4127/War Without End

War Without End
Date of Scene:	14 November 2020
Location:	Alfort, planet five of the Seven Worlds.
Synopsis:	The Titans visit a world of eternal warfare and decide to test out the age-old adage that it's hard to hate your enemy when you feel sorry for them. And yourself.
Cast of Characters:	Donna Troy, Caitlin Fairchild, Victor Stone, Terry O'Neil

---

Donna Troy has posed:
    Of all the things the Titans have done over the years, fixing an election is probably the strangest, and certainly one of the most morally dubious. In defense of the action it has to be said that President Johns seems like a genuinely good guy. Not that the previous president didn't also seem like one of the good ones too, but at least the Titans can console themselves with that fact. It also got them access to the Koranian cruiser.

    While now disabled and converted into a museum, it was clearly an impressive ship in its day, and if the Beating Heart, Endovar's ship was a match for it, the pirate vessel must have been pretty fearsome. Nevertheless, it's also apparent what a difference the Titan's dreadnought would have made to the balance of power here had it come through unscathed - the Koranian ship wouldn't have been a match for it.

    With unfettered access to the Koranian ship's computers, the Titans had been able to uncover the navigation logs and figure out a lot about that weeks-long conflict between the two great ships. The battle had covered the entire system, and the final showdown that had ended in the crippling of the Beating Heart had occurred between the orbital positions of Alfort and Gombar - a good match for the information previously uncovered on Caminask that it had crashed on Gombar.

    In the information dredged up from the navigation logs are the positions of twelve of Endovar's asteroid bases which the Koranian's had uncovered and assaulted during that conflict, thanks to a close confidant of Endovar who had been captured and agreed to switch sides. A thirteenth base, Endovar's secret base, was in a location unknown even to that confidant, and the Koranians never found it. Perhaps that's the key to locating the white hole then - and surely by matching the navigation data on the Beating Heart to the navigation data taken from the Koranian systems, the missing location can be found.

    It's with a renewed sense of hope that the Titans left Nim, having promised President Johns they will never return. Onwards, to Alfort - an irrelevancy, surely, but convenient for refueling and restocking - and then Gombar itself.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"You know, I almost want to keep this ship when we get back," Caitlin muses. The redhead's sitting at the conn with one heel tucked up under her hip and her chin resting on her knee. Her free hand types and makes minor course corrections. She's more responding to the ship's gentle alerts than doing much in the way of navigating or steering, thanks to the autopilot.

"I have no idea how much it'll cost to keep it fueled and flight ready," she admits, a few seconds later. "That might be something to take up with Richard. I don't even know where we'd park it. The moon? Geosynchronous orbit? I don't think we can exactly land it in Central Park."

Victor Stone has posed:
"I still can't believe I left you guys alone for five minutes and you couldn't stop yourselves from interfering in foreign elections," Vic comments over a half-empty bottle of Caminaskian beer. Although the hierarchical lottery was never as good to him as it was to Caitlin on her second day, he did at one point gain a position enviable enough to secure a couple of cases of it for free. "This is why people hate American tourists."

He's seated at the science station, and although being even mildly intoxicated on the bridge of a starship is generally a big no-no, his adherence to military discipline has never been what anyone would call exacting, and it's a /science/ station. It's not as though he's going to scan somebody to death.

He has been in better spirits since the tune-up on Caminask, but more in the sense that it was a relaxing spa visit -- a bit of time off from their desperate quest -- than that it has entirely solved his mechanical difficulties. He's been a little bit cagey about the specifics of the work that was done and what they discovered, actually, but he hasn't been tripping over himself or struggling with basic coordination, so surely something was accomplished. He just hasn't said what, exactly.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Far away from any possiblity of Gar being tempted to take it out on a joy ride," Terry says, sitting at his station and doing nothing much except shoot the breeze and wait. He has been in human form since leaving Nim, mostly for a change of perspective than anything else.

He hasn't said much about rigging the election after it happened, but he's aware that it seemed a much easier thing to accept in his feline form than in his human one. Was that something he should be wary of? "It wasn't exactly interfering in a foreign election. Well, okay. Maybe it was, but there really wasn't much in the way of options. I /could/ have created a terrifying Ravenesque illusion and frightened the poor man into helping us... but I just couldn't do /that/. Pestering him enough to want us to get off his planet at any cost seemed to be the more benign option... right, Donna?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    <<Vessel zero-one-three-one, Alfort Traffic Control to Captain Stone. We are forwarding an approach vector for landing at Alfort space port. Please be advised that variation from this course will negate your non-combatant status. While you will still be considered neutrals if you do not take sides, we cannot guarantee your safety. Also note that any actions you take outside of the Rules of Civilized Warfare will be responded to with deadly force by all sides.>>

    Apparently the Titan's ship now has a registration number, and Vic is considered the captain. Where and how this has happened is not clear, but the seven worlds do apparently co-operate on these things.

    "Listen to this," Donna says. "I've been reading their Rules of Civilized Warfare thing. 'Using any weapon that travels at speeds exceeding its own shockwave is a damnable offense.' So nothing faster than the speed of sound. 'Any injured combatant may declare themselves too injured to continue by lying prone. No combatant who does so must be attacked, and attacking an enemy after claiming injury is a damnable offense.' It's like a game to them. 'The use of explosives, toxins or radioactive materials is a damnable offense.' I wonder what the fatality rate is. Everyone on the other worlds seems to think this lot is crazy, but people actually chose to live like this. I wonder why."

    It's about the longest speech Donna has said since leaving Nim, and this is backed up by her reply to Terry. "Yeah," she agrees. "Best option." She hasn't been in a good mood lately.

    The shuttle disconnects from the battered hulk of the Dreadnought and begins its approach to Alfort starport on the vector provided. The planet has a single mega-continent, and while it's not as verdant as some of the worlds the Titans have visited, it looks like it should be comfortable enough, if not for the eternal warfare. As the shuttle gets lower to the surface, signs of many small settlements can be seen, but there's little to indicate anything of any real scale - nothing above a village, except for the capital city, also called Alfort, where the starport is based.

    About thirty miles out from Alfort City, Donna rests an hand on Caitlin's arm. "Stop a moment Cait. Can you take us lower? I want to see this." She points down to the ground, a mile below, where a group of figures mounted on some kind of animals can be seen, chasing another group of figures across some rocky terrain.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin looks askance at the screen then back over her shoulder at Donna with a mildly perturbed expression. Her hand flexes with a spread of her fingers in mute appeal. "Did you not just hear the World's Most Hostile Greeter?" she inquires of the Amazon. "If we deviate from the approach course, we'll be declared hostiles. I really don't want to go to war with an entire planet if we can help it. This dreadnought is at best five percent as dangerous as it appears to scanners."

Still, she brings up the external sensors and dials them in. It takes a few seconds to adjust and the optical relays send up to the main screen a magnified image of the pursuit below. The image is a bit glitchy and blurry from the altitude, relative motion, and artifacting from the CPU, but legible enough.

