Divinity & Ducks

The workshop of Plant Hwyaden tends to be what you would expect if you mashed a bunch of mad scientists all into a single space. Workbenches are setup around the area with projects in varying states of completion, piles of raw materials, and what seems to be the remains of party decorations which have been left up around the area. There are marvels of artwork, and confusing conglomeration of parts and gears discarded in waste barrels, and there is an odd glow coming from something covered by a blanket in the corner. It's a pretty normal day in the Plant Duck HQ.

Wearing a long black cloak with silver trim script, Seliana in her human form sits at one of the workbenches. Her long white hair flows down her back in a single ponytail. On the workbench a variety of papers and scrolls rest, a small pile of letters ready for delivery are set off to the side, and Seliana seems to be working on another letter with ink quill in hand.

What a difference a year makes. Robert's recollection is that of a building suited for ghosts, nearly abandoned, gaping holes here and there from Tri-Edge's unrepaired rampage. And now look at it. Life. Activity. The hectic hustle and bustle of workmen going about their business. It certainly helps that, although it is autumn, the day is fair and uplifted by a gentle breeze.

Not that Robert has bothered to dress for the more cheery occasion. No, he's still clad in his standard, frankly somewhat depressing, adventurer's kit. Though at least he seems to have put in effort to have the thing properly cleaned and crisped up so he more resembles a shop-room manequin, and less someone who has just managed to claw his way out of a mud puddle.

It is not long before he identifies Seliana and makes his way over. He pauses a half-dozen feet away and simply loiters, enjoying his surroundings until such time as she finishes her letter.

And as things would have it a certain Nightmare Were Fang also happens to wander out into the crafting pavilion. While not a crafter herself outside the ways of music Kauchemar has started taking a bit of interest in what goes on in with the crafters as of late, for whatever reasons of her own she does have. Which has her poking about the various stations and such, seemingly looking over what's being used or what isn't as available as it should be.

As she hears some movement Seliana lets out a rather undignified "Huh?" and looks up to scan the area, glancing between the gathered individuals. Her eyes, perpetually a swirling chaotic storm of colours, lock onto SpritesHero and squint ever so slightly and then her eyebrows raise fractionally in recognition. "Oh, it's.." there is a slight pause "Rob was it?"

Setting down her quill she spins in her stool to face the spriggan before continuing. "We were interrupted rather abruptly the last time, weren't we? But all indications I've hear suggest it is quite dangerous to remain in a Remnant for any length of time - although I've not known anyone to verify it.." she trails off and looks to the side. "Yet anyway." she finishes in a whisper.

As she looks over she spots Kauchemar and she grins, "Kauch! How goes things with your staff? Last I heard it was nearing completion? What other news do you bring from your journeys?"

Then as if remember the guest, Seliana looks back to the middle-aged individual and inspects him a little more closely, "So you're a spriggan? What is that like? How does it alter your mind? Can you recognize the differences?" A barrage of questions. An interrogation?

Seliana hops off the stool landing with arms outstretched, as if the feat were some kind of acrobatic landing before she steps closer to the spriggan man, her head tilting slightly as she watches him closely.

If Robert finds that swirling chaotic storm of colours to be unsettling, he does a rather good job of appearing unruffled. Instead he simply greets Seliana with a polite bow--though it is notably too stiff to have had been practiced very much. "Robert. But Rob is fine," he confirms. "Might I ask what it is about the Remnants that is expected to be dangerous? Oh!" He develops a bottle filled to the three-quarters mark from his inventory, neatly tossing it in the air and catching it by the neck before extending it to Seliana. Kauchemar is greeted with a nod but little else. "Apple cider," he clarifies. "No alcohol. Probably."

With which reassuring statement he turns to the other matter at hand. Indeed, it is a rather puzzling one, made not a little more puzzling by the intent scrutiny he is receiving. "Well," he begins. "I do sometimes feel this urge to take over the realms and gift them to the Scrapped Princesses. Also, I'm short. It's rather distressing."

Kauchemar glances up as she hears her nickname. "Oh, sorry, I didn't interrupt something did I?" When asked about her staff she smirks a bit as she pulls it out of inventory and holds it up. Even when 'idle' there's a faint glow in the eye sockets of the death metal skull topping it. "It's complete, yes. It being able to channel and store elemental energy thanks to those elemental machine parts makes it a lot less strenous for spell casting."

Letting the staff rest against her shoulder, she looks to the papers in her other hands. "Oh, this is just considering some... future endeavors." She shrugs, wiggling a few fingers from her staff in a vage waving motion. "But don't let me disrupt whatever it is you two are talking about."

Seliana looks down at the bottle extended to her, before taking it and looking at it from a couple angles. "Apple cider?" and she hums. She then snaps her fingers, "Ah yes, very good." Then she motions in the air briefly as if navigating her menus before a slight frown forms on her lips. "Perhaps I should store more normal items in my inventory, I'm going to have to go get some elsewhere I suppose."

She smiles at SpritesHero, "Thanks Robert. That's quite nice of you. Give me a moment and I will get some glasses for us." And then she sets the bottle down on a nearby workbench before heading over to a cabinet that was setup off to the side.

Calling out over her shoulder as he hunts for the items she says, "Urge to take over the realm? Really really? Do you sense any specific target? Or just a general sense?" then seeming to find what she was looking for she returns with a few glasses in her hands that she also sets on the workbench, "Kauch, would you like some? How about you, Rob?"

