16710/Oddesey and Oracle

Oddesey and Oracle
Date of Scene:	29 December 2023
Location:	London - England
Synopsis:	Noh-Varr saves Cypher from an Assassin.
Cast of Characters:	Douglas Ramsey, Noh-Varr

---

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
It is just after Christmas, and the weather in London is - shocker - cool and wet. It's currently a sort of drenching, continuous downpour, the kind that creates a sort of ambiance of dripping water - that also makes the cup of tea and pastries Doug just picked up at Patisserie Valerie especially welcome.

He's in London on business, inspecting Worthington Industries' London branch to identify systematic weaknesses in the "corporate hyperstructure" - which took him about 45 minutes at a board meeting, to pick out the three of them that were embezzling money, and another five to blow them into Warren. Now the rest of the weekend is his.

Of course, he's also tangentially aware that an assassin has been stalking him across the city - he hasn't been able to pick them out of the crowd yet. He's headed for his hotel when she makes her move, firing a futuristic sniper rifle at him; but the fluttering disturbance of a flock of pigeons alerts him just in time, and he stops short - the shot blasts a neat, quarter-size hole into the building behind him, right at the level where his head would've been.

"Yeep."

Noh-Varr has posed:
And almost as if by magic, there's suddenly a young man in front of Douglas, clad in futuristic looking green and black and white armor, silver hair and stubble-cheeked.

"Come with me if you want to be awesome." He orders over his shoulder, arms held out at his sides as a weird organic-looking metal seems to ooze out of his wrists.

But how did Noh-Varr actually get here? Rewind...

Two Days Ago:

"Plex, I wish to go to England. There is a doctor there with a box that allows him to traverse time and space. Perhaps he can offer some assistance with the Kirby engines?" Noh-Varr tells his on-board AI as he lounges in his underwear on his ship, eating ice cream from the bin.

"Of course, Ensign Noh-Varr." The AI responds levelly. And soon enough Noh-Varr is in London, wearing wool tweed ("It's traditional garb!") when he spots the strange assassin tailing Douglas.

Which leads us to here and now. And Noh-Varr striking a pose as he stands in front of Doug. And... is he *flexing?*

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
Uh... huh. Doug is left holding his pastry box and staring up at his... savior?

Silver hair. Tweed coat. Hint of - is that Kree? In his accent. But he isn't blue.

Meanwhile, on the rooftop, Sari St. Hubbins, former MI5, current freelance assassin, is cursing to herself as she reloads the rifle. She got paid a bloody great amount of money to eliminate this target, and here it is going cock-eyed... she hisses, and aims at Noh-Varr, and fires;

Which leads Doug to stand up, and lean into Noh-Varr to try and shift his head about six inches to the Left-

There's a sound like a *ZWIFF* and another neat-looking hole appears in the wall.

"Someone's trying to kill me." He says, "...Now it looks like they're trying to kill *us*." He clears his throat. "And why are you dressed like the Eleventh Doctor? Not that you don't look good in a bow-tie, mind you."

Noh-Varr has posed:
"So it appears that she is. Clumsily." Noh-Varr's shoulders relax from the squared-off posture he was holding for emphasis and aesthetic, shaking his silver-clad head in disappointment. "If she were my assassin, I'd have her beaten for such sloppy aim."

His accent is Kree but... different. It isn't as much a difference in regional accents, like Hala vs one of the colony worlds, as much as the sort of linguistic shift that separates the US from England. Different factors influencing the same language, creating shifts that don't make it another language entirely, but one slightly harder to follow. And...

And the two don't really have time for it, as Noh-Varr turns and jerks Doug out of the way of another bullet, pulling him against him like something out of Flash Gordon. "Bowties are cool." He tells Doug dead-pan, before suddenly jumping up and sideways, attempting to find cover on a low rooftop.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"Well yeah," Doug, who's wearing a bowtie himself, says. "They absolutely are."

Meanwhile, he goes into the building. On the rooftop, Sari St. Hubbins is on the move. She hisses into her comm equipment; "Badb, Nemain- engage the bloody meta!" There's a whine of descent from two drone engines. One of them, Nemain, starts to track Noh-Var and begins to spin up... is that a particle beam chaingun? It is. The other starts extruding mini-drones that form a shield network to protect itself and the gun drone.

In the building, Doug sets down his pastries out of the way, and grabs the Lift; He starts contemplating the flow of the buildings around him, to figure out where the Assassin is likely to go, in order to intecept her... intercepting him? Interception? Interceptception?

