3492/Echon I

Echon I
Date of Scene:	22 September 2020
Location:	Echon
Synopsis:	The four lost Titans arrive on Echon, a world where everyone wants to distil their own essences or something. It's weird. They're weird. Someone ought to punch them.
Cast of Characters:	Donna Troy, Caitlin Fairchild, Terry O'Neil, Victor Stone

---

Donna Troy has posed:
     It's an eight-hour flight to Echon, and not the most comfortable of journeys in the cargo hold of Lucan's ship, surrounded by a wild assortment of farming equipment, machine parts, optical supplies and crates of food. At least Lucan's ship is capable of making the journey, though.

    He has been an extremely useful contact. Although not as scientfically proficient as Victor or Caitlin, he has turned out to be a really excellent engineer, and familiar with technologies the humans are not. With his help - and some of his supplies, bartered for spares from the dreadnought - the surviving shuttlecraft now has a functional power system, and the engines almost work. He has offered to help out with a hauling rig to allow the shuttle to drag the remains of the dreadnought behind it, giving the Titans proper mobility.

    There are however a few more things the Titans need. If replacements can be found for some step-down couplings the micro-fusion reactor can be put into service recharging the Dreadnought's power banks, which will make living more comfortable. There are also medical supplies much needed. Both, Lucan has assured the Titans, can be found on Echon.

    Lucan's voice breaks in over the intercom in the cargo hold. "We're arriving friends! Brace yourself for landing." The sound of the engines increases from the hum that has accompanied the journey through the last eight hours, culminating in a roar and a few moments of powerful braking pressure before the ship settles with a slight thump. After a few moments the cargo bay doors open with a hiss and the light of a new world fills the bay.

    Beyond the door is a starport that has something of a rustic air. There's little visible through the doors that would look particularly out of place in some small rural airport, though figures visible moving around in the distance come in an unusual variety of shapes and shades.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
The ride down is pretty far from the worst flying the Titans have ever experienced. Case in point: the first solo landings with their new Titan's Jet, when first starting out. Getting people certified on it had been a little tricky.

Caitlin stands for the last few minuts of the journey. She's still wearing what looks like comfortable athletic gear; exercise shorts and a matching tank top that exposes just an inch of her midsection. Her hair's bound back away from her face in a more practical ponytail. Just in case things go sideways. When they land she's balanced easily on her feet with one hand braced against the shuttle sidewall for support, and she shoulders a large backpack loaded with trade goods as the ramp comes down.

"Okay so wait." She uplifts her chin at Terry as the Titans ramble down the ramp. "Terry, you're the bard, I get that part, and Vic's the archer, and I'm the Arcane Expert. So Donna's the... what, exactly? Single-class fighter? That's kinda lame."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The trip is not /that/ uncomfortable for Terry, who makes himself at ease with that preternatural talent that felines have for sleeping, as the saying goes, on the point of a needle. The somewhat futuristic captain's frock salvaged from the Commons only makes it easier for him to bundle up. The rest of his outfit is pretty mismatched, and yet it feels appropriately fitting for the setting. We'll call it Enterprise Grab Bag Chic.

"Donna is obviously the Paladin of the party, think about it. She has the power to detect falsehood, is more or less god-powered, and looks good in armor. Mind you," he gestures to Cait, "I'll have to correct you that I am a bard with a prestige class in Snark."

Victor Stone has posed:
"We've arrived at the spice miser's castle. Ready to be smashed into who knows what," Vic comments as the ship touches down. He has been seated on a sturdy cargo crate for much of the last hour of the voyage. On a table next to him are a set of what tools he had on him or could scrounge or improvise -- needle-nose pliers, a screwdriver, a heating element -- and most of his left arm and the "entropic transponder" the Gatekeeper gave him.

Or at least, those two things were there to begin with. By the time the trip ends, the two pieces of machinery have been mostly combined. It was a struggle at several points to do the work: many were the hissed swear words as the actuators in his remaining hand refused to quite cooperate, or a mechanistic spasm sent his tools off-target. Once he managed to knock his arm completely off the table, and it wasn't entirely clear whether that was an accident or hours of frustration venting in a single outburst.