She inspects the skull topped staff that Kauchemar takes out and her eyes flare in intensity for a brief moment before they widen further, "Wow, that isn't just any high quality staff. You've really made something special, haven't you? Congrats!" and Seliana gives the were fang nightmare a grin.

Then considering SpritesHero's questions she replies, "It has now been a couple different sources that have explained that Lost Grounds or Remnants of old worlds can be harmful. Artemis, one of the travelers, said that Adventurers like us who remain too long become Lost Ones. Seemingly permanently absorbed or killed, our data lost along with those who have permanently died before us and become one with the Remnant."

Taking the bottle she pops the cork, seemingly using a little magic, and starts to pour some drinks. "I've not heard of anyone who has actually stayed, and in fact most Lost Grounds seem to be guarded in some way so I'm not sure an Adventurer like us actually could stay without being thrown out."

Once upon a time there was a three-high row of furnaces producing every kind of ingredient, tiered baking stoves and kettles with spigots for pouring off liquid, tended to by multiple people, because one person had left them unattended.

Now, for guests, the normal attendants had been shoo'd off, and one person was back there -- hiding behind an island of workbenches and drawerspace between the 'sift, burn, heat, or boil' processing wall and the ongoing.

"Do you want your cider to be alcoholic? You know, I've been doing some reading, and I think the decompositional oddities of the world is why things like drinks - flavor in liquids - is so struck-out as important. Did you know-" Whiskey sour begins, hooded head now joined by robe-sleeved arms as she leans forward across the bare workdesk. The same one Seliana put the bottle down on. "-anything about the fermentation process? I thought it was an alchemical working, actually - a transmission of properties, but it's not - it's a transformation of properties. Cooking and Brewing are not trans-mutative, but trans-formative. Isn't that incredible?"

Her expression lifts to a gentle smile across dark lips, and then she remembers Rob for who and what he is.

"Oh. It's the feet guy."

"Best not tell the Barrista that his Remnant is the Recycle Bin," Robert comments, more than a little awkwardly. He laughs. Sort of. The sound is a bit choked, just a touch nervous, and lasts less than three seconds, even as he holds up a thumb against which his second finger has been pressed. Presumably an indicator of drink depth. At any rate, the world is now on notice: Never, ever let Robert make jokes.

Undoubtedly, therefore, it is in everyone's interest that he simply -stop- with his long-running joke. Regrettably, he's unlikely to put a stop to it on his own. "No, it's not targeted at anything specific," he reflects, with a languishing sigh. "It's generic. A sort of way-of-being. A reflection of the soul. Every day there is this urge to plan, to plot. And then night comes." He shivers, visibly. "It's dreadful, really. I..."

A pause. Dead silence, as his head swivels towards whiskey. He looks rather offended. Nay, outraged. "I do -not- have a feet thing," he protests, his tones most severe indeed. It'd be more convincing if his gaze didn't abruptly drop to Whiskey's feet.

Kauchemar aaaaahs. "Talking about those under the city control places. Yeah, those were a bit on the odd side." Then shrugs a little when Robert complains about being short. "Everyone save Gwen and a few others are short to me, so I wouldn't know how it feels," she adds offhandedly. Then shifts her attention back to Seliana again. "Sure, if you've got to spare. And yeah. It's very.. personalized. Originally I avoided a staff because, you know, wizard cliche and I'm not that kind of squishy spellcaster. But now, with one customized to my taste and needs, I see -why- it's a cliche for certain caster archtypes. Besides."

There's a solid *WHUMP* as she flicks it off her shoulder and smacks the skull against one of the smithing benches. "It is perfectly capable of being an actual weapon."

An ear perks as another voice joins the conversation, and a nod in Whiskey's direction. "I once heard cooking described as being the science of flavor."

Whis points. "He admits it! With his eyessss." She hisses, his gaze stymied by: Whis' tactical choice of standing behind a cabinet-table that reaches the floor.

"Keep your appraising disrespectfully to appropriately deniable glances, you. That's your warning." She huffs, before going right back to nodding and smiling at Kauchemar.

"That's it! The sorcery of senses."

There's a kotatsu in the corner. Someone's rigged it up to use fire-elemental crystals instead of coals because some people be like that in Plant Duck, using priceless alchemical magical material instead of cheap and mostly plentiful fuel sources.

Something stirs beneath it, and a snoozy-faced Imp pokes her head out from beneath. "Huh? Something going on?" She blinks, and then looks up, her hood sloughing off as she gets her bearings. "Oh, Whis is cooking again? Awesome. Aaaaaaand..." A pause. "Oh, hey, Robert's here. Hi Robert." She yawns toothily for a moment, shaking her head. "Ugh, everything is slow today." She begins dragging herself out from under the heated table when she blinks. "Wait. Feet guy? Robert's a feet guy?" She blinks again, taken by surprise.

Seliana seems to nod in recognition as the staff solidly connects with the smith bench, "It suits you, Kauch. Makes me wonder if I should consider trying to make something to help my magic too."

Seliana seems to brighten as Whis slinks out of hiding. "If you can toggle an entire wall to exist or not, I'm sure there are a few ways of going about changing the alcoholic properties of something like this." She gestures her hand at the bottle she is holding before continuing to pour the contents into the glasses.

As Proteus finally peaks her head out Seliana calls over, "Feet guy brough cider. Want some?" Several glasses are already ready at this point and she starts to hand them out.

She giggles a bit the seeming affronted SpritesHero as she hands over his drink, "It's all good fun. But I do seem to recall you were curious about.. was it the Travelers? What do you know of them already?" She questions.

