted  the  best  and  picked  their  soul?  Maybe  this  was  a  mistake? 

They  are  meant  to  be  on  the  same  level  as  me?  Am  I  on  the  same  level  as  them?

Clearly  they  have  self-awareness  not  meant  to  be  here.  Oh  the  poor  soul,  so  humble  and  in  touch  with  reality! 

Tiptop=  up  to  scratch.

Does  have  that  British  wit.  Might  be  pleasant  to  pass  the  time  with.  No  wasting  time  to  really  know.  Will  be  here  and  gone  before  a  blink  of  the  eye. 

Codename....actually  seems  to  fit  perfect. 

Both  a  stranger  in  the  the  sense  of...new  to  this  all  and  stranger  as  we  won't  be  knowing  them  too  long.

[tesshernandez]

𝙰𝙲𝚃 1, 𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙴 1 — 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙳𝚄𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂.

AS WITH MOST DAYS — AND AS WITH FUTURE DAYS, THEY'D MUSED — SLEEP HAD NOT COME EASY. In the absence of any real direction, they'd allowed themselves to be whisked away from one metal hunk of a thing to another, and another, as if to dispel any indulgences in conducting a haphazard geospatial analysis as to where their covert base of operations should be located on the map. Had they hoped Midge would be impressed at the sheer degree to which they'd been obfuscated? The ghastly gray beast was no more hideous and imposing than the intelligence agency where she had once held base, and which had similarly prided itself in holding and trading state secrets.

Midge had maintained a smile through it all, albeit an artless, guileless one, finding these gaps in her memory even more troubling than usual. Not particularly burdened with the weight of being the best example, Midge — 52 Pickup, wasn't it? she thought — had donned only the barest of masks: their hair was combed down and let loose over their shoulder, and their shirt, just as gray and as pallid as the building's decor, hung over their frame with no real attempt at being flattering. In doing so, she'd hoped to display a kind of homeliness that was almost displaced in this ugly concrete jungle they were mandated to call home for a year. To signal something like trustworthiness among this new ensemble of comrades whose faces ranged from vaguely familiar to none at all.

She'd sat cross-legged in the plastic chair, balancing the spine of her handy A5 journal on her knee as she scribbled and took note of the code names of the operatives who had gone before her. As expected, their levels of disclosure varied; another introduced themselves, and another, and another, until the burden of introductions finally fell on her lap.

They'd closed their journal shut and made a small wave as their eyes surveyed the room. "Hey, everyone," they began, willing the muscles of her lips to curl upward, until they resembled something like a kindly smile. "I'd say I wish we met in better circumstances, but the next Foundation confab might be a while yet. My name's a bit of a mouthful, so it's easier for all of us if you knew me as Midge. Though, in here, my alias is 52 Pickup — a bit of a mouthful, too, really. Pursuant to protocol, I suppose you could just call me fifty-two."

And, here, she made an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a peal of laughter: "Call sign's easy enough to remember, I suppose. Just take a look at my laugh lines and guess my age. Thanks for that, by the way, supervisors." They'd spoken with an unhurried cadence, relaxing against the shitty plastic seat, "Well, I suppose I should lean into it. I am marching towards mortality as it is. Nothing else of note. I've done clean-up work for the Foundation these past few years and studied for a living for the rest. Hmm, let's see… I play the piano, I'm a chain smoker, and I like owls. " She let a sigh escape her lips, then, as she let in the team on a few harmless truths.

"Er, I think that's it." Her lips pulled into a tight smile as she dismissed herself from the routine proceedings, flipping back open her pocket journal and clicking the top cap of her ballpoint pen to resume her notetaking, "Well, I'll see everyone around. And everyone's quite welcome to join me in my search for a smoking area."

[theflimflam]

[Turning  to  her  next  teammate,  she  pertains  the  smile  on   her  face.  Even  though  she  knew  the  expression  her  eyes  may  have  given  her  away.  Danica,  tries  to  pay  more  attention  to  look  at  her  page  yet  she  kept  on  staring  a  little  too  longer  than  she  was  meant  too.  Her  pen  could  not  move  quicker  on  the  paper.  ] 

Dresses  like  they  are  homeless?  Are  they  actually  homeless  or  more  hobo-chic?  Are  they  trying  to  come  off  as  unbothered  and  and  laid  back  or  really  are  lazy  and  unpresentable?  Debatable:  bold  or  audacious?  Not  a  fan.

Sitting  crossed  legged  leans  more  to  the  laidback  notion.

Also  taking  notes.  What  kind  of  notes?  Or  are  they  little  doodles  to  seem  like  they  are  taking  interesting  in  other?

Smiling....they  seem  to  smile  an  awful  lot.

52  Pickup....code  names  seems  to  pertain  to  age?

First  observation:  52  Pickup  related  to  cards.  Poker  maybe?

Looks  young  for  their  age...could  look  younger  if  they  dressed  better.  Easily  push  for  early  40s.    Mid  40s.

Look  at  the  laugh  lines  and  smile  likes.  NOTE  TO  SELF:  REMEMBER  TO  MOUSITERES  TWICE  A  DAY  DANICA!!

REMINDER:  VITAMIN  D  TABLETS  AND  UP  IN  FOOD.

Wait!!  Cards+Smiles+Laughs=POKER  FACE?  Do  they  hold  a  poker  face  to  something  maybe?  Need  to  investigate  more  and  establish  theory.

Clean  up  work?  Must  have  seen  stuff  and  done  stuff.  Could  be  wise.  Could  be  desensitized  to  a  lot  of  situations. 