Still, by the time they arrive on Echon, the work is finished enough that he bolts the arm back onto himself and the alien device is not only physically integrated but powered. He clanks down the ramp easily enough, shifting the joints of the reattached limb through a by-now-familiar diagnostic pattern. There are some novel screwups in it, but everyone diplomatically pretends not to notice, especially Vic himself.

"Since when am I an archer?" he grumbles as he reaches the end of the ramp. "Artificer? Paladin? Something like that. I rolled some ridiculous as hell stats, whatever I am. We're on the Klout planet now, right?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna is clearly the space pirate. She has on a space pirate's cloak, after all, worn over a form-fitting space suit with hardened carbon fibre plates giving some measure of armored protection. It's the closest thing she could find to actual armor, but at least her old Themysciran greaved boots have survived the rigors of combat against Brainiac Drones and Warzoon to lend the outfit a hint of archaic flare.

    She does not rise to Caitlin's teasing, walking on down the ramp to tread on alien soil and stand beside Vic, without contributing to the discussion of RPG classes. She has been rather introspective all day.

    A short distance away, Lucan has left the cargo ship's cockpit and is talking to a tall, red-skinned humanoid dressed in flamboyant blue robes. A pair of loader robots shuffle past the pair and up the cargo ramp to start unloading, doing their best to keep out of the way of the humans.

    After a few moments, the red-skinned humanoid approaches the Terran group. He stares at them with undisguised curiousity through slitted golden eyes, then nods his head to them. He smiles at them with thin lips. "Welcome to the paradise that is Echon, newcomers. I am Commissar Duvann. Trader Lucan tells me you require medicines and a power coupling. He informs me that you have with you goods to trade of equal value, and that he will accomplish the negotiations. Do you accord? If so, all is well. The medicines we have on hand. The coupling we can aquire within a day."

    "As you are new to Echon, there is a note of warning I must deliver. It is not by way of insult but rather assumption born of experience that I inform you that you are almost certainly lacking in the modes and phases considered civilized on this world. No matter! I am trained to deal with such persons. If you prove my assumptions wrong you will bring great pleasure and the day will be a memorable one; if on the contrary my dreary fears are realized I shall tamp down my instincts and take no offense. There is in the space port a facility for offworlders you may wish to visit while the couplings are fetched; food and lodgings will be provided, and you will mix only with other off-worlders. Your fear of insulting the fine sensibilities of others of my people can be set aside. Are you agreeable to this arrangement?"

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
The bickering about which of the tanky Titans gets to be the Artificer this time around comes to a halt when the quartet meets the Commissar. Caitlin's friendly smiles freezes momentarily at the quick summary of his expectations. When Donna doesn't speak up immediately, Caitlin glances from the Commissar to Princess, then back again.

"We really appreciate you being patient with us," Caitlin says. When all else fails, fall back on that plainspoken and sincere honesty. "I hope we don't overstep or say anything improper, but if we do it's like you said-- it's an accident, not intentional offense."

The redhead shifts the bulky bag on her shoulders. "Oh, sorry. I'm Caitlin; this is Victor," she says, nodding at him, "Terry, and Donna." Each is gestured to in turn. "We do have some trade goods we've brought along; spare computer components, weapons systems salvage, that sort of thing. A power coupling would be great but anti-inflammatories and painkillers for human-types is our first stop. Any recommendations on who we should talk to?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry walks with a pronounced limp due to his sprained ankle, but he does his best to make the limp look intentional- aesthetic, even. It doesn't really work, but at least he can get points for trying. What he would have added to Victor's answer will never be known, as he becomes unusually quiet and says nothing during the original exchange, studying the red-skinned humanoid with curiosity.

Several thoughts pass through his head- the desire to make the observation that offense is taken, not given, is first and foremost, but fortunately there is a pretty strong filter between Vorpal's brain and mouth, and that filter is called Terry. Although not always present, it can come into play when the situation is dire enough...

And any situation in which getting on the good graces of apparently touchy and persnickety aliens could greatly affect their chances of going back home was one of those situations that was ineluctably dire.

"Rest assured, Commissar Duvann, that you shall find in us eager students in the subject of all that is pleasant and harmonious to your people. We shall not in any measure seek to dishonor ourselves by disrespecting the hospitality that you have extended to us."