Oops. Complication. "Um. Hi Prot," he greets the newcomer, his manner steadily shifting from the good-natured, light-hearted not-so-serious (yet awkward) joker to a man beset on all sides.

By feet (and a pair of hooves).

"Look, if somebody's going to be making the rather extraordinary claim that they can sense the nature of reality with their feet," he continues, steadily digging his hole deeper and deeper, "I think it -perfectly- reasonable to have an interest in feet."

Pause. "Your feet are safe," he informs Proteus, with some dignity. What the hell is that supposde to mean?

Accepting his glass from Seliana, though, he schools his features. "I do not, admittedly, know much about Travelers," he confesses. "Just a bit about one by the name of Artemis. Something about jumping between worlds. It all seemed rather vague and impenetrable, if I'm to be honest."

"That's the main thing, I think," Kauchemar replies to Seliana while accepting her glass. "It's different when it's fitted to your own needs rather than something stock and generic." She takes a long sip of cider, then lowers the glass and regards the staff in her other hand as she rests the heel end against the floor. "Though watching it being worked on by smiths and enchanters got me to thinking about how difficult getting some of those materials can still be, even for us experienced Adventurers."

She doesn't comment on feet. Robert is getting hassled enough about that. Besides, she doesn't have feet in this form, so to speak. Yay, hooves.

"I'm a druid, dummy. A Heretic. I'm connected to every element. I can feel them all, they're all real to me. Have you -really- walked, on those feet of yours? Let yourself fall on grass? Sat under clouds and rested your back on treetrunks and roots? It's not like before. We're different. We're built different. The flavor of the food, of drink, is the domain of an ability. Why isn't the experience of the world?"

Whis weaves and bobs, swaying with an extended hand into Seliana's offered glass of cider and gripping with laconically-curled fingers. "We all have those experiences, now, in different ways. Or have you really never thought about it? Why it feels natural, as a Spriggan, to feel natural? To feel right? Have you really walked as your new self?"

Whis takes a long, artful lifting sip of the cider, and smirks sidelong towards Rob. "I took a step onto concrete and felt it for what it was. Lack tells you something too, if you listen. Where I expected the love of the earth, all I touched was hard, rough, worked object. Like the taste of food you make in a menu."

"There's all kinds of fun things you can do with solids and liquids if you want to really experiment. But I think Whis' experiments get you tastier things." Proteus yawns again, grinning. "Apple cider? Sounds great." She slithers out from under the kotatsu and straightens up, brushing herself off and shaking out some of the wrinkles from spending an evening curled up under a warm blanket-table. She accepts a glass and takes a slow drink, taking the time to savor the taste...

Only to spittake when Robert makes his response and informs Proteus that her feet are safe. Thankfully, she aims /away/ from the rest of the group, spending a moment coughing, her face red... from embarassment or momentary choking, unsure. She does glare at him for a moment, however, her expression indignant as she draws herself up. "I'll be the judge of that." She says imperiously.

The moment passes, however, and Proteus relaxes as she gets the opportunity to be Exposition Imp again. "There's a bunch of Travellers." Proteus comments. "Artemis. Hestia. Loki. Ganesha. Others, too. All of them seem to be named after mythological deities. Each of them has been given credit for 'creating' one of the races, or acting as a patron for them. Hestia lives under Alne too, when she's not hassling Bell Cranel over in Crescent Moon. But they're called Travellers because all of them have come here from other... worlds." She makes the air quotes at this point. "Servers, if you will. Artemis doesn't like to talk much and Hestia is a giant brat, so things are kind of slow in terms of getting information from them."

Seliana nods along as SpritesHero mentions jumping between worlds and as Proteus mentions how information is rather slow. "Yeah, the Travelers seem to have some secrets which they haven't so readily revealed. I'm planning to try track down Ganesha to see if he can explain a little more about what is going on, but they are apparently Deus - indicated by the D icon. They've mentioned that they travel from one dying world to the next, but also that they seem to forget much of themselves when they do - similar it seems to Adventurers who die." Seliana shrugs, "I'm not sure I would just take them at face value though. Still, there definitely seems to be some kind of agreement between the political powers that Alne is 'for the Travelers'." She air quotes.

"I've met Artemis, Ganesha, and Hestia; but I know there are more around like Loki, as Proteus mentioned. I don't know much about the Deus Artosh that Gilgamesh was talking about, but it's strange that he says they are the 'last Deus', but I guess there may be a difference between the Travelers here and whatever state Artosh is in." another shrug, "I hope Ganesha will give me some insight when I finally track him down again."

Seliana then considers back some of what Kauchemar said, "Wait, you already have ideas for your next plans? You mean you are going to make another item? Or is this something else?" she questions.

Listening attentively to Whis, Seliana again nods and comments, "It's good advice, Rob." She looks at him somewhat seriously, "We've been here for years now. But so many of us haven't /lived/ here, not really. Ignoring things.. it can lead to unnecessary difficulty." She trails off.

Looking back over to Proteus, "Aren't all the Travelers pretty much always in Alne? I don't think I've heard of them going anywhere else?"

SpritesHero is attentive. Robert is -most- intrigued. At least until skepticism grows, and by the end of Whiskey's monologue he isn't even looking at her feet anymore. Or rather, the place where her feet -would- be behind that desk. "Do you mean to tell me," he inquires of Whiskey in the tones of one whose new puppy has been punted out a third story window on Christmas morning, "that all this was about you telling me that you can tell the difference between standing on grass and standing on concrete?"