Noh-Varr has posed:
And as Doug dives into the building, Noh-Varr releases him, shrugging one shoulder as his tweed melts away to reveal his Kree battle armor. "Any idea why they are attempting to murder you?" He asks as he follows after the other blond, rolling his shoulders as he glances at the lift.

And then, weirdly, he licks his hand, casually pressing the saliva soaked glove to the lift's control panel. "Plex, access the security systems." He orders the thin air, and then nods at something only he can hear. To Doug: "Primitive systems, but there is enough of a wireless network for me to monitor. Should I be looking for anything in particular?"

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
Doug looks over his shoulder at Noh-Varr. "If I had to guess, they've been hired by someone I haven't spotted at Worthington UK yet in order to kill me before I identify them and blow them in to the CEO." He takes out his phone, and thumbs through it, before he says, "She's obviously got advanced tech, but I'm not seeing her on the local wifi-

There's suddenly a WHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR as the bank of windows in front of Our Heroes gets blown in by the drone firing its chaingun. "Which means those drones are autonomous and taking orders from her via short-range radio, I'm guessing. I don't suppose you can ID the frequency she's using, generate an analog signal and imitate her commands?"

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Oh. Corporate espionage." Is there distaste in the strange man's tone as he says that? Just a little bit. But his body language remains calm, cool, collected... Up until something inside him seem to snap. "I suggest finding a closet or a desk to hide under." Noh-Varr rolls his shoulders, flexes his fingers.

And then he's throwing himself forward at 150mph, hitting the edge of the windows and bursting through them in an spray of broken glass and chaingun fire as he triggers his White Run, blocking out any distraction except for snatching one of the drones and either getting his blood on it to hack or bringing it back to Doug with the single-minded focus of a golden retriever fetching a ball.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"Not MY choice." Doug says, "I'm a systems analyst! I'm here to *eliminate* corporate spies!" Doug says, before he takes Noh-Varr's advice and hides under a desk - as his rescuer goes out the window and bodily tackles the drone. It's easy enough to gash his hand on one of its fins and splash his blood onto it.

Doug looks down, as golden circuitry and obsidian black shine crawls over his right hand, which suddenly breaks out into an outbreak of spikes. "What-" He frowns, "...Why are my techno-organics responding to whatever that guy's doing-"

Hacking into the drone opens full access to its systems. On Earth, this is cutting-edge stuff. To Noh-Varr, it's a child's toy.

Noh-Varr has posed:
Surely Doug has read the Dune series, right? The Bene Gesserit weirdling way, where they can focus every muscle, every atom of their body towards a single target? Noh-Varr is no Kwisatz Haderach (his eyes are green, kthnxbai!) but if you'll forgive mixing fandoms for a moment considering the previous Doctor Who references, it fits. He moves quick, precise, faster than conscious thought even...

And when his blood splatters the equipment, Doug's techno-organic systems go *crazy* as the nannites in Noh-Varr's bodily fluids and the AI he's interfaced with using those nannites begins to strip away the primitive security protocls.

Almost as quick, Noh-Varr flies back over to Doug, wincing slightly. His eyes take in the black and gold, eyes narrowing. Techno-organic? "Can you interfact with nannites?" He asks, voice a little harsher, eyes narrow as he holds out a bloody hand to Doug.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"Macha! Macha, respond!" The assassin says into her comset, only to get painful squealing feedback back, so much so she pulls it off. "Blast it!"

Doug looks up, and says, "I've never tried." He grimaces - he usually keeps his techno-organic arm to himself for a lot of reasons, but then he reaches out and touches his fingers to Noh-Varr's. And then the stuff his hand - his entire arm - is made of literally reaches out to connect to that silvery blood.

With his comprehensive Kree education, Noh-Varr has almost certainly been educated in Transmode virus, and its carriers. The Technarchy are world-eaters, creatures whose attention is considered just this side of a visit from Galactus - each one a threat worthy of mobilizing a fleet.

The Transmode virus is a reflection of the creatures that use it to feed; Omniphagic, rapacious, corrupting and all-consuming, it exists to convert organic matter into a hybridization of flesh, silicon and circuitry that can then be interfaced with by the Technarch that spawned it, siphoning up its Lifeglow, its energy, leaving only inert - dead - material behind. Crumbling ashy silicate.

This strain is different. Imagine a Grey Goo scenario spawned by a creature with deep compassion and endless curiosity about the universe; one that only wanted to learn, to experience, to BE. That's the creature Doug came into contact with at some point in his past, and that's the legacy he carries. When the creature left him, it left a trojan horse in Doug that existed - exists - to protect him. At the cost of his humanity? Maybe someday.