He might have been reading a little too much Xenophon as of late. Terry had with him in his human form a satchel, though far from being full of food and provisions it contained the things he usually took to work, including a book to read during his lunch break.

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic gives Duvann a jaundiced look as he issues his warning. "Yep. This is the Klout planet, alright," he murmurs. When Caitlin introduces him, he goes back to a volume that welcomes their new acquaintance to the conversation, and adds, "Nice to meet you, Commissar. We accord with that. You guys can sort out the details."

It's not as though they have anything worth really ripping off, and frankly he doesn't want to mess around with the details much. "I have a lot of modes and phases, though. I'm kind of known for it back home," he says, with a tight smile. Unlike the others, who have settled on overt formality, he's sort of kidding around, skirting with teasing the alien, but he does at least have the sense to heed the warning about how very gauche it would be to ask directly about their 'fisk' system.

That said, if Duvann gives him no threads to tug on in figuring out their concept of cultural capital, he won't be too offended. He'll just put some music on his built-in speakers and experiment with sending power to different components of his new alien add-on.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Duvann stares at Caitlin for a few moments. His nostrils dilate and a look of distate crosses his features briefly, but his promise of self-control holds, and he simply turns away from her, staring into the distance.

    Vorpal's attempt at communication seems at least slightly more tolerabale to Duvann, eliciting a dismissive wave of the hand rather than a pointed pretence that he hadn't even spoken. Apparently the commissioner considers Vorpal's words to have been unnecessary but not deeply offensive. Victor even gets a nod - apparently the suggestion that the humans don't involve themselves in the actual negotiations is one that Duvann appreciates, and the kidding around about modes and phases appears not to provoke any particular response, either positive or negative.

    Donna had appeared to be paying the exchange very little attention, but finally she turns to glance at the red-skinned alien, her eyes flickering up and down his form. "I am princess Troia. Artificer Victor speaks for us all," she says finally. "Your arrangements are agreeable. However we have some additional requirements. We would like to make contact with some historian or similar keeper of lore. There are facts we wish to uncover. Can you advise us on how to achieve this?"

    Duvann arches an eyebrow slightly before replying. "There are numerous ways to achieve this," he begins cautiously. "However I can advise none of them. No such experts have my training; offense will most assuredly be given. An attempt to follow such a path will therefore undoubtedly provide you with nothing of value, whilst creating discord and upset. You will speak to people of refined sensibilities, who appreciate the world in ways you do not; there is little doubt but that your probing and querying will be unseemly and bring no credit to anyone involved. All parties will be lessened by the interaction; the universe will, in a small way, be a poorer place for your attempt. In short; it would be folly."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Ulp. Caitlin manages to keep the majority of the expression off her face aside from a pleasant smile but she's clearly struck a nerve with the Commissar, and she falters visibly without an idea of how to proceed forward.

As Donna and Terry seem to have produced a better response, she elects to stay quiet, likely trying to suss out why her first approach failed. Caitlin catches Vic's eye and shrugs minutely at him, then covers the motion up by adjusting the backpack straps to ride higher on her shoulders.

Let the Paladin and the Bard do the talking, after all!

Terry O'Neil has posed:
There is a brief sparkle in Vorpal's eyes, a look that Donna might recognize. Just as the Commissar has to restrain his instincts, so too does the Cheshire have to dig his heels in and resist the pull. Seeing him so easily offended, and a society in which such events can truly lessen people, stokes the fires of chaos. Vorpal has been in his Cheshire shape now for more than three days, and he feels the pull of the influence growing stronger.

Imagine, he thinks to himself, of the sheer havok that could be brought about by one such as himself, capable of stepping anywhere he pleased and bringing offense gleefully and gladly to all he came across, poking holes at their pomposity and supercilious mannerisms just as he once caused the Queen of Hearts to rage her poor self into a stupor by having the gall to be a head without a body, and therefore rendering her threats of decapitation and the power of the of the bloodsoaked House of Hearts completely impotent. He could wage social horror from behind mirrors, from holes out of thin air, and bring it all to pass with the demands that his friend's desire for knowledge be satisfied, else all be lessened.