Heartbreak. It would seem that Robert's obsession with feet will prove to be short-lived. Even if his nickname might have more enduring power to it. Well, maybe it's just his obsession with Whiskey's feet that will suffer.

Lifting his glass to his lips he drinks deeply of it (probably wishing that it were alcoholic). "I understand the need for...well, re-establishing everything from the ground up, so to speak," he begins. "Listen, feel, observe, understand. Fine. But a lot of perception is itself based on assumptions. Too much just isn't behaving the way it ought to, and at some point I suppose you need to decide whether you toss -everything- out to start afresh. But I'm not sure that's practical either." A pause. "Were the Palace folks on their own server? Or is that different?"

Kauchemar's mane flicks to the side as she shakes her head. "Not for another item. But for helping our crafter population in general. Bigger projects and keeping our numbers properly geared to deal with the invaders take more and rarer resources." She shakes the parchments in her other hand lightly. "Things that are hard to find. Or require killing some specific rare mob in hopes of dropping it. Lots of time and work, and in many cases locations where the crafters don't want to risk traveling... But if I could get together a few monsters that are good at digging, good at finding stuff, and keep them under control, it would be less risk to those with the skills just to get the goods they need. Supply and demand and all that."

"I'm saying it didn't feel of the same world. It was a created object. It was 'fake'. Of course you can feel the difference between grass and concrete with your feet, guh." Whis's roll is slowed to a crawl as she leans forward and blecks. The thought offends her taste and she has to wash it with cider.

"The place revulsed me. I can walk across dry ground just fine, but pavement felt terrible. It felt unwelcome. That -I- was unwelcome. That whole Remnant. It's probably some effect, but I could feel it through what was touching that unwelcoming ground. Rough's different than that."

"Sandpaper to skin's just damage. That was gross, felt gross, and the coffee was perfect. Which -tells- me things."

"Lost Grounds. They are not.. welcoming.. Even if they look familiar." Seliana agrees with Whis as she sips her cider. Looking to SpritesHero she continues, "At some point I think it is coming to the realization that you as you are now, is someone new. The parts of our mind that are of another world, those old building blocks that were part of what created who you are here, they can be valued and are important. But they also aren't you, not really, it is the data you were made from." Seliana gives a sad smile. "We aren't human. We are beings of data in world of data. The rules are all different, and we are still figuring them out, we need to adapt if we really want to survive and thrive."

Seliana considers the plan outlined by Kauchemar, "That does sound like it would be quite helpful. The alliance network does have a fair bit of information, but even with an idea it can be quite the challenge to actually obtain. There are also many monsters which are quite intelligent, I wonder if it might even be possible to setup trade routes with ones that have a society? Does it really need to be so.. competitive with them?" She taps her chin in thought.

There is a shrug from Proteus. "I suppose that's the case in my experience thus far, but despite my digging, I haven't found some of them." There is a sigh from the Imp. "I'm hoping at least one of them might be willing to talk and be less of a pain in the rear than Hestia."

There is a gesture from Proteus. "The Palace Lands are on their own server, but it was connected to ours through... some manner. It might have been the defeat of the 10th floor boss in the Tower that did it. The message that played might be related to it."

There is a squint from Proteus towards Whiskey. "You're really being affected by your Class choices, aren't you?" She observes. "But that's really an interesting viewpoint. I'm looking at things from a technical viewpoint while you seem to be much more..." She gestures. "Holistic."

Then there's Seliana again. Proteus smirks a bit at that point, and shrugs. "Yes, something like that. We'll see what we can do in that respect. That's part of my goal with what I am trying to determine with my new abilities. See how much we can push things, where the lines are, what the nature of our being here is."

SpritesHero's lips twitch, his fingers tapping neurotically against his glass. The silence lingers. His lips purse, tighten, relax. At last he inhales and speaks. "I'm not even sure anymore whether we -are- beings of data," he confesses, though it sounds like the admission needs to be hauled out of him by a tow-truck. "There's clearly...probably...well, likely some sort of data interface, but other things do not seem to make that much sense if we presuppose that we are data beings in a world of data." One hand lifts to rub at his face for a moment, as though to wipe uncertainty away.

Obviously it fails. But hey, it's a valiant attempt, right? "Alright. So what's the implication of the coffee, then?" he queries. "It's imported? Things manufactured in the remnant don't follow the normal remnant rules?" Though he doesn't respond to Proteus per se, he does mentally keep track of the conversation. "Hell, I don't even know the rules anymore. Monsters are adversarial. But then Kauchemar over there appears to be domesticating them. Or just controlling."

"Controlling," Kauchemar quickly corrects. "Monsters can't be 'tamed' like an animal, but they can be controlled and trained. A summoner has to have a strong will to exhert over a monster, or they might loose that control. Then it could run wild, or worse turn on the party when instincts kick in. You don't just... I don't know..." she gestures dismissively with the handful of notes "... throw a spherical container and start selecting commands." Obvious reference is obvious. "Though you can curry favor with appealing to one's interests. Case in point, I keep my Binders obedient by regularly polishing and mending the weapons they're posessing."

"If you're made out of carbon, as a carbon machine, with a carbon interface, and carbon neurons, taking signals from a carbon worls, and speaking with carbon-tinted air, would you say you're a carbon being? Yes, right?" Whis interrogates dryly, as Seliana backs her up, and Proteus questions her affectation.

"A connection with the world's systems. The carbon cycle."