Victor Stone has posed:
"As your captain, I'm with the helmsman on this one. Helmslady. Helmsperson? I'm with helm." Vic interjects airily. He took to that promotion quickly. He takes another swig of beer, then the bottle is dropped into a convenient dent that he's going to call a cupholder. "Science officer Stone, run a scan instead. As ordered, Captain." He taps out a sequence into the console, and a screen off to the side shows a group of a dozen mounted riflemen pursuing twice as many spearmen on foot.

"Not quite fair," he grumbles. "Pikemen are good against mounted units in Civilization, sure, but they're a medieval unit and cavalry are modern."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"People have chosen to live under all sorts of organized insanity for millennia, Donna. You know this." Terry peers at the scanner and huhs. "So we are in Planet American Gladiators, except with real weapons. I wonder what their take on teleportation and portals is? Do they have any loopholes for those rabbit... holes?"

He peers at Donna, pondering whether he should say something. There were ideas that were popping in his brain, but there wasn't an opportune moment to speak to her about them. That, and he had been on his best behavior so as not to provoke her while she was in a mood. This was a rule of thumb he held for anyone capable of squeezing his skull like any old grape with the slighest of efforts.

"I sucked at Civilization. Any time I was doing remotely well, Gandhi's white-hot rage and bloodlust would get me nuked..."

Donna Troy has posed:
    The group on foot aren't even attempting to use their spears, it's all about taking cover or fleeing. The mounted warriors barely seem to be considering them a threat. They move casually, taking advantage of the additional speed their lizard mounts give them to take up firing positions and shoot at the ones on foot at range. Thanks to the amount of cover the ones on foot can take it's not the fastest operation, but as the Titans watch, two of the ones on foot fall to the rifles of the mounted group. Several more figures can be seen lying on the ground injured. The ones on foot are making an effort to gather up their fallen, but it's difficult for them to do while under fire.

    "No," Donna says. "I don't care if they declare war on us. I've had enough of this. This is not fair, Vic's right. I don't care if this is their 'way', it's the wrong way. " She stands up, draws her sword, and gives Caitlin a long, calculating look. "If that means going to war with the entire planet, so be it. I'm not standing by and letting this happen. "If the rest of you want to stay out of it... fine. Nobody's going to be able to trace my actions back to you. But I can't sit by and let that happen. I'm still an Amazon, and I'm still a Titan. Vorp, give me a Rabbit Hole to the ground, please. 'Cos I /can/ just jump out, but that would be quicker, and I'm gonna go Gandhi on these guys."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin gives her face a brisk rub, barely hiding the look of regret and indecision flashing on her face. "Yeah. No, I mean-- you're right," she says, with a resigned tone. She gets to her feet and makes an adjustment to a tag on her clothing. It morphs from casual comfort-wear to her green-and-purple leggings and tee combination.

"What?" Caitlin returns Donna's look with one of calm determination and includes Terry and Vic in it. "I'm not going to let you go down there by yourself," she tells Donna. Caitlin reaches up to undo her ponytail, then quickly binds it in a fighting knot to keep it out of her face.

"I've slowed our flight path so the ship will stay in range for a little while. Long enough that Terry can portal us back once we've intervened. We go down, we do our thing, we're back out before anyone knows we're missing. Vic, you feel up to stretching your limbs a little?" she inquires of the cyborg. "If you need to sit one out, no one's gonna judge you for it."

Victor Stone has posed:
"Commanders Troia and Fairchild, you do NOT have the authority to deploy an away team without your captain's approval," Vic says sternly, standing from his console and striding over toward them, beer in hand. When he is facing the pair from a few feet away, he turns to look over at Vorpal just as sternly. "Well? I didn't say 'belay that,' Ensign. If I don't say 'belay that,' you still do the thing. It's like opposite Simon Says. Beam us down."

As they step through what he presumes will be a prompt and accurate rabbit hole, he muses, "How do they even have rifles if explosives are banned? Are they spring-powered?" He takes another swig of beer, then turns and projects a force field in front of the cavalry, with plenty of power to stop their small arms fire in its tracks and protect the infantry. "Hey beeyotches, I heard this is a war planet? Not impressed so far. Make an effort."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Yeah, like I'm totally GOING to be okay with my friend going down there all by her lonesome. Like any of us would. Eff that- it's Titans Together, not Titans Comfortably Apart Call Us When You Need Help Okay?"

Terry stands up and reaches into his satchel for his mirror, "In case you haven't noticed, We're All Mad Here!"

Once he is transformed , the Cheshire cat salutes Vic, his clothes transforming into a generic space suit, "Energizing the Damnthilium crystals, locking on coordinates. But if I'm going to join the away team, I'd better look the part."

And, despite having a limp from that sprained ankle, he manages to do a passable twirl, over which a brief burst of light appears. When it has dissipated, Vorpal is wearing...

Well. The illusion has given him an outfit that might considerably be a variant of Diana's outfit, but tailored for a man.There are pants. But there's also a tiara. Yes. He's given himself a Wonder Boy makeover- because why not?

"Sufferin' Sappho, let's spread some peace around, damnit!" as the Rabbit Hole opens, he follows his team-mates. He doesn't need to keep it open, but rather he opens a new pair and sends it flying towards any members of the cavalry that may be too close to the infangry, after Vic has done his thing. He plans on causing members of the cavalry to crash into each other by using both ends of the Rabbit Hole to cause collisions. That should leave Donna and Cait free to do what they do best with the main body of the cavalry-- Going Full Fairchild.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna says nothing about her team-mate's quickness to rally round, but there's a distinctly satisfied smile on her face as the Rabbit Hole opens that is barely dimmed by Vorpal's provocative outfit. She can kill him for that one later.

    The arrival of the Titans on the scene turns things around shockingly quickly. Vic's force field hasn't the slightest problem blocking the oncoming rifle fire, and two of the lizards stun themselves crashing into it almost instantly. Two more, thanks to Vorpal's redirected rabbit holes, find themselves suddenly running into each other with a meaty thump that outrages both mounts - the lizards start fighting furiously, ignoring the goading of their riders, who quickly decide to dismount and flee the immediate vicinity of thrashing tails and claws.

    Donna rushes into action without a moment's hesitation, leaping past the forcefield and closing in on a pair of mounted warriors. She deflects the rifle fire that is aimed at her with contemptuous ease - as Vic had mused, these rifles are not powered by explosives, and their projectiles are subsonic. Before the riders even know what has happened she has hamstrung one mount with a swing of her sword, and while it was collapsing used it as a springboard to leap onto the back of the other before hurling its rider to the ground.

    The group on foot stand stunned, no longer rushing for cover, but too surprised for now to even act.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"Sufferin'--" Caitlin covers her face with both palms at Terry's words. Mostly embarassed at his outrageous entendre, but there lurks a ghost of a smile for a moment at his familiar and ribald antics.