He takes a deep breath. No, Terry says, get a hold of yourself.

Instead, he speaks with a measured, warm voice, "Perhaps you would have the good grace to carry our inquiries to the experts, with us remaining but quiet witnesses of the exchange, that all measures of what must be, be satisfied accordingly."

It is unlikely to yield any results, but if it is successful it would allow them a glimpse of an interaction between those with the necessary social capital that might give them a base- some observation by which they might get a few clues on how to function in this world without causing massive offense.

Although he /could/... and wouldn't it be /fun/?

Deep breaths, O'Neil. Deep breaths.

Victor Stone has posed:
Victor catches Caitlin's shrug and rolls his eyes a little bit in response. Fortunately, all he has to do to cover that move is to turn so that Duvann can only see his artificial eye. Featureless as it is, except when he does something to make it light up, a roll is nearly impossible to detect if you don't know exactly what to look for.

Still, that line of thought gives him an idea for an alternative to asking this guy what the hell fisk is. He lifts his left arm and starts tapping away at the cracked display there, scanning for radio signals: time to play alien invader and monitor the local broadcasts. He can do video playback on his eye and audio playback on his own internal speakers. Hopefully that will give him some idea what kind of image people try to project in public to increase their fisk supplies.

Out loud, he tries another tack. "I don't know, Commissar. Just a second ago you were saying how great it would be if we blew your mind by being super cool aliens. Now you're all spooked at the prospect of taking a little risk in the hope that that might be the case." He gives an eloquent shrug: both in terms of the chorus of clanks it generates, and the more traditional sense of expressiveness. "Make up your mind."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Commissar Duvann listens politely to Vorpal's suggestion and inclines his head thoughtfully. He turns a questioning expression on Donna, who nods her head in response. "That may be an acceptable compromise," she agrees. "We will prepare some questions for you."

    Duvann's response to Victor's attempt at a more forthright approach does not seem to be particularly negative, though it hardly brings a smile. "You misunderstand, Artificer Victor. I am not 'spooked'. I am trained to deal with offworlders. The crudities of expression, the lack of flare and vitality in your mannerisms, the prosaic vacuity of your pronunciations - these things barely disturb my equanimity. It is the thought of how my fellows, unused to such ill-disciplined behavior, may suffer. I do not speak of risk but of surety; you propose an experience that would benefit none and diminish the souls of all participants, yourselves included. As such plans by their nature preclude my involvement, there is nothing for me to be 'spooked' /about/. I would be diminished only in that I am a part of the universe that would be poorer for the events your schemes encompass. Nevertheless, your companion presents an alterantive that may be acheivable. We shall see."

    He removes a small device, approximately credit-card shaped, from a fold in his robes and passes it to Terry. "This will bear the credit of your trades, when they are settled. You may use it to acquire food and lodgings at the starport hotel. Once you have settled upon your questions, you may pass the document to me and I shall determine whether some satisfaction may be achieved in this matter."

    He nods his head vauely, gives Caitlin a small sneer, and marches off to rejoin Lucan. Donna turns to Caitlin with a gentle smile and gives her a 'what can you do' shrug.

    Victor's exploration of local broadcasts is something that will take some time to make much sense out of; from first impressions though it seems clear the Duvann's pomposity is very much the norm for this society, and the favored form of entertainment appears to be declamatory addresses on varied and generally impenetrable subjects.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"Good Lord," Caitlin grumbles, once she's sure Duvaan's out of earshot. It's as close as she ever gets to cursing, and the glance heavenword makes it more appeal for resilience than blasphemy. "See, this is why I shouldn't be in charge of any of the media stuff," she reminds her teammates. "Or any foreign diplomatic relations that don't involve me getting to bake something as an ice breaker."

"Golly, that guy!" she huffs, and shrugs her frustration into her backpack straps to the point that they creak. "I haven't felt like this much of a rube since I first moved to New York."