Kauchemar's elucidating words on the nature of monsters gets Whiskey to right, tapping her chin and pacing behind her table again, her happy sway still absent. "It's a relationship of power, but power can still be used with care, right? Making it easier to serve. Making the collar not--" Black-nailed fingers lift to wrap around her throat indicatingly, and Whiskey grins once more. "--choke so much."

"An experience. Holistic, maybe, but here, now, we are in a world of data, a world of truths. I was an Outcast, and I was truly outcast, without the 'protection' of a nation. Now, I am a citizen of Uruk, and I -felt- a change, however slight, as things arranged. If we're still truly flesh and blood - carbon things - and not something new, something else, then where do our bodies go? What is the light that prevents surgery? We 'know' or 'expect' those organs to be there, we feel them, maybe, but do we? Or is it a phantom, something our minds create by its own rules. If you change what's in there, the whole is different."

"We breathe Air, drink Water, walk upon Earth, warm ourselves with Fire, sleep under the Dark, wake under the Light, and all of those together shape the world. And the abilities, our other talents, allow us to shape the world, as more than beings of data."

"So yes, feet guy. My feet feel things more than the concrete being rougher than grass. Because of the rule of this world, the logic of it."

Her hand falls, and she returns to her forward lean, smiling cheshire.

"So yes, I agree. We're probably not -just- data. We're data and something else. And the something else can change, very quickly, invisibly, suddenly. Wake up, and learn what your something elses are."

Proteus hums as Whiskey makes her assertions, and she rubs her chin speculatively. "That's an interesting way of looking at it. I don't have as tight of a connection to elementalism as you do, but I can see what you're talking about."

There is a furrow of the brow as Proteus thinks about Whiskey's words. "Data... and something else. What would that something else be, though?" She muses aloud. "I think... you're right. If we're /just/ data, then it precludes the idea that there's anything more to us than the raw data that makes up our form. We'd be replaceable. Interchangable. Modifiable. Variables in the memory space. The World is data, but we... hrm."

The Imp turns, leaning against a table as she goes into Intensive Thinking posture, sipping more cider as she does so.

Seliana looks over to Proteus, "What are the limits you've found for your powers so far? I seem to recall something about altering the parameters of items? But what about people? And wasn't there also risks to using those powers?"

As the conversation moves to monsters Seliana interjects, "But not all monsters are totally wild. I heard rumors of people working together with them, and even Glass somehow was cooperating with some in plans before for more nefarious reasons. I think it goes to show that some kinds can be reasoned with at the least, no?" Seliana looks between Kauchemar and Whis, she opens her mouth briefly as if to say more before closing it again.

Instead she shrugs, "I guess I just feel that there is more going on. It isn't quite so black and white, or it shouldn't be at least."

As Whis gets more into the discussion Seliana listens and considers. "We are data with meaning, power, and purpose. I suppose that is what I consider to be the 'something else'." And she nods, then looks down at her hand still holding the glass, "There is a lot more of the 'something else' there still to be recognized."

"I would not be surprised if Glass has a means beyond that of standard Summoning to impart her intentions upon monsters," Kauchemar muses. "There are always ways that are not... accessable to the general populace, as it were. That need to be found for oneself rather than given... Or we wouldn't have things like these moods of obsessive improvement that cease people." She seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs it off as she lifts her parchments again. "But I have more immeadiate and interesting prospects to delve in right now. Earth attuned monsters would probably be best for what I intend, but I need to find ones with the proper searching and digging traits to be able to do what I intend. Not a raw Earth elemental though, they'd be too likely to absorb the minerals along with the rock..." Now she's gone off into her own thoughts as well.

It wasn't a Strange Mood. Yet. If she continued to dig into this matter though...

"What do your Binders do to your weapons?" Robert asks of Kauchemar, vaguely leaning in her direction as he does so though his gaze is fixed on the Seliana-Proteus-Whiskey trio. He appears to become increasingly lost.

"Alright," he says at last, setting his glass aside. "I am -so- lost that I haven't got the slightest clue what y'all are saying." There's a moment's pause, and then he barrels onwards. "Setsuna got stabbed by a dog and bled everywhere until Prophylaxis fixed things. I don't know how that plays into the world being a world of data, and how only data can come from data and..." Another pause. He shrugs helplessly. "I mean, we could just say everything is data but that's like saying life is a dream. There doesn't seem to be anything that can follow from that." Master of the monologue, he is not.

"On a tangent to that, if our crafters have any particular rare or expensive regeants they require, let me know. I can't teach a monster to hunt a specific treasure if I don't know what resources we need that aren't easily obtained." Kauchemar looks up from her notes at Robert's query. "Use them, of course," she replies with a smirk like that was obvious. But then shifts into a proper explaination to avoid confusing Robert farther than he already is on other matters. "Binders are a type of Spirit monster... Essentially, they're the ghosts that posess and animate objects. In this case, a sword and shield pair. It's essentially their physical bodies. But as any Adventurer knows, using your gear causes wear and tear. So cleaning and maintaining these objects has a effect not unlike grooming your dog or cat would, to oversimplify it." Kauchemar taps a temple with a fingertip. "Spirit Monsters don't think quite the same way we do, but they still respond to comfort and care, and are more likely to obey a Summoner that shows some accomidation of their own needs."

"The coffee was perfect because I could tell he brewed it himself. Even with all the fake, you can make something real out of it. That's the law of this world. It is what you make of it."

Whis twinkles light, honest laughter. "Of course this world is a dream, if you're asleep. That's all I'm saying. Try to wake up more, and reach out with the senses you've been given. Make as many fully-formed memories as you can."

