Conversation Space IV.

[powersthatbe]

The small room is painted a dark beige, with stained wood paneling on the lower half, and lush burgundy carpeting. The ceiling, however, is cracked and bowed, sagging alarmingly, occasionally shedding chips of plaster. Wrought-iron lamp-posts in the corners suspend pale, wan globes of light, and between them along the walls run rows of painted sunflowers, all turned towards the center of the room as if listening attentively. A jutting spire of granite rises from the floor on a diagonal, its flattened top sporting a cracked wineglass from which the wine (a white) slowly spatters teardrops across the plinth. And there is no chair, but a therapist’s couch, blue with gold trim, and ornate scrollwork on the legs, beside which the fluted horn of a phonograph player pipes music into the room, quiet enough to just be background ambience.

Comments

[lunchleader]

Right's vaguely aware of what's about to happen here. But considering that this is much nicer than what was last shown on the Network, his curiosity gets the better of him. Depending upon how long he's made to wait, he could be found tracing along the sunflower patterns on the wall, or trying to poke at the record needle even in the middle of playing said record.

[callmemeibe]

He does not have to wait long. In the middle of tracing sunflower patterns, the jazz record plays a trumpet riff, and then there is suddenly a presence resting on the marble plinth. It is an angel, plain and simple, with a ram's horn trumpet in their hands.

"Hello, Right."

[lunchleader]

Right looks up at the source of that voice, and his mouth hangs open in awe for a moment or two. "Wow, I didn't know one of you guys was an angel!"

[callmemeibe]

They seem to consider Right's declaration for a moment. "We take on forms befitting our respective methods. These forms are based on your cultures, in order not to disturb you." They take a small jump off the plinth, floating safely down to the ground with only a small flutter of their feathery wings. "You are familiar with angels, thus my form serves its purose. But we have more important matters to discuss."

[lunchleader]

"You change forms? What's your real form like?"

But Right does nod in understanding in regards to discussions. She's not acting like he's in trouble, so it can't be that...at least, he doesn't think so. Still, he obediently sits down on the couch.

And, after a moment's thought, scoots over to one end so as to give her room to sit next to him.

[callmemeibe]

"Incomprehensible to your kind," they answer simply. They seem to study Right for a moment, before adding, "These forms... are easier for you to see."

The discussion is shelved for now, as the angel carefully shifts their ram's horn trumpet in their hands before sitting beside Right. "You are going to represent me in future matches, going forward. I believe you call them... Jaunts."

[lunchleader]

"Matches?" Right looks up at her curiously. "So...we're part of some game?"

[callmemeibe]

"That is the easiest way for you mortals to understand it. Or a tournament, perhaps. You represent me, because I have marked you." They are rather matter-of-fact about this, though they do look sympathetic toward Right.

[lunchleader]

"Huh..." Well, that does explain the tattoo, at least. "Why'd you pick them, then? And what kind of game is it?"

[callmemeibe]

"... why did I pick you? Because I found you worthy."

They seem to consider the last question. "It is like a game... but it is not a game. It is a nuanced competition wherein we are empowered to influence Liminal Space and beyond."

[lunchleader]

"A competition...? For what? Do we have to actively compete against each other or what?"

[callmemeibe]

"You actively compete... in the sense you are working toward different goals, under different idioms. But I do not intend to forcibly put a child in harm's way."

[lunchleader]

"Well, that's good to hear. Though you don't have to worry about me; I can handle myself. I am a ToQger, after all."

[callmemeibe]

"I will worry because you are my Chosen. Your status as a ToQger is irrelevant to my decision."

[lunchleader]

"It isn't? Huh... thought it was part of it."

[callmemeibe]

"Admittedly your actions as a ToQger are notable in the selection process, but I have already selected you. That status is no longer relevant. Only your actions from here onward will ensure my victory."