Cait's chin uplifts at the credit chit. "Well, he wasn't totally unhelpful. First thing's first, medical supplies, yeah?" she reminds the others. "Maybe we should split up and shop around. If someone figures out what this... whole deal is, let me know, but I'm worried I'm just gonna sink our whole expedition by being polite at the wrong time."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Vorpal reaches out to squeeze Cait's hand. He would squeeze her shoulder, but he didn't bring his step-ladder with him, "Don't you pay him any mind, Cait," he mutters quietly, "I get the impression that this whole planet's existence is something that old Aristophanes would have given his right arm to write plays about. It'd make 'The Clouds' look like 'Death of a Salesman' in comparison, that's for sure.'"

Cait's suggestion of splitting up gets a nod from him, "Split the party up and do some shopping and snooping. Shnopping. We can cover some ground that way but... I need to change. When we're out of sight. I'm starting to get... funny thoughts. And I'm starting to get a mounting drive to offend as many people as I possibly can. And I can /Rabbit Hole./ I've been the cat too long..."

He glances over at Donna and the rest of his team. This isn't something he has shared with them, only with Gar. "When I'm... fuzzy for too long, I start getting... Wonderlandy."

Clear as mud.

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic's artificial eye flickers and tinny voices can be heard from his speakers, and his expression rapidly sours. "Oh, nooo," he groans, tilting his head to one side and rubbing at his forehead with one metal hand, while he winces at no one in particular. "Don't worry about it, Cait. Just in case 'prosaic vacuity' wasn't enough of a clue, from the broadcasts I'm tapping, I'm starting to think we've landed on Planet Jargon. Fisk might just be dick-measuring with a thesaurus."

His scowl deepens even further as he continues, "I never thought I'd say this, but God, if only my dad were here. They'd love him. You would not believe the things he considered dinner table conversations." He shakes his head. "I bought into it when I was little, too. Thought I could impress him. 'Father, harken to the novel polysyllables I discovered in the interregnum between my midday and evening repasts! I'm cocksure you'll find them most mellifluous!'"

The squeaky nerd voice he uses for this is both adorable and kind of annoying. Who can even guess as to its accuracy? He grunts, which lengthens into a sigh. "Not that it ever worked." He swaps to a deeper, condescending voice. "'Victor, cocksure has entirely the wrong connotations for that sentence. Henceforth, try grasping the meaning AND usage before you assume you've genuinely enhanced your vocabulary.'"

He lets out another sigh, then shrugs at the suggestion of splitting up. "Probably send me with whoever's buying the most or the heaviest stuff. At least I can carry stuff good." He pauses there, and gives Vorpal a quizzical look. "I didn't realize it was a mental thing, not just a physical thing. You need to go back to the ship?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    "Let's try not to offend too many people until we actually need to," Donna tells Vorpal with a wry smile. "Unless someone's actually got some kind of clue as to what sets these guys off and what impresses them, I think it's best if we communicate with them as little as possible."

    She nods her head to where Lucan and Duvann stand examining the cargo manifest together. "I suggest we leave it to Lucan to handle the trading," she says. "He is Trader Lucan, after all. They seem not to hate him quite as much as they hate us. I wonder if he speaks to them the way Vic's dad speaks. You may be on to something there, Vic. "

    "How about we check out the hotel? Get some proper food to eat, get ourselves rooms for the night where Terry can do his thing, maybe see if there are any other offworld visitors who can give us a clue how to speak to these idiots. If there are any more of these clowns there, Vic can try out his mellifluous and cocksure vocabulary on them. "

    Donna keeps staring thoughtfully at Duvann. "Alternatively, Cait? If we get nowhere with this I suggest we appoint your fists as our offical diplomats. You notice how much security there is here? You'd expect the star port to have quite a lot and I see nothing. "

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"I like that plan, that's a good plan," Caitlin tells Donna with a wag of her chin. "Unless someone wants to start discussing biomedicine or engineering, me trying to talk up like that's just gonna make my stutter come back." That idea provokes a grimace from the redhead-- it had taken more than a couple years to get over that particular social quirk. The grimace disappears at the squeeze from Terry's hand and she gently returns the touch, flashing a dimpled smile of her own back at him.

"Okay. First things first, right?" she says, nodding encouragingly. If she can't charm the locals, she'll fall back on cheering up her friends. "Shelter, water, food, medical care. If they've got anything like a kitchenette, I might even be able to cook some dinner."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"And your cooking might actually be a good way to impress the locals. Your cookies are enough to bring back the dead, I am sure a cookie is worth a thousand four-dollar words." Vorpal grins, and then looks at Donna with a contrite look "Y-yeah, no need to offend people."