"Or something."

Kauchemar offers rare ingredients, and Whis perks right up to the were fang. "Yes, actualy. Could you get me some inks and dyes? Black and white, please. They're actually awfully hard to find, the good shades. I can get near-white and off-black, but the really really good, solid colors are atrociously rare."

Then a pause. "Wait, you're bonding with the spirits of your armor? I was thinking about coffee. I've been thinking a lot about coffee."

"My limits... I have to be touching the thing I want to alter, and there are logical complexity limits. I can change a trait of an objects, changing something about it from one thing to another. As far as I know, I can't alter people. People have various protections that keep them from being casually manipulated in most cases, and..." Proteus purses her lips. "I don't particularly like the idea of altering people in that manner anyway. And yes, there are risks... But one can be careful enough to remain below notice."

The Imp continues to address Robert's question. "It's important if the world is data." Proteus glances over to Robert as he makes his questions. "Because it informs you of how you can interact with it. You know how to use a computer on at least a basic level, else you wouldn't be here." She turns to the table. "If the world is made of data, and you can access and manipulate that data, it gives you a certain level of control over the world. Sure, you can just interact with things in the obvious ways, but if you are careful, you can gain a certain level of... flexibility."

Proteus brings a hand down and runs her hand over the table she's leaning against... And there is a thrum as something subtle changes, a quiet violation of something in the World... As her fingers suddenly dig into the wood of the table like it was putty, pulling off a small chunk and rolling it in her fingers, reshaping it into a ball in front of their eyes. She then puts the little wooden ball down on top of said table, flicking it to one side and letting it roll off onto the floor with a wooden 'clack'. "See what I mean?"

As an aside to Whiskey, Proteus comments, "I believe I made an investment into a coffee plantation in the past, I should be able to get us some fresh beans."

"Or something," Robert echoes with a sigh, leaning back against his own table. Well, it's somebody else's table, but he'll steal it for now. "You make it sound like I just walk around stabbing things without trying to look, or listen, or understand. It's..." But what can one say? There's a sharp exhalation of frustration, only the smallest part of which is directed at Whiskey herself.

"If the world is made of data," he proposes to Proteus, "and if -you- are strictly made of data, then that means you fundamentally have no permanence. Everything about you, every memory of you, everything you do can be wiped away. If we are simply data, then where does morality come from? Ethics? What is the meaning in appearing to accomplish something versus simply sleeping out in a meadow? If every observation is simply data, then what is the point in observation? Tomorrow's observation may be completely different from today's." Beat. "And I still don't understand how Setsuna bleeding everywhere fits into this."

Kauchemar taps her fingers thoughtfully on the length of her staff. "High quality inks, or the items to make such inks. A bit of a tangent but I'll keep in it mind, Wisk." The staff is tucked under her arm so she can grab a quill and add it to her collection of notes. "I'll let you people know if and when I get somewhere with this idea. I need to find a proper monster and test a bit, see if the kind of training is even possible." At that point she has started to walk out of the room.

"You could ask the same question were we in the old world." Proteus points out to Roberts. "Just substitute 'carbon' or 'atoms' for 'data'. This is a struggle that better people than I have had to deal with since time immemorial. Where does morality come from? Ethics? The necessity to make a coherent society, the essential need for /people/ to coexist. There are rules we can follow that lead to the benefit of that society. If there are no rules whatsoever, than all we have is anarchy. Destruction. Everything will burn on the altar of raw, unfiltered desire."

The Puzzle Imp looks down for a moment, frowning. "There is already a part of me that's been wiped away." She says, irritably. "One day, he'll pay for that." She glances over to Robert. "And that's something Seliana is helping to work on at the moment. But we'll get to that as we get to that."

There is another gesture, then, as Proteus shrugs. "We observe because we need to establish patterns. What the baseline is. Determine what core behaviors of the World are so we can make predictions and learn what is abberant... And /why/. This isn't just random, Robert. We have to figure out what the core behavior of the system we inhabit is so we can live properly within it... Or break free of it, if needed... And no, I have no idea what Setsuna bleeding has to do with anything in general. Don't you have a doctor on staff? Get that shady quack to deal with it."

"I think you look, and listen, and understand in the way that you do. I also think that everyone is denying some sense inside of them. I itched, because I'm a Were Fang now, and I never shucked this human skin and really stretched out. It's why I asked you if feeling like a Spriggan is normal for you. If within you, that feels right. Because if it is, you're on a different team then when you were before. A different feeling, way of being. It's not just some fake skin across you. Changing things about it means stuff. Stabbing it kills you."

Whiskey Sour pauses on the point, waving to Kauchemar and heart-handsing as her fellows head out.

"There's parts of us that are changed. It's not external to our experience, it's internal. You're looking out, from within it. I'm encouraging you to learn your context."

Sprawling out frontally on the table, Whis sighs. "I have to bake something for hours unless I menu it, Proteus, so it's going to be late afternoon before alchemical apple wine pie. Sorry. Rob, if you want to stay for pie, you're welcome to."

"I honestly don't think the two are really comparable," Robert counters. "The old world had laws. Natural laws. Things that we knew would hold constant. Strategies and ideas that echoed across millenia because, even if truth was hard to put a finger on, they resonated. We may not have been able to know them as well as ought to have. A table stays a table, unless it is affected in a certain way. And even then there were a limited set of possibilities. Human nature had permanence. Society had permanence. Coexistance was necessary. But here?"