The distraction lasts for only a moment and Caitlin digs in her toes for traction. The redhead bursts into an explosive charge with a furious shout that leaves ears ringing for ten yards in every direction. A charging lizard is met head-on and Caitlin checks it hand with a double-fisted snoot boopin'. The creature drops like a rock, poleaxed, and the rider goes flying over the saddle. Caitlin relieves him of his rifle and breaks it in half with her bare hands. It's tossed at the last rider, an oversized steel and wood boomerang hurled with an accurate and well-trained wrist.

The former owner of the rifle is bowled in the opposite direction and into a shallow creekbed fifteen yards away.

Victor Stone has posed:
"That is not a regulation uniform, Ensign. This will be reflected on your crew record," Vic says with dry humor after Vorpal's magical girl sequence. One of the dismounted cavalrymen takes a potshot at him, and he actually does a full-on Superman move, catching the bullet with an alloy hand. He turns to the shooter, red eye glowing furiously.

"I was /talking/, you jumped-up Great Value Davey Crockett," he blurts out, seeming deeply affronted. He stomps heavily over toward the soldier, crushing the bullet in his fist and then throwing it aside as he does so. While he's still several meters away, he lifts a hand and it rockets forward on an extending wrist to grab the man by the shirtfront and then yank him up close. "I'll have you know I am a Captain, and you have no idea how much frustration the pressures of command carry. Do you want me to take those frustrations out on your face? No?"

He hauls the man up, close enough to bite his face if he chose to, and finishes in a low hiss, "Then don't /shoot at me/ when I'm quipping."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"For he's the Captain of the Titans Four, and a right good captain, too!" Vorpal sing-songs, as he brings those whirling vortices around once more. The engines of chaos are fully powered up, and Hole A (leading to Hole B) cris-crosses the terrain, looking for people to yeet at each other. "We're very very good, and be it understood, he commands a right good-"

That's when he notices the rifleman taking aim at him. He drops to the ground at the very last second, but the loss of concentration causes him to drop the Rabbit Holes.

It just so happens that, just as that moment, one cavalryman was in transit between Hole A and Hole B.

Vorpal is lucky that no second shot follows. The reason for this becomes apparently immediately, as the rifleman points to the air, eyes wide in shock.

There's a derriere hanging in mid-air. Or, rather, the lower half of someone, legs kicking wildly in all directions as if their owner were trying to dislodge himself from his precarious situation, and found absolutely no purchase because there was nothing but empty air around those legs.

"Huh. Whaddaya know," the Cheshire Cat says, standng up and dusting himself off, "I guess there's -one- question answered about stuff I've never dared to try."

He then turns his head slowly to look at the rifleman. "Oh. Right."

The lower half sails through the air with the lightest of ease and, reaching the spot above the rifleman, the Rabbt Hole suddenly expands again and disgorges the captive cavalryman- absolutely intact but clearly terrified- and entrusts him to the tender mercies of gravity.

After the cavalryman lands on the shooter, both of them losing consciousness in the process, the Cheshire cat dusts his hands, looks around, and finishes his chant.

"And he's never, ever sick in spaaaace."

Donna Troy has posed:
    The formerly mounted warrior in Victor's grasp stares at him with wide eyes. His glance goes up to Vic's forehead, then back down again, and he drops his rifle. "I surrender, Captain," he says rather nervously. "But you shouldn't be fighting. It's not fair if people don't know what side you are on. You need to get stars first. "

    Donna fights with her mount, but it's a short battle before the lizard concludes that cooperation is its best chance, and she's quickly running down another warrior, who stands his ground and attempts to shoot at her. Her bracelets flash and the bullets are deflected, and in a moment she's on him. With her sword sheathed she uses her lasso this time, quickly entangling him and yanking him from his mount.

    The soldiers on foot seem at last to understand what's going on, and a cheer rises up from the group as they rush forwards. "Collect the slow rifles!" one older woman, presumably the leader of the group, calls out. "And see to the wounded!" These, it seems, are the priorities under the 'Rules of Civilized Warfare.' Stooping to gather one of the fallen 'slow rifles' herself, she leads a couple of people to the creek where Caitlin's opponent lies injured, to tend his wounds. Another group moves quickly over to the pair Vorpal had Gilbert and Sullivaned. Two grab the rifles and drop to their knees, firing off a quick volley at the last surviving mounted warriors, who turn tail and run, while the others check the unconcious pair for injuries.

    The strange comment to Victor about stars becomes clearer when the leader approaches him. She - and the rest of the group - bear star-shaped tattoos on their foreheads. The man he is holding, as with the rest of the riders, have crescent moon tattoos in the same spot. "Thank you strangers," she says. "You saved us."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"We're not on anyone's 'side'," Caitlin corrects the woman. Her tone is rather terse and less diplomatic than usual. "We saw you getting trampled by cavalry. Not sure what your articles of warfare say here, but running down foot soldiers from horseback seems to fall under more 'massacre' than fair play. So, you're welcome."

When Cyborg straightnes up from his tete-a-tete with the rifleman, Caitlin's giving him a bemused look. "'O Captain my Captain,'" she hails him. "I'm worried that the stresses of command are getting to you. I'd offer to take over the captain's hat but I think the ship likes you better than me at this point," she informs him, and a faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Victor Stone has posed:
"Surrender accepted. Man, if only people were smart enough to do that back home," Victor says after a moment of thought, seemingly mollified by the use of his spuriously attained rank. He sets the man back down, neither forcefully nor gently, and takes another sip of his beer. He doesn't comment on the team-associated tattoos -- it's never a good idea to start talking ink when you're holding a drink.

"Appreciate it, Fairchild, but it's a burden I'm willing to shoulder," he says instead, smiling. "One correction, though: we are absolutely on someone's side. We're on the side of anyone who's getting thrown around by someone stronger than they are. Now, speaking of my captainly duties," he glances upward. "You did lay in the course on autopilot before we beamed down here, right? They seemed tetchy about our flight path."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"The Captain can shoulder it, alright," Vorpal says, walking up and leaning against Victor, crossing his arms, "Stone is a leader like no other. A veritable chip off the ol' block, you can be sure he leads on a solid foundation and never, ever takes anything for granite."

He pauses, and then adds, "I figured that since Gar wasn't here, someone needed to do that."

Vorpal pauses. "Setting the course? Was I supposed to do that? I thought I was in charge of putting people in and out of holes. Once they come out, that's not my department- says Verner Von Braun."

He straightens up, though, and prepares to open a Rabbit Hole to the ship the moment it is needed. Just in case.

Donna Troy has posed:
    The leader gives Caitlin a sour look for a moment, then nods her head. "We appreciate your intervetion regardless," she says. "Though you have taken sides. He's right, you should register yourselves now, get the tattoo. "

    The man Victor sets back on his feet nods his head in agreement. "It's the rules," he says. "You lot are stars, now. Gods only know why you'd chose their side." He shrugs his shoulders and starts to walk away, and oddly the now-ascendant stars seem to have no interest in stopping him. He seems intent on gathering his own men together and checking they get any necessary medical aid rather than continuing the fight - apparently that's just how things work here. There seems to be no thought given to taking prisoners.