"Yet." He adds with a slight smirk, "But let's not tempt fate... Vic, it is somewhat mental. Think of me as having an annex to my soul... that is part of my own soul, but a different side of it. The part of my soul that comes from Wonderland. The longer I visit that annex, the more likely the things in that area are tempted to visit the rest of the house. I'm... not entirely sure what'd happens if I let it run its course, but an alien world is probably the worst possible place to run the experiment."

"But we do have a plan of action, however unknown the territory."

Victor Stone has posed:
"It will hurt what's left of my soul to be that pretentious, but I can do it for the team," Vic tells Donna, still looking less than thrilled at the prospect. "Hotel works for me. How do we tell the Echon-ians from the visitors so that I can give the old synonym factory a test run?" he asks, tapping one temple -- hard enough to hurt, from the pinched expression he makes when he does it.

But that's quickly forgotten: he breaks into a broad grin at Caitlin's offer. "Man, this whole crazy planet is worth it if it means I get to have some of your cooking again, Caitlin," he says, with genuine enthusiasm sparking in his eyes again. "Good thing you're already the main keeper of the shopping list. I mostly know how to do 'meal prep,' not real cooking."

Vorpal gets a quick nod; although the Wonderland particulars are specific to him, the general gist doesn't seem to take Vic by surprise. "Makes sense. A lot of people with certain power sets get mental or emotional feedback from them. Don't ask the girls about the 80 million times some rogue AI or dickhead technopath or badly planned upgrade started messing with me." He smirks slightly, then lifts his left arm and peers down at the obvious patch where he added on the entropic transponder. "Speaking of which, plugging in this flat earth module better not have any side effects."

Donna Troy has posed:
"On Nim we mostly avoid The Echoni," the purple giant says with an echoing laugh. "But our anthropologists are of course fascinated. One of them put it to me like this: 'They imagine one's life could be distilled into a droplet of fluid that is the essence of that life, all extraneous matter boiled away. A life that is full of status, grandeur, nobility, pomp, intellectual exploration, vivacity and elan leaves a rich, pungent and fulsome reside, while a mean life leaves behind nothing but vapors. This essence is what the Echoni call 'fisk' and their lives revolve around the quest to instil within themselves a nature that provides it in abundance.' This is my eighth visit here and I remain convinced it's all nonsense, perhaps even some elaborate game they play with each other. I imagine them laughing at us once we have left their world behind, revelling in the idea that we actually take their nonsense seriously." He punctuates the explanation with a short bark of laughter, and downs his drink.

    The hotel had turned out to have no obvious targets for Victor to practise his loquacity on - everything is automated, from check in to the restaurant. It seems the Echoni go to some efforts to avoid having to deal with offworlders any more than strictly necessary. There is alas no sign of a kitchenette in the room that the Titans had acquired for the night, but the automats at the small combined bar and dining room included some very human looking and perfectly edible fare. It may not be up to the standards of Caitlin's cooking, but it's proper food, and the credit marker on the card that Devann had handed to the Titans seems to indicate that they won't have a problem for money. Trade apparently happens fast on Echon, if nothing else does.

    The purple giant, towering even over Victor, had been the only other occupant of the bar when the Titans had gone down in search for food, and he had quickly introduced himself as "Khuff, from Nim - the only damn SANE planet in this system!" He matches Lucan for joviality and friendliness, and at least seems willing to attempt to explain the mystery of Fisk.

    "So you just arrived?" he asks. "I recommend you settle on Nim. It's really not worth looking any further. We have the simplest cultural principle and it serves us well. Honesty! There has never been a planet as honest as Nim. It is remarkable the difference it makes to life when you can trust your politicians."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
A friendly face, at last! Kufff's congenial nature and vivacious tone appeals to Caitlin's more Midwestern sensibilities. The food *is* acceptable, and fortunately Caitlin packed essentials in her Handy Haversack: namely, some spices and seasonings that are lightweight and suitable for a number of meals. They won't last forever, but it's a little welcome piece of home to go with the bland nourishment of the automat.