Falling silent, he glance around him. Not that much inspiration is going to come from the other Adventurers. Or Landers. "-Data- is just....fwt." He exhales, flicks a hand in an arbitrary distance. "How can you build a society when the way tomorrow functions could simply change? -You- just turned a table into a....pinball machine or something. Something mightn't taste the same today as it does tomorrow. Or look the same. How can you have ethics or morality without -some- guarantee of permanence? As for Setsuna. He was bleeding, Proteus. Bleeding. Not as in a bleeding debuff, but as in scattering blood everywhere in a most unsanitary manner. No red lights or slashes. Bleeding." There's a mental armflail, even if there's not a physical one. "I don't even know what it means when you ask whether being a Spriggan feels normal. All I know is I'm short and can't reach high shelves. Or find it harder to look people in the face." At least he doesn't mention homicidal tendencies. A hand lifts, in order to wave farewell to Whiskey. "Enjoyed the chat, though," he comments. Beat. "Sorry about...you know." His gaze drops.

"This world is no different. It has laws too. Some of them are more explicit than others. And much of this World does resemble parts of the old world in many ways, through culture, developments, techologies. Some patterns still hold true and they give us a starting point to work from." The Imp taps on the table again. "This table is still a table. It remains a table. I simply altered some of its properties for a moment. You could do the same thing in the old world if you had the proper knowledge and resources to do so."

Proteus shakes her head. "Again, you could make the same assertion about the old world. How could you build a society if tomorrow, someone would drop a nuclear bomb and everything turns to ash? You can't operate on 'might'. You have to research. Take things one day at a time and understand the general boundaries of the world you inhabit. Things don't just go wild for no reason. This world has a consistency to it. Just because it is /more/ malleable doesn't mean it is casually changable. Everything operates according to rules that we have to simply understand, and then we can learn how to operate around them."

She frowns at the mention of Setsuna. "You're overreacting. Whatever happened to Setsuna, happened for a reason. It violated the rules as we understand them, and so you have to understand /why/ and /how/ it did that. You can't just take an exception and throw the entire data set out just because one thing doesn't fit. Paradox is a pointer to something beyond. You have to follow the thread, Robert, instead of giving up."

"Society functioned," Robert declares, "because people had the very reasonable belief that a nuclear bomb -wouldn't- be dropped on their heads in the near future. What do you think would happen if the probability increased? Say, 5 percent chance? Ten percent chance? Society would implode. We always did and always do operate based on 'might'. It's just a question of likelihood."

Snagging a chair, he flips it around and plunks down in it. His arms fold across the back, his chin gets propped up. "How do you know this world won't go wild for no reason? How do you know this world has a consistency to it? In the old world we had thousands of years, millions of years, billions of years in which principles held constant. Here we have....what? Fewer than a thousand days? We have no clue what the relative probabilities are. All we know is that maybe, -maybe- we have a general framework, but that it keeps getting broken everywhere we look. If I made a series of laws for us to live by, then randomly decided where and when they should be enforced, how viable is that set of laws? Maybe you're right. Maybe we do go forward assuming some consistency even if we don't really have good reason to believe in it. But that's only because...well, what's the alternative supposed to be? There isn't one, is there. Other than getting boozed up, I suppose. Maybe it's worth assuming our observations are reflective of a deeper underlying reality even if we have little reason to believe that. As for Setsuna, the point isn't even the paradox. The point is why on earth there might be a biological underpinning in a data world. Assuming it's not just more data pretending to be biological...structure. Or whatever."

Proteus nods. "And you're right. A lot of what you say is true. We've built on thousands and thousands of years of experience in the old world, and this world is relatively new. As far as we can tell, anyway. It seems like this might be an iteration on older attempts, but I have no real evidence to support that." The Imp sighs. "But yes, you're right. We have basically no options here. We either forge a society and create something stable from zero, or we may as well just fall into anarchy and destruction now."

There is a shrug. "I think I know which I would prefer. Don't you? People are breaking the rules, but we have to know what the rules are. And there are people who work to enforce those rules, too. Don't think we're operating in a vaccuum here. The Landers want a stable world as much as we do."

"As for Setsuna..." There is a sigh, and another shrug. "I don't know. I honestly have no idea. That's something we have to find out, and I don't have time to investigate /everything/. There has to be a reason for it, though. If you look into it, you might find out why and how to prevent it next time."

"Just because we started experiencing the natural laws of this place a few years ago doesn't mean they didn't exist before then. There's a rich history to this place, and we arrived only recently. We can apply some of our logic, and not others. Becuase... Because..."

She sighs. "Carbon and silicon aren't that different? Can you trust carbon to explain itself fully? Can you trust anything?"

Whis, in her sprawl across the table, watches Rob's hesitation. The motion in a liminal space.

"Do you want me to keep talking at you and saying hard things I've thought of, or ease up? It's fine if it's overwhelming."

"I believe you. The waves... They might just be pulses of the other world hitting this one. But the way this world acts on us is by changing our inside contexts, our own internal natural laws, as well as external ones."

"Did you ever hear that stupid saying, the electric sheep one? Androids, do they dream of those. If you think about that sideways - do carbon beings dream of carbon sheep? Of course they do. So what do we dream of now?"

A giggle. "Dire Sheep? Mmbaah."

"I honestly kind of want to kick Setsuna out a window," Robert reflects, not exactly being predisposed towards maturity at the moment. "The temptation is overwhelming. But luckily, as you refer to it, our "sketchy doctor" seems to have things under control. His general approach of shoving things more or less back where they should go seems effective." Proteus gets a long stare. "So," he states, flatly. "What've we got so far? Observe, hope. Build what you can and pray it doesn't get pulled out from under you." He pauses to reflect. "That is utterly tragic. But it is what it is."