Meanwhile, Doug rapidly interprets the data he's picking up off those nanites. This is new...

Noh-Varr has posed:
The revelations are two-fold: Even as Noh-Varr is exposed to Doug's particular strain of the Transmode virus, which his nannites break down, analyze, and quarantine in his body to be expelled like so much defective blood cells... Doug is exposed in part to the AI that is linked so closely to Noh-Varr.

Has Doug heard of the Supreme Intelligence? Surely he has at least read about the powerful AI that controls the Kree. What he touches is like a lesser version of that powerful creature, shackled by protocols that prevent it from evolving past an assistant. And he can almost *hear* the AI's voice speaking: 'Warning: Interdimensional Protocols active. Intruder... Either withdraw or you shall be neutralized.'.

Ominous, really.

Noh-Varr, meanwhile, shakes his head like a dog stepping out of the rain, and the cuts on his hands are already healing. "Don't mind Plex." He says slowly, spitting the inert cells out like blood to the side. "Do you have a link?"

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
In that brief moment, Doug looks up at Plex - and - well, can a computer BE attractive? Check out that processing power. Dig those Zettabytes of memory. Is he flirting with Plex before it kicks him out? Maybe. At the very least, there's a moment of "Wow..."

Doug shakes his head, momentarily stunned. "So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the holy Grail..."

"I do now." He says. "...She's above us!"

That's when there's the thump-thump-bang-thump of a concussion grenade getting tossed down a vent.

*WHOOOOOOMP*

Noh-Varr has posed:
Unfortunately for Doug, Plex is not programmed for romance. And so Doug's fascination is met with an uncomfortable silence, before Plex uploads all the data he breached from the drone and abruptly disconnects from Doug without a phone number or offering an uber.

Apparently the Supreme Intelligence is the dump and run type. Who knew?

"Down!" Noh-Varr orders, throwing himself over Doug as the concussion grenade goes off. He lifts his fist towards the ceiling and lets out several bursts of photonic energy. Pew! Pew pew! PEEEW!

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"Ooof!"

There's a sparkling, flickering discharge as Noh-Varr's energy blasts strike the shield generated by the defender drone.

"The person who hired me," The assassin - a woman wearing a long coat over military fatigue pants and a 'Cybermen' T-Shirt lowers an energy rifle, as the smoke and debris from the weapons fire clears, "Did NOT pay me to tangle with a Meta." She grimaces. "You've compromised Macha. Do you know the strings I had to pull to steal the Morrigan system from MI6? And you broke it like it was a toy." She takes out a cigarette, and lights it. "The expenses from this job have just exceeded the take." She raises the rifle, as if considering pursuing the fight - and then she raises an eyebrow at Noh-Varr. "Nice bow-tie, luv."

Then she mutters, "Badb, pickup." She turns and walks out the window, landing on the back of a third drone - this one apparently built for transport. "...If my client fears some barmy little Mutant that much they can bloody well triple my pay if I've got to fight bloody Quicksilver. Or whoever you are."

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Bowties are cool." Noh-Varr tells the woman coolly, as he gets to his feet slowly. And... is he *flexing* while he does so? He certainly angles himself so that the light glances off his silvery hair and shadows make his high cheekbones stand out more. "Corporate espionage, however, is not."

He frowns. "Leave now, or else I shall make the cost analysis skew even further in the red." He lifts his chin, and raises one metal-clad fist while squaring up his shoulders, flexing muscles on back and chest.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
The woman just smirks. "Like I said. You skewed the cost-benefit of this fight. There's easier jobs to be had... at least until I renegotiate my contract. Ta-ta." She... flies off on the back of her drone, with the shield unit carrying the compromised gun drone in what looks like a bubble of zero-point energy.

Doug looks up, as he slowly shifts to a sitting position. "My head's still spinning. Galahad..." He says, "Who *are* you? And how is your hair so *shiny*?" He gives a muzzy smile.

Noh-Varr has posed:
Noh-Varr makes a tsking noise in the back of his throat, putting both hands on his hips as he watches her go. "Capitalism." He says with disgust, shaking his head before turning to Doug, frowning slightly.

"I am Noh-Varr, of the 18th Kree Diplomatic Gestalt." He says, a bit impatiently. "And I use herbal essence once a week, more as needed." He checks his hand, making sure there's no open wounds, and offers Doug a hand up. "Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"No, no. I'm fine." Doug says, as he takes Noh-Varr's hand - no weird synergies this time - and lets the Kree pull him to his feet. "Just a little high from - why am I high from exposure to nanites?" He rubs the back of his neck.