"We're not really looking to settle, I'm sorry," Caitlin apologizes. "We're just passing through. Trading, for medical supplies and looking for a power coupling for our ship." The diagram they'd been provided is shown to the giant. "But we might end up visiting Nim while we're seeing the sights. Can you tell us about it?" she asks, timidly, and ventures a smile. "If it's not rude to ask, I mean."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"This is so thoroughly un-Tao. Nin and this place seem like perfect complements of each other, but living separately. The excesses of a life focused on the avoidance of unpleasantness and standing on reverence and the exquisite, and a world focused on brutal honesty. " The Cheshire steeples his fingers. He hasn't changed yet, because a drink first is de rigeur. "Ah well. If that sort of posturing and affectation is needed here, I'll gladly play the role. Who else but a cat, a creature of absolute grace and elegance, to lead the interaction?" he grins and winks at his team-mates, taking a sip from his drink. "Even if it's all a whole bunch of bulldookie," he says, in a rare moment of honesty as he sets down the drink. "After wafting through the exquisite perfumes of the Echoni, some calling it like it is might seem extremely refreshing, Kuff."

His grin is positively wicked, though, obviously relishing in the notion of potentially tilting the delicate Echoni's sensibilities off the edge.

"But I should probably spend a day being... something more prosaic. To recharge my batteries and stave off temptation." A glance to Donna- don't worry, it says. Or maybe worry. "Cait is right, though, we'd love to hear about Nim. This is my first time actually traveling outside of my planet. I'm a space virgin, but these guys are super experienced," he gestures to the rest of the team with his drink, after grabbing it again.

Victor Stone has posed:
"We're going to try to find a way out first, even if the Gatekeeper says it can't be done," Vic tells Khuff, deciding to answer honesty with the same and confirming Caitlin's statement at the same time. "We've got some leads to follow, and even if they don't pan out, at least we'll have a good survey of the various planets here to let us make an informed choice."

He picks something that looks like a nice lean protein, but the controls on the automat are a little fiddly for him at the moment, and it ends up taking a few tries to get what he actually wanted. So it turns out he'll be going on a little bit of a culinary adventure tonight, as well. Only one of the dishes he accidentally picks up turns out to be really gross-looking, at least."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Khuff leans back, his chair creaking ominously beneath him, and favours Caitlin with a huge smile that threatens to split his head in two. Whatever species he belongs to, their mouths open a long way. "It is a genial world, Caitlin! Three continents are grand nature preserves and provide exciting experiences for the tourists. The herds of Lumna beasts on Kart, each herd a million head at least, thundering across the plains. On Vessal there are mountains that reach high into the clouds, their peaks inhabited by flocks of birds that have no natural predators. They compete with each other to grow the most riotously colored plumage. If you stand atop a mountain you see great shifting patterns of colour moving across the clouds like an animated abstract painting. Extraordinary! On Elmun the Sonorous Gibboons cavort in competitive atheletics without regard to their natural clumsiness. The effect is highly comical. The fourth continent, Kalion, is populated, with several cities of congenial size, none too small nor too big. The soil is fertile, the work minimal, the people happy. Criminality is non-existent, leisure is paramount. It's a paradise!"

    He lifts his glass of drink to his lips again to refresh himself after the long description of his world, then gestures with the glass to Vorpal. "If you can acheive the feat, you have a career ahead of yourself as a trader. The Echoni are good scientists, and create rather lovely works of art, for all that they are insane. There's good trading here, but negotiations are tiring. If you can posture and affect as well as an Echoni you'll certainly get the best prices!"

    Khuff doesn't particularly seem surprised by Victor's suggestion that they are looking for a way out, but nor, judging by his suggestion of a career for Terry, does he seem particularly impressed by it. Donna however follows up Vic's comments with a more direct question. "What do you know of Endovar, Khuff?"

    The giant shrugs his shoulders knowingly. "You're looking for the White Hole. I did the same myself, for months. I don't believe it exists. Endovar may have existed, but whoever he really was is buried under myth and legend. I won't discourage you, it's best to get it out of your systems - but do not hold out too much hope."