Plays  piano-  Need  to  ask  if  they  are  classical  trained  or  Youtube  self  taught-  please  know  how  to  play  more  than  the  River  Flows  in  You. 

Likes  Owls...could  be  a  hoot!!  Hahaha....I  make  good  animal  puns.

Smoking  =  cool  kids  hang?  Do  I  need  to  take  up  smoking?

[lochblocknroll]

"𝚃𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜." - 𝖣𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝖩𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗇 𝖥𝗈𝗅𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗌, 𝖫𝗈𝖼𝗁'𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗎𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋

Introductions were not what Loch would list as one of his strengths. Communication in general was perhaps not on that list at all. He certainly wasn't in the habit of throwing 'able to talk to sentient bags of meat' onto his resume, not when his ability to talk to the incomprehensible vastness of cyberspace was there instead.

Of course, putting off the introduction was not going to make it go away, much to Loch's chagrin. He let anyone go before him that seemed eager enough to get their name out and their foot into whatever doors they were trying to force open. It was like sitting in the middle of The Thing, waiting to see which test might drag the impossible creature forward. Though, if any of these people were a cryptid, Loch knew, it would make this entire horse and pony show mean something. He had had his hopes set on that particularly sour-faced man being some kind of Roswell Grey, but that hope was dashed the longer this took and the other remained exactly as stone-faced as he had when they had gotten there.

That woman, Loch thought with a glance, could be a Flatwoods Monster, though she certainly was lacking that impressive collar that so defined her kind. He'd have to see if it was misplaced or, as one of his friends had claimed, it was actually a biological defense mechanism, like the frills of Dilophosaurus. It didn't seem practical, but neither did a horse with bat-wings and that certainly seemed common enough... Gods he was bored. Perhaps—

The sudden tug of all eyes on him pulled Loch from his thoughts and he cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling in his seat and crossing one leg before uncrossing them and crossing it the other way. Why, in the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster did he decide to sit in what amounted to the center of the room? He hadn't felt the urge to stand and brood in a corner like some of the others, but now Loch swore every hair on his body was standing upright as an unpleasantly large number of eyeballs fixed themselves upon him.

"Well, going off of this very unpleasant attention," Loch starts, going to stand before aborting the motion halfway through and sitting back down, "it's probably my turn. My name's Loch, Doctor Loch if you want to be an ass. If you're my abuelita, I'm Doctor Matias Rojas, but I don't see her here so I'm just going to stick with Loch. I really wasn't listening to the format here, so fuck it! I'll freeball it."

He paused, taking a breath and holding it for a few seconds before letting it out. This was already a disaster, but the only way out was through and he wasn't about to end up a red shirt this early in his job. "Like I said, I'm Loch. I got hired by the Foundation and their Sincere Comrades and Partners probably... A month ago? Time's been weird lately, which I blame completely on those interdimensional Bigfoots that have to be around here somewhere. I work predominantly in tech, mainly computers and software, but given the state of this place, the details will probably go over your heads, so I'll stick to that."

He paused, thinking for a moment as his hands tapped out a one-two rhythm on his legs. "I've got a cannibalistic fish named Hannibal the muscle heads made me leave behind and a severe tech withdrawal. If anyone ends up needing me, I'll be handwriting the most pointless codes I can. But, I'm sure we're all going to get along great! Oh, also, cryptid stories. Please regale me with your best ones. I might end up writing a book or some shit about them one day when I run out of code ideas."

[theflimflam]

[  She  rests  her  face  on  the  palm  of  her  hand,  straighten  her  posture.  Each  team  mate  would  be  receiving  her  full  attention!  Also  partly  because  she  did  not  want  to  miss  a  single  detail  that  they  had  to  share.  It  was  so  telling  the  cards  that  someone  wanted  to  share.  She  twists  the  pen  around  in  her  hand  before  she  began  writing  her  findings  down  once  again...]   

Doesn't  seem  to  be  a  fan  of  attention.....couldn't  be  me.

Hesitation  to  take  command  and  control  whilst  debating  to  stand  or  sit  down.  Or  just  chilled  vibes?  Likes  to  read  the  room  and  go  with  the  flow.....up  for  debate. 

Doctor?  Hmm  wonder  what  kinda.  Medical  or  smart-smart.

Mentions  family...might  be  important.  Nice  to  see  connections  like  that. 

Ahhh  tech-smart!!

Hasn't  been  with  the  Foundation  too  long.  Might  now  know  who  I  am  :( 

I'LL  MAKE  A  CHANGE  TO  THAT!!

Is  correct  that  I  will  not  know  enough  about  the  tech...will  leave  to  them.  Seems  like  they  have  their  usage. 

Cannibalistic  fish  called  Hannibal  ...hmm  who  is  looking  after  said  fish  whilst  they  are  here?  Another  conversations. 

Also  suffers  with  tech  withdrawal.  Both  will  be  going  through  the  same  symptoms.  A  chum  to  get  through  the  limited  screen  access  together.

  Must  know  the  latest  internet  memes!!!  Possible  means  of  entertainment  or  should  I  say  memes  of  entertainment. 

Possible  conversations  on  computer  code  language.  Seems  like  a  JavaScript  or  C  kinda  vibes.  Something  far  more  complicated  and  sophisticated  then  simple  HTML  and  SQL...the  only  code  I  know. 

Ooo  a  lover  of  stories.  May  talk  their  ear  off  about  some  of  the  oddities  across  in  my  parents  research  and  others  from  Site  12  days. 

Aspire  to  be  a  muse  for  possible  cryptic  story...well  not  muse  but  one  that  helps  foster  creative  ideas...but  all  in  all  a  muse.