    "Because they needed our help," is the reply he gets from Donna, who's leading her captured mount back to join the group. She gives a nod of her head to the leader of the stars. "Sorry, we're not joining you. We just don't like to see an unfair battle."

    The leader sighs softly. "It has been unfair for a long time. They run the city. They have all the best equipment. They raid us freely, take our food and supplies. Our numbers dwindle every day. It has been like this for a hundred years, and it's why nobody comes to live on Alfort any more. Who'd take the chance of being allocated to our side? When I was young, neither side would be ascendant for long. The Leveller changed all that. Ironically named, really."

    Donna gives Vorpal a look that promises future violence, though she probably doesn't mean it. "Gar never dressed as /my sister/ to do it, Vorp. Hera's sake, do you have to?"

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin listens intently to the explanation from the Alfortian. When Vorpal's verbal sallies start gaining a little too much momentum she reaches towards him without looking to put her palm over his mouth.

Quipping's fine, but there's a high risk of a sarcastic feedback loop occuring if Vic *and* Terry get too much head of steam going.

"Yeah, no. We're not interested in tattoos, or picking sides, or anything like that," Caitlin says, echoing Donna's words. "But-- if you want to express some gratitude, we could use some fuel and provisions," she suggests to the infantry soldiers. "Is there a spaceport nearby?"

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic peers at the designated spokesperson for Team Stars, eyes narrowing. "You're not, like, racists or something, are you?" he asks with a frown, before turning back to his actual teammates. "Donna, if you dropped us into this fight on the side of some backwoods bigots, I'm going to see to it that you lose your rank. I can do that. I made it up five minutes ago, after all."

Turning back to the Alfortian, he continues without really missing a beat, "So, about this Leveller. Is it big? Mechanical? Some weak points that glow? It's a boss fight, is what I'm venturing by way of a hypothesis here. You need us to go destroy it to restore balance to your world, save the princess, and reunite the Triforce." He crosses his arms and raises one eyebrow. "There's some awesome reward, I'm hoping? Donna, what did we want on this planet again?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I'm not dressed as your sister, I'm dressed as the brother you never ha--mphf!" Caitlin's hand brings an end to Vorpal's spectulative genealogy of an alternate Themyscira. Perhaps it is for the best. His outfit dissolves back into the hodge-podge mish-mash, and he remains quiet until after Victor pipes up. Then, ducking out of Cait's reach, he adds-

"We're on the side of truth, justice, and looking good in form-fitting outfits. It sounds like this 'Leveller' has tipped the scales, and we don't take kindly to that sort of nonsense. As our brave captain stated, we'll gladly help set things right and then ride off into the sunset. If you can help us get provisions after we've freed the land, we'd be grateful."

Donna Troy has posed:
    "Racists?" The leader repeats, giving Victor a puzzled frown. Donna responds to Vic's threats of a demotion with an equally puzzled shrug of the shoulders. "Race has nothing to do with it," the leader continues. She gestures at her own group, certainly a mixed crowd. "Everyone's a star or a crescent. That's just how you know if someone's on your side or not."

    Several more of the group come to join their leader, standing around her at a casual alert. They seem pretty professional - probably not surprising on a planet with an eternal war going on. "Well as you're on our side now we can certainly share provisions with you," the leader tells Caitlin. "But the only starport is in the city, and that's under the control of the crescents. That means they completley control interplanetary trade. " She looks thoughtfully at Vic when he raises the idea of destroying the leveller, then lets her glance rove across to Vorpal. "Actually," she replies slowly. "We'd prefer if it wasn't destroyed. It's not technically a weapon, it's just being misused. Berion?"

     A man steps forwards, clearly not a human though not too far off - about a foot taller than even Vic and with ridiculously long arms that reach down to his knees, but otherwise basically human looking. "The Leveller was created by the Stars a hundred years ago during a period of Crescent ascendency. It was intended to level the playing field a bit by reducing the pain felt by people, and uses the tattoos as a focusing mechanism for the area field. It only works on Stars, and it meant the Stars could go on fighting longer. The Crescents captured it and modified it to amplify rather than reduce pain. They keep it permanently switched on, mounted on a tower in the city. We can vaguely feel it from here. Within ten miles of the city, it's hard to bear. Within two or three, we pass out from the pain. Honestly though, a hundred years of them controlling the city has simply tilted the scales too far. Even if you could destroy it, we're just too outmatched now to ever capture the city back."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin hears the story out, arms folded loosely over her stomach. Once it completes she looks around at the other Titans. A subtle grimace crosses her face and she moves her head minutely away from the Stars.

"Would you give us a moment?" she requests, and steps away to form a little confab with the other Titans.

"We're a little lean on supplies," she reminds them. "All this sublight propulsion is chewing through the fuel rods like crazy. Unless we get someone to repair the ... whatever the equivalent of an alternator is, we're going to be dead in space."

She bites her thumbnail, thinking, then looks up at the others again. "Quick adventure? In and out, twenty minutes?" she offers.

Victor Stone has posed:
"Excuse us. Sidebar," Vic says to the Alfortians with an ingratiating smile. "So this is why Picard always has them in the conference room," he mutters to himself as the Titans set themselves apart. Once there, he tells his teammates in a lowered voice, "So, whatever they're asking us, between the time crunch Caitlin mentioned and the fact that they're basically talking about a leprosy field generator slash electrical heroin projector, I'm still leaning toward 'destroy the stupid thing.'"

He nods to Terry and Donna, prompting them, "Ship's counselor? Security chief? Your thoughts?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"You heard them, though, Cap'n- they're too weak to make a comeback even if we destroy the Herpes Machine or whatever it is. To really be effective, we'd need to do something that strikes at their stupid nonsense of waging war against each other and instead start working together." He scratches his chin, "Perhaps demonstrating that, divided and fighting with each other, they are weaker? Just spitballin' here. If destroying the machine is the best we've got, we can start there."

Donna Troy has posed:
    "We couldn't... it would be immoral," Berion says to the leader. "They need to get tattoos. Launching an assault on the city without them would be... it would be wrong." The leader nods her head to him in agreement.

    "Doesn't need to take twenty," Donna says. "The shuttle must be over the city by now. If it's on the top of a tower we can just get a scan of the tower, Vorp can open a Rabbit Hole, and we yank it out of there. Nobody will even know it was us. Right Vorp? As for destroy or return, that depends. We destroy it, we're reducing the problem, but not solving it. A century of building a powerbase? Even without that thing, I don't rate the Star's chances. You saw how they were equipped, and how quick they were to go for this handful of rifles."

    She turns back to where the Leader and Berion are in their own huddle. "Hey," she calls out. "We can get it back for you. Thing is, we're not going to do this if it just means you're using it on them instead. Can you promise me that you won't modify it to work on the Crescents and just use it against them?"