"Sorry, sorry - I called you Galahad because you remind me of a poem by Tennyson." He says, before he clears his throat, and then manages a "Thanks. I can see I've got a lot more work to do in London than I thought, if someone's trying to have me killed."

Then he clears his throat, and gets an 'Oh' look on his face. The tea's just a gray puddle on the floor, but the box of tea pastries and cake is still intact. "Breakfast?" He asks. "As a thank-you."

Noh-Varr has posed:
The silver-haired alien squints slightly at Doug. "Because my nannites are programmed for my particular genetic code." He says, as if it should be obvious, speaking slowly and carefully. Maybe Doug hit his head? "They are not like your viral load. They are symbiotic, not parasitic."

He shrugs, though, as if the specifics were no big deal, really, and brushes off his knees as his armor shudders... and the tweed and bowtie are restored, along with a red fez. "I wear a fez now. Fezes are cool." He says dead-pan, before cocking his head at the offer for lunch. "I do need to replenish my nannites..."

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"...Huh." Doug says, before he sighs. "Well, come on. Wish we'd kept control of that drone," He says, "I'd have it deliver fresh drinks." He looks around at the destroyed hallway they're in, and says, "They're insured." Then he takes the stairs to the rooftop. Once up there, he opens the box and takes out an only slightly-smashed raspberry petit-fours and tosses it backward into his mouth.

"Thank you." He says, "You're quite literally a knight in shining armor. A space-knight in shining armor." He looks at his hand, and says, "Normally it would be parasitic, but not so much in my case. I sort of - asked it to be nice." He flexes his ordinary-looking fingers. "You weren't in any danger from it."

Noh-Varr has posed:
"A minor inconvenience." Noh-Varr flicks his fingers dismissively at the destruction, before glancing over at Doug with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not a knight. I'm a diplomat." Technically it's not a lie. Soldiers are the diplomats of zen fascism, right? "But I appreciate your sentiment. Are you going to be safe?"

He then nods towards the elevator, motioning for Doug to lead the way. "Your Transmode virus is different than what I've encountered before. Less... malicious." He says conversationally.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"Oh, I'll sniff them out eventually, and now that I know someone's gunning for me, I'll know what to look for." He heads up to the rooftop, and sits, box next to him, legs dangling off the side of the building.

"A diplomat, huh?" He curls his lip as he thinks about that. "Well, I guess Ambaddassador is a TV trope for a reason."

"You're Kree, but your accent, your color - it's all... off from what I know. Some other branch? Or maybe..." He rubs his chin.

"I had a friend - he was a Technarchic mutant. Mutant boy, mutant alien." He smirks, "We were periodically fused into a gestalt entity, more than the sum of our parts, but we never stayed that way because he valued his individuality - and mine. Sometimes more than I did." He kicks his legs. "Warlock was a mutant because he had empathy. He felt - feels for other living things. He chose to exist not to consume, but... to know, I guess. To be. To experience what others felt by sharing their forms, their perspective." He glances over at Noh-Varr. "Something... about you. You're in defiance of why you were made too. Or rather, you feel you're fulfilling your purpose, but you're not sure your creators interpreted it correctly?"

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Spoilers." Noh-Varr replies calmly, as he moves to sit down next to Doug, dangling his feet and leaning back on his arms, gazing out over the city. He definitely binged Doctor Who before coming to London, and it *shows*.

But eventually, he relents, and clarifies.

"I'm from another dimension. One in which the Kree established an intergalactic utopia." This time it's his turn to rub the back of his neck, a touch awkwardly. "My ship and crew were stranded after an experimental engine brought us to the wrong dimension. I was the sole survivor."

As far as the rest goes... He snorts. "I've heard your dimension's Kree has some weird beliefs regarding skin color?" He makes a distasteful expression, "Short-sided. Especially given what I know of our own history. Such discrimination leads to genetic stagnation, and a distinct lack of innovation."

He doesn't address the bit about his own purpose, though. Instead... "Do I smell earl grey biscuits?" He says politely, eying the box of pastries. "That is what they are called locally, correct? Biscuits?"

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"This universe's Kree are blue. They're really judgy, too. They've got some sort of intergalactic judges called 'Accusers'." Doug opens up the box. "I was going to have these over the course of my stay."

"I'm a Mutant - a sort of genetic anomaly, an expression of superhuman genetics buried deep in the human genome - a chaotic expression of post-human evolution. There's... a lot of difficulty and bigotry around that, here. But I can pass."