Whiskey gets a glance that is torn between curiosity and dread. "I think I'm actually with Proteus regarding world history, Whiskey. It's...not particularly clear to me that this world did exist before we arrived. Or if it did, it was fundamentally changed when we arrived in ways that go far beyond 'Helloooo! Daddy's home!'" Wait. That wasn't the right phrase was it. Robert squints. Ah well. "As for knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns, you're correct. We can't trust anything to explain itself fully. Our understanding is a model, though one which, through repeated tests, I -hope- pushes ever closer to whatever truth may be." He wilts a little, flapping a hand in Whiskey's general direction. "Lay it on me," he proclaims, with helpless resignation. Even if one eyebrow, unbidden, does nudge upwards in curiosity. Bad eyebrow. "Can't do worse than you have already. Let me know when you find out where I can go to reclaim my reputation now that you've had your...dire way with it."

"You cannot independently verify the world has history before you started experiencing it. Ultimately, you cannot prove anything but a jagged, narrow window through the world. You don't exist in a world of all the information you know - you exist in a world that contains all the information that is, and you are a single arc across that experience."

"It doesn't matter. High science used to think that flies came from rotting meat. Germ theory was a revolution. Before that, the germs still existed. And yet we continue on. The nihilism, the 'it doesn't matter' attitude is the wrong path."

"It all matters."
"Live in wonder, Robert."

Whis pushes up on the table and leans back, crossing her arms and turning back to her bank of ovens and furnaces and pots.

"Didn't you want to come to the house of all the weird people to ask them what they thought? Am I too weird, or insufficently weird for you?"

"Independently, no," Robert concedes. "Nonetheless, if you consider any evidence to have weight, it is difficult to ignore that memories of aspects of this world from before our arrival are drastically different from what they turned into after our arrival. Is it proof? No. But I would suggest that the evidence is fairly strong that there was a drastic shift. Regarding flies...as discussed earlier with Proteus, I do not believe the parallel is appropriate. The rules were unchanged. It was only our knowledge that improved. And even the wrong knowledge was pretty useful for any practical purposes. But here? Things are less clear" He chuckles, then, shifting in his chair and propping his chin up on one hand. "Weirdness was never really the point, Whiskey," he points out mildly. "If I wanted to have weird conversations, I'd talk with myself."

"But I always make sense to myself. It's other people that don't get it. Don't understand the important things in life. Like living."

Whis sways. "And duties."

"Tragic, yes. But honestly, it's always been that way. And it's up to us to become strong enough to ensure that what we build stays there. " Proteus leans against the lightly mauled table again, her finger tracing along the surface. "We have to learn. We have to respect this world and learn what it has to offer now that we've become a part of it whether we like it or not. There is no escape anymore."

"As far as your reputation is concerned..." Proteus emits a little chuckle. "You've really done it now. I can't believe I had dinner with you and you managed to behave yourself all that time. Didn't sit there ogling my feet at all, I think. Well done... Or are you just more interested in Whis' magic feet?"

Aside, to Whis, "You know, maybe we should go do some more of those. It's been a while since we rolled out together. And the board just keeps filling up, you know?"

SpritesHero is silent for a long, long moment during which his eyes slowly roll upwards and to the left. He's probably imagining what a duty involving Whiskey and Proteus would be like, judging by the amused smile that twitches at his lips. For a moment he rocks back on his chair, before thunking forward again. "My reputation is finished," he agrees with Proteus. "But no, you're quite right. I was fascinated at the thought of Whiskey's magical feet. Somehow go the idea that we could perhaps wheel her around and use her to figure out when things aren't behaving like they ought to. A Whiskey-rod, if you will."

"I have magic hands too, I'm magic, but it's just a feeling. I'd suggest Seliana for real detection, and her magic eyes, or Proteus and their cryptographic skills."

Turning back, Whis has pulled a steaming cup of liquid, smiling in her considerance of Robert.

"If you're not going to be weird about it, then your reputation will be as you act. Staring is rude."

"Wanna come on a duty with our crew, Rob? You can prove the way you see and stab, walk and talk, all that stuff. Then your reputation will be whatever you make it. Won't it?"

SpritesHero grimaces, if slightly, the expression the barest twitching of his features. "I dunnooooo," he hedges, dubiously. "There's a marketing problem if I look more at Seliana. I was rather partial to the "Whiskey Feet" product. Another shift, and a scratching at his cheek.

"I'd be delighted to come along. Appreciate it," Robert responds with a polite nod. "But even then, I think the damage is irreperable. You can save a hundred puppies. But if you look at feet wrong even one way? You're branded for life." He shakes his head, affecting a dismal sigh. "It's a cruel and unfair world."

"Cruel, unfair, and dreadfully complicated, I agree." Whis replies airily. "And if you're going to become a complete degenerate because you got called out about it once, in closed doors--" Whis looks around at the generally emptied workshop area.

"--then I guess your reputation will be well earned, won't it, Robert?"

"Oh, I do hope so," Robert responds with misty eyes and a fervent clasping of his hands before him, as though he were taking an oath in front of statue of Mary. "I've had ill-gotten gains before. But something well-earned?" He mimes a chef's kiss, and hoists himself to his feet. "As charming as it's been. I should head out. Proteus. Whiskey." A click of his heels, a bow that really should be a bit crisper, and then he's turning about to make his departure.