    The Leader blinks at Donna in momentary confusion. "We wouldn't know how to," Berion replies. "Nobody really knows how that thing works any more. But it's harder than you think."

    The leader nods in agreement. "Apart from the fact it would take ten people to lift the thing..."

    "Irrelevant," Donna replies curtly.

    "It would be immoral for you to attack them again without getting your tattoos first. We couldn't accept that kind of help, it's just wrong. And the Leveller is atop the Tower of Stars and Crescents. You go there to get your tattoo. Anyone who becomes a Star now is immediately in the field. They pass out in seconds and are dumped outside the city. There's just no way."

    "Suppose we could get it to you right here, right now, without even having to fight anyone? "

    Berion and the Leader glance at each other and there's muttering from the rest of the crew. "That... would not be breaking any moral codes," the Leader admits. "And it would give us a fighting chance. The first in a hundred years."

    "Then it comes down to my original question," Donna replies. "Can you swear to us that you will never, ever even attempt to modify it to harm the Crescents in any way?"

    The leader blinks a few times, then slowly nods her head. "Y... yes. If you can... if you can do that, I promise you that there will be no attempt to make it work on the Crescents."

    Donna turns back to the huddle. "What do you think, guys? Shall we do that?"

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin considers, then nods decisively. "Yeah. That's actually... I like that. We're not attacking anyone or doing any damage. All we're doing is putting them in a spot to even the odds, not even giving over a strategic advantage. Feels... karmic, y'know?"

With the consensus from the Titans, Caitlin prompts Terry with a nod. "Quick tactical strike, shuttle-city-shuttle. In and out. If we time this right, no one even needs to get hurt. Portal up, Chesh," she bids the feline.

Victor Stone has posed:
"So, let me get this straight," Vic says as Donna pulls them out of their sidebar for her discussion with the Alfortians. "The gadget only works on people with the tattoos. But you all willingly get the tattoos and you want us to get them before we help you deal with the gadget because to do otherwise would be immoral and unfair. But the moment we get the tattoos, we pass out from the debilitating pain and are dumped outside the city and can no longer help with the gadget."

He continues, "Plus, because they're tattoos, this action can never be reversed if we later regret it. And you think that pressuring us into doing this on the spur of the moment IS moral, somehow." He turns to Caitlin and, in a ceremonious tone, tells her, "Operations chief, enter this into the log as the absolute stupidest planet we've ever landed on. And if these people try to give you any more tactical or moral advice, plug your ears and start singing like your life depends on it."

He frowns slightly at Donna, then says, "I'm not sure these guys should be trusted with thumbtacks, much less a device that remotely affects pain receptors that they don't even know how to service. I still vote destroy it. But this is a pirate ship, so you all get votes, too."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I vote we bring it here... and since nobody seems to know how it works, I can use my magic fingers to see if I can *persuade* it to work in a modality that helps even the odds, but no more." He wiggles his fingers, and purple magic sparks appear between his fingers. "In any case, we should go get the thing, and then decide the specifics later. A quick-in-and-out should be easy, that sort of stuff is my specialty."

As if to illustrate his point, the Rabbit Hole to the shuttle appears, ready to take them to the ship, and from there, to their next destination in this branch of Mission Impossible: The Planet.

Donna Troy has posed:
    "I'm kinda in agreement with everyone here," Donna says. "Cait's right. We'd be evening the odds. That's got to be a good thing. Vic's right too. These guys are the worst. And there is no way in hell we're going to get their magic tattoos that allow pain projectors to be focused on them, and probably rot their brains too."

    "One thing I'll say though, she means it when she says they won't turn it against the Crescents. Whether that's because they just don't know how so it's a small promise to make or not, at least we wouldn't be arming them. Just giving them a little help that makes them slightly less liable to hurt themselves on thumbtacks. So I'm kinda heading in that direction."

    "But I think we figure out the specifics now, Vorp. I mean we go there, we either yank the cable and bring it back, or we destroy the thing right there. I don't see any point in complicating things further."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin salutes Vic sharply. "Aye aye, uh, skipper," she bids him.

With the little mock ceremony over, the Titans portal back to the shuttle. From there it's another short jaunt to the top of the spaceport and the emitter atop the tallest building.

Caitlin scans it, pokes it a few times, and shuffles around it. Once she finds an access port the brawny redhead wriggles into the chassis of the emitter as best she can and pokes around a little.

"Well nothing here looks primed to explode, detonate, or rupture if it's deactivated. I don't see any fuel cells or explosive devices," she says, sitting up and hooking her forearms around her knees. "I guess they figured no one could get close enough that they'd need to protect against saboteurs."

Victor Stone has posed:
"Honestly, I kinda wish I could somehow hotwire this thing to get rid of the tattoos entirely," Vic says, standing next to Caitlin and peering at the Leveller. His artificial eye flickers as he tries to get some sense of the device's workings. "Just wipe the magic markings off their thick skulls for good."

He shrugs. "I mean, they could still fight each other if they really wanted to, but they wouldn't get press ganged for life into arbitrary tribes that can come in for blanket punishment or privilege." He lowers his eyebrows and adds sourly, "For some mysterious reason, that concept rubs me the wrong way. Perhaps a historian can help me unravel this mystery."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Yeah, it rubs me the wrong way as well, and you don't want to rub a cat the wrong way."

With eyes on the tower, the Cheshire is able to create a second Rabbit Hole for their heist. He stays within the perimeter of the portal, just in case he needs to manipulate it. "Isn't it amazing how, in them trying to solve The Problem Of Society, they created Another Problem Of Society? It's almost as if people and society are multifaceted entities that resist being herded inton any one-size fits all solutions. But what do I know," the Cheshire crosses his arms with a smirk, "Back in Wonderland they don't necessarily have the most sane of societies. Or people, for that matter."

Donna Troy has posed:
    The chamber at the top of the tower with the Leveller in it isn't a particularly large room, and it's slightly cramped with all four Titans and the Leveller itself in it. Donna has been standing guard at the door while Caitlin and Vic give the device the once over for booby traps, but there doesn't indeed seem to be much in the way of security up here, and nobody has come to investigate yet.

    There is, however, a fair bit further down the Tower of Stars and Crescents, which seems to be rather an elaborate tattoo parlor. Even whole the Titans work, a pair of spacers entered the tower under guard, and after a short and hidden process, one walked out, presumably with a brand new Crescent tattoo on his head, while the other is carried out unconcious by a pair of guards, presumably to be carried out of the city and the area of effect of the Leveller.

    "Stupid as it is, nobody's getting press-ganged," Donna replies to Vic. "I mean they're choosing the stupid. I'm sure if we stopped and asked, they'd point out that societies tend towards war anyway, and this way at least it remains civilized. They might even talk about how conflict has tended to be the biggest driver of progress in intelligent species. Who knows, maybe they are right and this thing is the only thing that has messed it up. I guess that newcomers are assigned a side to try to keep things level, but the Leveller has done the exact opposite of what it claims to be."