He adds, "I got earl grey macarons, raspberry petit fours, carrot cake, chocolate mousse and apricot jam on spiced shortbread."

"You like Doctor Who?" Doug asks, conversationally. "Me too. I time-traveled a few times... I'm the honorary court bard of Robert the Bruce. Seriously! There's a historical document that refers to a 'Douglass de Ramesie' - that's me! It turns out drunk Scottish nobles really enjoy freeform roleplaying during dinner."

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Ah, yes. The Accuser Corps." Noh-Varr shakes his head. "An archaic organization that was disbanded in my universe in favor of the Diplomatic Gestalts. According to my studies, they were phased out in favor of a more diplomatic approach after the Subjugation of Krypton."

He then nods with a grin, "Macarons are quite delicious." He eyes the box, waiting for Doug to do the polite thing and offer some. "Huh?" He blinks, when asked a question, and glances up at Doug before shrugging again. "It was one of the shows that I used to acclimate myself to this world. It's fiction? Pity. I suspected it was so, but was hopeful." He eyes Doug, and repeats, "Douglass de Ramesie? Sounds French. Isn't Ramsey a Scottish surname?"

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"Please." Doug says, taking out another petit-fours, and chewing it thoughtfully, "Help yourself." He savors the miniature cake. "Central England, actually! It's derived from 'Hramsa', which means 'Wild Garlic', which grew in abundance there. The 'de' was just a lingering Normanization of the name that I liked." He sticks his tongue out, briefly.

"It sounds like you really do come from a Utopian timeline - let me guess. To preserve peace, be prepared for war?" He exhales, lightly. "Sorry about your squadmates. Losing friends sucks. It's got to be hard, being alone." Then he grins. "What's more real than fiction? How else can Camelot be, if we don't build it first in our minds, then in reality, stone by stone?"

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Don't be silly." Noh-Varr eyes the box, and when given permission carefully picks out a choice morsel to nibble on, popping it in his mouth and chewing with a boyish grin. "To preserve peace, *dominate*."

Um. What?

"Well, I'll grant you fiction has an important part in wish fulfilment, and is as important a bonding exercise as sex," Noh-Varr says consideringly, "But not exactly practical for my needs at the moment." Beat. "These macarons are delicious. The citrus from the Earl Grey really gives it a fresh smoothness that compliments the almond flour."

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"Hum. That's an interesting choice of word. To be an authority of unassailable power." He thinks, and says, "But you know, based on your inflection, it sounds like a very Kree thing to do; to create a Utopic society and then declare it perfect, instead of looking for ways to refine it further, to make it more Utopic."

He looks out over the city, and says, "Patisserie Valerie, they're some of the best in the world. But honestly? I'd be just as happy with a box of Knishes from my favorite place in New York." He snorts at the frank remark. "What about watching Dr. Who with someone after sex?"

"You're an interesting guy, Noh-Varr. You're... questing. For something. It's fascinating to behold. Would you like to go exploring? Maybe have dinner later?"

Noh-Varr has posed:
"Idealistic view." Noh-Varr shakes his head with a frown, "And, my apologies, but a little too simplistic. The intergalactic empire I hail from, at least, is made up of different facets, all directed by a single will." He shrugs one shoulder thoughtfully, "Refinement through cooperative effort is merely chaos if there is not some over-reaching authority to define the direction of this refinement."

He holds up a macaron, and then a petit four. "One of these is round. One of these is square. Does the macaron resent the square petit four? Or does the petit four envy the macaron it's round shape?" He eats both, popping one after the other. "No, because the pastry chef has declared them both desserts, and so they know their proper place." And he spreads his hands.

At the mention of TV after sex, he blinks. "I mean, after a shower?" He suggests, "My former girlfriend enjoyed reading Xandaran romance novels to me after, but only after we both showered the sweat and bodily fluids off so she didn't get too... 'high' I believe the term is?"

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
"And yet," Doug says, "They aren't wholly interchangeable. The dessert you pick might depend on the choice of meal or beverage you accompany it with. These delicate macarons go better with tea. But if I was having coffee, Turkish delight maybe." He shrugs. "Does your singular will allow for others disagreeing with the role it's chosen for them? If it's picked me to build houses but I want to smell flowers and write poetry, will it help me realize my vision of satisfaction?"

"There's a director, and a dictator - and there's a difference between the two." He rubs the back of his neck, and then says, "Aha. I didn't THINK about that. Some people like being high, though."