    "What a historian would probably say Vic," she continues, "Is to tell you all about the Levellers in England in the seventeenth century. They wanted to level the playing field too, but their opponents accused them of trying to bring everyone down to the lowest common denominator. On the other hand, their opponents were not nice people."

    She steps over to the leveller, now declared safe, and hefts it up in her arms with an 'oof'. "Maybe the lesson here is that you just can't make a society perfect in a single step, Vorp. Each of these worlds we have visited has its own flaws, but to be fair to them this seems to be the first one where people weren't at least happy. Vic's right. If we really want to level the playing field, we'd get rid of the tattoos. But at least this seems like a step in the right direction. That historian would tell us that the Levellers were a better side to be on than Cromwell's men, so I suggest we take this thing back to the Stars and get the hell out of this idiot planet. But the opportunity is still there. If someone wants to make a hole in the wall I can hurl this thing to the ground instead."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Extended philosophical discourse about the nature of Man and humanity's relationship with violence starts to make Caitlin's eyes glaze a little. When Donna prompts her for a hole in the wall it brings Caitlin's focus back to the conversation at hand.

"Oh, that? I can do that," she confirms, and looks around the room. A high window's spotted and Caitlin pushes on the wall with her fingers a few times. Satisfied with whatever she's inspecting for, the redhead starts throwing hard front kicks at the wall. The first impact sends spiderweb cracks in every direction; the second knocks out a fair chunk of masonry. With her hands Caitlin pushes out enough stonework for the Leveller.

She turns to Donna and gestures with a wide swing of her arm at the hole, and adds a punctilious little curtsey to the motion.

"Your hole-in-the-wall, Lady," she remarks.

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic gives Donna a half-frown, then a small shrug. "Maybe they choose it at first, but that one choice traps them for the rest of their lives," he says, still studying the device -- although his focus has shifted to searching for the most efficient way to sabotage it. "If you aren't free to walk away, that's not any kind of free will worth having."

Honestly, his attention seems to be the opposite of Caitlin's -- he was engaged with the philosophical questions, but seems a little bit nonplussed when Caitlin starts demolishing the architecture. "Oh, right," he says, straightening up from his inspection as he quickly puts together what they're planning. "That works, too. Just let me grab..." He trails off, dents the side of the machine with a quick karate chop, pries the now-bent panel open, and retrieves a complex little gewgaw from the Leveller's inner workings. Once it is removed, several critical-looking displays go red. "...this!"

He carefully tucks the component into a void in his chassis, where it looks -- at least upon casual inspection -- like it might have always belonged. "Even if they've got better engineers than they think, they'll have a real problem repairing it now," he says. "Besides... that looks like something I might actually be able to use."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"If we destroy it, won't the Stars be doomed to lose, though? They did say they've been weakened to the point that without the Leveller, they still wouldn't be able to strike a balance. But with it, they might. Then again..."

As Cait and Victor put in their votes, the Cheshire spreads his hands, "This whole system they've got going is really dumb and maybe they'll come to a better solution..."

He coughs, and straightens an invisible tie. "Right. I shall open the rabbit hole so we can bring the levelled Leveller back to them, right-o?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    Sometimes it's just not entirely apparent how decisions get made. Victor, Donna and Caitlin have been together for years and know this well; the decisions that are made when you're a superhero are often complicated and might in an ideal world benefit from many hours of careful discussion and contemplation, but those hours are rarely available. It's often the actions, not the words, that sway the debate, and the Titans have a lot of trust for each other.

    Caitlin has chosen the hole in the wall option. Victor has opted for a bit of sabotage. While there may be some doubts in Donna's mind about the concept of destroying a device that was intended to heal, these are powerful arguments. "Maybe we can force them to come up with a better solution," Donna tells Vorpal with a grin. She takes a couple of steps over to the hole in the wall, hefting the deadweight of the Leveller with her, and peers out. The collapsing masonry has brought some attention, and outside a number of guards, and a few people oddly dressed in black monk's robes, look up at the hole. The appearance there of Donna holding the Leveller adds to their alarm, and several of the guards rush to the door of the tower. Already footsteps can be heard rushing up the stairs towards the door of the Leveller chamber.

    "The Stars told us this was to heal them, but it was to heal them so they could fight longer. Perhaps this just tilts the balance the other way," Donna says. "But that no longer matters, does it?" She gives a mighty heave, and the Leveller sails through the air, well over the heads of the watchers below, and crashes to the ground into a thousand pieces.

    Donna takes her shield from her back, and slings it on her arm. "If the status quo gives the Crescents too much of an advantage, then we break the status quo. Someone take the door, we've got company. I'll take them from the rear." She unhooks her lasso from her belt, and swan dives from the hole in the wall.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"Finally. I could do a straight fight," Caitlin mutters. She rolls her shoulders around, then cracks her neck with a startlingly loud *crunch*. "Some of the old tank and spank action."

She moves to the door and settles herself in front of it, hands curling into a pugilists stance. Slow-guns *whack* and crack from the stairwell. Caitlin shields her eyes behind her forearm and waits until someone attempts to rush her with a sword. The thrusting blade is caught in her hand and the redhead stares pointedly at the attacker. The blade bends, quivers, then *snaps* like a gunshot going off.

Both pieces of the blade are dropped at the soldier's feet. He clearly decides discretion is the better part of valor and bolts away, launching himself over the heads of the other guards coming up the steps.

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic tilts his head from side to side and grimaces as Vorpal offers a few more concerns. "I mean, I see their side of things. But 'hey, this terrible weapon has driven us to the brink of extinction, but give it to us and we'll be super fair about how WE use it' is just not a very good pitch." He takes a deep breath, rolls his eyes, then allows, "OK, technically their pitch is 'we're actually too dumb to use it to its full terrible potential,' but that isn't really better."

He shakes his head, sighs, and continues, "I'd be fine with helping them establish safe zones or something, but they don't actually seem to WANT to get away from the fighting, they just want to be the victors. Personally, I'm in this line of work to protect people, not to help them conquer their neighbors, and having a bunch more Victors around here would just be confusing."

Of course, as he's finishing his little joke through a tight smile, he's already moving toward the door, raising a purple-gray projected shield ahead of him. "Try to stay behind me, non-bulletproof guy. Rabbit holes good, bullet holes bad." As Caitlin intimidates the lead swordsman, he covers her flank and then bull-rushes past her, steamrolling the onrushing guards down the stairwell like an offensive lineman. "Going DOWN!" he hollers. "Next floor running shoes, medical supplies, and soiled underwear!"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I love it when you talk tactical," Vorpal smirks as Donna puts the plan into motion. Seeing how Victor and Caitlin are taking the very aggressive charge, he decides there isn't much he can do for the nigh-unbreakable duo but hang back. "Well, that's one way of doing it. But, you know, Rabbit Holes aren't the /only/ thing I can do!"

The Cheshire follows Vic down the stairs, positively skipping down the steps, hands in his pockets, whistling. Vic will take care of the soldiers coming down the stairs, he'll provide backup for threats that he can't immediately put down. They must be here, somewhere.

Besides, he had a new trick he wanted to try out.

Donna Troy has posed:
    The battle on the stairs is decidedly one-sided as the slow bullets don't do much to Caitlin or Victor's toughened exteriors, and while the soldiers here virtually live for warfare and are no slouches, they are a whole lot squishier. After the first minute, the biggest challenge to the Titans is making their way past the increasing heaps of unconscious guards. By the time they reach the ground floor, Vorpal's nonchalant descent behind the two older Titans has yet to provide any evidence of anything the two tanks can't put down with some ease.

    It's here on the ground floor that the Titans are reunited, as no sooner as the three reach the bottom but the doors crash open from the impact of two guards being hurled bodily into them. Donna stands just outside, and visible beyond is the aftermath of what can best be described as an Amazon rampage - it looks like Caitlin isn't the only one who was itching for a good old-fashioned brawl. A dozen Crescent guards lie scattered around, several vehicles are burning in the streets, and a gun tower has been brought to the ground. A large body of Crescent guards is assembled beyond Donna, lead by someone with enough pips and stars on his uniform to indicate this has gone to the highest ranks already. The Crescent guards advance.

    "ENOUGH!" The voice comes from a dim archway leading through to the main chamber of the ground floor. A group of figures in the black monk robes step out, five levelling blasters at the Titans, the sixth stepping out in front to address them - and the Crescent guards. "This fighting will stop, now. You, outworlders, have broken the laws of Alfort. You have targeted the Crescents and taken the side of the Stars, but you have not become citizens. You have committed a damnable offense. However we offer you a final opportunity to redeem yourselves before we take action. Step inside and enter the machine. Get your tattoos, and become Crescents or Stars. Or leave this world and never return. "

    The bestarred general of the Crescents steps forwards. "Holy One, I object! These outworlders have caused our side irreparable damage already. In compensation I demand they are given to our side rather than subject to the lottery. This will maintain the balance!"

    "Your demands are rejected, General," The monk leader replies. "They are too powerful. Two will join each side, this and only this will ensure balance in the long term."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin's barely breathing hard. She and Vic have been tag-teaming in fights for many years now. The two move like a flow of water to flank, strike, and power their way through the enemy ranks. It's a credit to a lot of years of experience and training.

Fists rest loosely on her hips when the monk addresses them. Brows rise, and when the monk makes his demands and then delivers ultimatum, she snorts and laughs once. "First-- we haven't taken any sides," Caitlin points out. "We're just looking for supplies and information, which the Stars promised us. That makes us... mercenaries, I guess," she hazards.

"Second, it's not like we gave them the Leveller, which they actually asked for. We literally levelled the playing field. Neither side has the advantage anymore. Right?"

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic raises his shield against the blasters -- mainly protecting Vorpal, he's not too worried about himself -- and snaps back to the monk, "Take it up with your editor, Obi-Wan. Your rulebook just talked about explosives and radiation and bullets. If we'd known a good old-fashioned ass-kicking was illegal on your weaksauce war planet, we'd never have landed." It's a flagrant taunt, but the flow of combat alongside Caitlin has his adrenalin up. "Seems to me we've done more to 'maintain the balance' in the past twenty minutes than you dingbats have managed in decades. Did you think that machine upstairs was a dishwasher?"

He gives an especially derisive snort at the 'threat' of exile, and finishes his speech by playing a short voice clip of Smèagol yelping 'leave now... and never... come back!'

Terry O'Neil has posed:
After his team-mates deliver their ultimatums, the Cheshire laughs and points at the robed figure, "Oh how /adorable/, he thinks he has authority."

His smile disappears, as he recites in a sing-song voice, "Through hatred and warring peace is never won
And one war leads to more wars when all is said and done
And hatred is handed down from father to son
For to start off a war it does take more than one."

But it is war that you want? Do you think you can play at war, pretend to strip it of its teeth and claws and *tame* it in a game? Indulge in such baseness and call yourselves 'civilized', as you feed the beast that is never sated. How long, do you think, before it is loose from its shackles and at your very doors?"

The grin returns, this time accompanied by glowing red eyes, like embers. "Sooner than you think."

It is at this moment that the Cheshire arches his back and lets out a bloodc-urling scream. And then, there is darkness.

It isn't a normal darkness, but one that comes from his powers of illusion- literally putting a blackness before everything. It doesn't last long, however, as some light returns to the area- which seems transfigured. Where normal walls were, their surfaces are bone-white and blood-smeared. The ceiling, impossibly, seems to arch upwards and then break away, showing a starry sky with too many constellations.

Floating in the air is a figure clad in a flowing black hooded cloak. At first, some might see her as Raven, perhaps causing fear that the daughter of Trigon has finally lost her patience and has come to make her promise true, but when the hood rolls back, instead of the young woman's face there is a skull, with two icy-blue pinpricks of light in its sockets.

I HAVE COME TO DWELL AMONG YOU NOW, comes a voice that echoes like the closing of mausoleum doors.

Below, the Cheshire shrugs. "Shall we all go and get tattooed, so we all can perish in this civilized senselessness you have devised?"

The figure begins to descend towards them. It is now clear that it is much larger than it appeared, and that it is much further away, as it grows larger, and larger...

Donna Troy has posed:
    "Lies! They are lying, the outworlders lie!" The general calls out, an angry finger pointed at Caitlin. "They have beaten at least thirty Crescents already, destroyed a guard tower, destroyed several of our vehicles. And they have destroyed the Leveller, which protects the city from Star attacks! Their actions have aided the Stars enormously. They clearly took sides. They must be damned!" The leading monk stares long and hard at Victor, though under the cowl it's impossible to make out any expression on his face. "You have tilted the balance of the moment," he replies eventually. "It is our task to ensure the balance of the ages. Sometimes one is ascendant, sometimes another. The device you destroyed would have worn out anyway, in a few hundred years at most."

    A grin spreads across Donna's face, and she steps forwards. "Fine. You want to talk about the 'balance of the ages'?" She asks. "You've seen a little of what I can do. Your dumb 'Rules of Civilized Warfare' suit me just fine. Subsonic rounds? I can dodge them for weeks. You want people relying on muscles? I could punch this tower to rubble."

    The monks mutter at this threat, and several blasters are pointed at Donna. She ignores them and continues talking. "You know what else? I'm immortal. So go ahead, tattoo me. In a million years, I'll still be kicking the other side's asses. How does that fit your 'balance of the ages?'"

    The conundrum Donna offers barely has time to land when Vorpal's illusion puts in an appearance. The impact of the illusion is mixed. Amongst the Crescent guards there quite a few who just drop their weapons and flee, but several, including the general, are made of sterner stuff. The General himself looks, with some fright, to the lead monk.

    The monks seem less impressed. "You show how little you understand," the lead Monk says to Vorpal. "There will always be conflict. People seek to better themselves, it's an animal drive we cannot avoid. We have created an eternal conflict under the strictest conditions because it brings out all that is good in conflict - the creativity, the striving - while minimizing the deaths that unconstrained conflict brings. Nobody has sought to change those rules so long as they know there is a chance to shift the balance-in-the-moment, until you came here. Yes, it is you who is the bringer of Death, not us!"

    A new face appears on the scene, a Crescent guard running up to the General, who stops short when he sees Vorpal's illusion, to gawp up at it. He stands blinking for a moment before looking to his General. "Sir... the Stars... they are attacking the North Wall in numbers. We have so few guards there, we were relying on the Leveller, but it's not..." he glances back at the figure of Death. "This is it, sir, isn't it?"

    In sonorous tones, the lead monk announces "This is the time of change." The final word is repeated as a chant by all the monks behind him, chorusing the word "CHANGE."

    The general's eyes shoot wide and he takes a step towards the monks. "No! Give us time... we can still turn them back, you don't know..."

    "CHANGE."

    "PLEASE!"

    "CHANGE."

    There is a shimmering on the General's forehead, and on the forehead of all the other Crescent guards. Within a second, where there had been crescents, there are now stars.

    "It is done," the lead monk intones. "Who was ascendant now descends. Who was low now ascends. This is the way of balance."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:


Caitlin flinches a little when the illusion hits. She's grown more accustomed to Terry's particular theatricality but the scale of this one makes her hackles rise all the same. It's an awe-inspiring bit of legerdemain.

The shifting and blurring of Stars to Crescents prompts a blinking confusion from Caitlin. "Wait, what? What just happened?" she inquires rhetorically. "Did you all just switch sides? Or are you like, banishing them?" she inquires of the monk, and waves a hand at the freshly minted Stars still loitering nearby.

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic doesn't move as the illusion descends over the room -- in fact, he seems to tense up, his joints going rigid as his jaw tightens. It's for totally different reasons than the rest of the reactions in the room, and in fact, his own issue distracts him completely from what's going on around him.

"Vorpal, you're going to need to either cut me out of that or drop it before we leave," he says in an undertone. "On Caminask -- we bypassed my spatial awareness suite. I'm on a whole new improvised set of sensors and illusions like these can break them. I pretty much can't move unless I can see clearly."

Well, that's an answer to a mystery no one was asking about, or even knew existed. All talk of the balance of the ages flies right past Vic's awareness as he fixates on the balance of not falling on his ass. Each must follow his own path, as the Taoists might say.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Vorpal makes a mental note: no scene-changing illusions around Victor. Because his illusions are real images, not psychic impressions, it might be impossible to leave some people out of them and others not... but that's something he'll experiment with later. For now, his priority is not to shot-circuit his friend.

He holds his hands up and claps them. The sound that comes from that is like a thunderclap- a bit of extra illusion razzle dazzle, because clapping two *fur-covered hands* together wouldn't even produce a clap, but a 'fwump', and that is not dramatic at all.

The sound of the clap reverberates, and it seems to alter reality again, as the walls return to their old appearance, and the ceiling quickly reconstitutes itself... seemingly, in the nick of time before the specter reaches them.

"Creativity... my ass. You have a society that's psychotically focused on the struggle of survival, you can't even thrive." the Cheshire cat suddenly throws a punch... into the air, to his right side. A Rabbit Hole opens up in the nick of time to intercept his punch.

Its sister hole opens up next to the head Monk, to deliver a Looney Tunes-level punch-to-the-face. As the Monk crumples, Vorpal repeats the process a few more times with the nearest monks, and by the end of it the floor has a new Monk-themed carpet.

The Rabbit Holes close and the Cheshire cat adjusts his jacket, brushing an invisible speck of dust away. "Creativity. Hah. You don't even have drag queens."

Donna Troy has posed:
    The speed at which the Titans can come to a joint decision may sometimes still be surprising to Vorpal, new as he is to the team, but he's a member of the team too now, and the same principal applies where he is concerned. As soon as he takes the offensive, Donna follows his lead.

    Donna may not be able to tap into the speed force, but the speed it takes to intercept bullets with relative ease is quite a thing all of its own. In less time that it takes to blink she's inside the tower and punching another monk, then deflecting a badly-aimed blaster shot from one of the two remaining standing into the legs of the other. By the time it would take to blink again, that last monk is trapped in her lasso.

    Donna gives a glance to the former-Crescents who are now Stars outside, but they are too busy trying to gather their forces in an attempt to deal with the invasion of the former Stars who are now Crescents. She beams an approving smile at Vorpal, then nods her head to Caitlin and Victor.

    "So if there's one thing Dr. Seuss has taught me, it's that the solution to people wanting the right symbol is to make sure everyone has the same one." She gestures with her head towards the doorway. "As we now have access to the tattooing machine... Vic, Cait? How about you guys see if you can figure out how to make everyone into Stars, then we trash the machine and go home?"

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"In for a penny, in for a pound," Caitlin agrees remorsefully. Blaster fire from a stray sprays at her and the redhead hisses in pain; she counters by grabbing a vase and fastballing it at the shooter. It takes him in the face and the soldier crashes to the ground.

"Owww..." Caitlin examines the quarter-sized burns on her skin while she walks. The area under the graph for Caitlin's pain index is a little weird; she doesn't get sincerely injured very often, but knowing you're well-nigh invulnerable does a lot for the mental aspect of pain management.

It doesn't take her and Victor long to reprogram the tattoo machine. In fact the longest argument seems to be what they should replace it *with*.

Once the task is done, Caitlin and Vic emerge from the room. She dusts her hands and looks around at the Titans. "Okay, that's one more planet totally destabilized by us because they wouldn't just sell us some doggone supplies. I'm starting to think we're becoming *actual* pirates," she tells them. "So let's go get what we can from the starport, leave them some ... barter stock, I guess, and get to the next planet."

"I am -past- ready to get out of this stupid system."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Vorpal had suggestions. Boy, did he have suggestions for his tech-oriented team-mates regarding the Shape Of The Destroyer, of what the people on this planet would wear on their foreheads for the foreseeable future, as a reminder of their absolute idiocy.

He wasn't sure Caitlin would go for it, but Vic? Nobody can be Gar's best friend and not be open to some mischief.

When they're done, Vorpal quickly bends down to pull back the hood of one of the unconscious monks and studies the forehead.

The cackle he lets out is enough to make him eligible for an honorary pointy stick and broomstick, it is gleeful and bright in all the absolutely wrong ways. "Well, I can't say they didn't deserve it, to be honest," he says, as he walks away.

The monk groans, slowly coming back to the world of the waking. By the tine he is fully awake, the Titans will be out of sight. It will still be a little while before he can locate a mirror and see, on his forehead, the star-like tattoo depicting the utterly recognizable shape of a feline butt.