mayfield_rpg | 22nd Tactic

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22nd Tactic

[phone; no filters]

Not to put a damper on anyone's excitement, but, provided this place doesn't finish breaking down and taking us all with it, school will be starting again on the sixth of September. For those of you who are new or who just haven't been paying attention, there's a few things you need to know:

First, you don't actually have to go to school every day. The town will only force you to go if you miss three days in a row. If you have someone willing to call you in sick from your house, you can extend that time frame for another day or so.

Second, grades don't matter. The worst you'll get by blowing off your work is either dull disappointment from drones or relatively harmless ire from certain teachers.

[You know who you are, certain teachers.]

And finally, don't be surprised if you end up repeating classes. You can end up doing that a lot and it'll have nothing to do with whether you passed or not.

That's it, your annual school announcement. The one that matters, anyway.

[/end phone]

[Caesar sure hopes he won't have to give that speech a third time next year...

Or should he be hoping to, depending? Oh well. He'll go back to lazing about on the front porch with Bonaparte the Second after that, trying to keep from getting too bored between watching the drones glitch out as they wander by and dangling a string over the cat for her to bat at.]

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[Well. The recent glitching has had Balin really on edge. It was one thing for regained items and abilities to appear and disappear back around Christmas, but after what he experienced in the Other Mayfield? Not to mention what happened to Caesar there? Balin is visibly unnerved.]

[So much so that he's wearing his armor at home right now.]

[Which is evident by the fact that his hand just popped out of the door, waving and grasping about as if he had been trying to open it. On the other side of that door—]

Oh, fuck—

[—so, Balin just ... hurriedly steps through the damn thing. He's got his Series 3 shotgun pointed on his back, and he's carrying a box of gun maintenance tools and supplies.]

[While Balin is on edge, Caesar is and has been the complete opposite. He doesn't seem particularly worried or it could be he doesn't care. Mayfield is weird. It's always been that way.

Now it's just a little weirder.

He stops moving the string about, letting the cat catch the dangling end for now, and glances over at the door instead. He shouldn't be surprised to see Balin step right through it, but okay, even he'll admit that's strange to see.]

Huh. We'll never need to worry about locks again if that keeps up.

Yeah, 'cause we'll get bigger shit to worry about.

[Gritting his teeth, though not out of anger. Or at least, not anger toward Caesar. He's going to find an open spot on the porch, setting the box of maintenance stuff down next to him, then unholstering the Series 3 Triple Incendiary Shotgun as he sits down himself. Automatically, the Series 3's barrels rotate into a horizontal configuration with a heavy whirring sound, followed by a computer-like beep.]

You remember anything from'a Carnival yet?

Bigger and nastier.

[The mention of the Carnival gets nothing but silence as a reply. He does, honestly, but it's not something he wants to remember. Instead of answering, Caesar stares at the shotgun.]

It moves...? [He might sound a little nervous there.] Is that thing safe?

[Balin glances at it as he holds it in his lap, frowning a little.]

Safe as anything else right now.

[With that, he starts work on cleaning the gun and ensuring it remains in working order—first by removing the belt of ammunition and the attached canister rounds.]

So—do you? 'Cause what's goin' on right now is feelin' pretty fuckin' familiar.

[He's quiet again, watching Balin fiddle with the gun. Once he removes the ammo, though, Caesar relaxes again and looks down at the cat again. He tugs the string free and the game between them begins again.]

Yeah... I do. [He doesn't sound too thrilled about it, either.] You made it out of there, right?

[A pang of survivor's guilt visibly hits Balin.]

... I did, yeah. Got lucky. This talkin' blue mech found me an' took me back to'a funhouse. An'is other guy led me back to town.

[He's silent for a beat or two while fiddling with one of the shotgun's barrels, before adding:]

I told both of 'em to look for you—your name, what you looked like.

[Then it dawns on him—he'd been "in limbo" for a whole day during their brief stay in the Other Mayfield. If Tachikoma and Dante couldn't find Caesar, then ...]

Were you even alive by'at point? When'a whole place was cavin' in?

I was. Up until the place finally collapsed. The bird came looking for me, but...

[He lets Bonaparte catch the string again.]

It's not like I blame anyone who did get out, you know. [Don't think that flinch went unnoticed, Balin.] It's just— It happens. People die.

[Though gradually being eaten away at by acidic fog? Not a way he'd choose to go. The memory alone makes him feel ill and he goes quiet again. The cat manages to pull the string out of his hand as he recomposes himself. She leaps away and rolls over, tangling herself up in it in play. At least that's still normal around here, of all the things that could be...]

[... Well, at least Caesar doesn't hold a grudge. But still—]

People do die, but'at's'a thing. In'a AFS, we don't leave anybody behind if we can help it. I should've gone lookin' for you.

[Which is easy to say now, but at the time, he was really messed up psychologically from that 24-hour pitfall ... and no adequate food or rest, either.]

...don't be stupid.... [Caesar mumbles the first bit, but his voice picks up again after.] You wouldn't have had any idea where to start. You wouldn't have had the time, either. There's a difference between abandoning someone and leaving because there's no chance for recovery.

[Like he's talking about troops lost behind enemy lines. It's easier to think of it that way.]

Now can we talk about something else? That letter, for instance. Did you see the one I brought in from the mailbox?

[... Yeah, better to not dwell on this any longer. That the town is showing symptoms of doing what Other Mayfield has done has him on edge enough. He welcomes the topic change.]

[Though when Caesar mentions the letter, Balin pauses the cleaning he was doing on one of the shotgun's other barrels to look up at him.]

What letter?

[That answers that.]

[What... letter?]

Even I'm not that oblivious.

[But isn't going to recite the thing word for word. With a great sigh, Caesar leaves his seat on the porch and trudges away inside. Through the door, even, since it's still acting up.

A minute later, he's back. At least, he's almost back. There's a thunk from the inside and a muffled curse word or two directed at the now solid door.]

[Hey, the way things have been glitching in Mayfield is kind of a big deal to him! That and he was at work the day it was mailed.]

[But he doesn't say anything in response to Caesar's snark. Rather, he just glances at him getting up while he continues cleaning the inner workings of his Series 3. Probably going to go get the letter to show him, so he'll just focus on this for now ...]

[A minute later, Balin's got another barrel cleaned and now he's working on the firing mechanisms. The thunk at the door grabs his attention—enough that he glances up at the door and, despite himself, snickers quietly in realization of what just happened.]

[... Though, as he gets up to get the door for Caesar, he realizes that the door could have re-materialized right as Caesar was walking through it. Or when he walked through it earlier, even ... Either way, that residual grin is off his face by the time he opens the door.]

[Caesar is, thankfully, not attached when Balin opens it. He's rubbing his face, having walked straight into the re-materialized door. At worst, he'll have some bruised dignity.]

...that was playing dirty. [He grumbles and thrusts the letter in hand out towards Balin.] Here. This letter.

[Balin takes the letter and looks down at it. He looks a little deadpan at first, given the gibberish that's on there—like he thinks Caesar is pulling a prank on him.]

[Then he sees the part that's not gibberish, and his interest is visibly piqued. Then surprised.]

... Great. So not only did'at carnival shit prove we are livin' in some virtual reality sim, but what happened'ere is gonna repeat here for sure. Unless we snap her out of it?

Something like that, though it's really poor planning that this guy is going to put everything in its own portal. He should have put them all in one...

[He eventually stops rubbing his poor, door-battered face and sighs.]

Especially if it's going to be dangerous.

[Balin glances at the letter again.]

Puttin' 'em "outside Mayfield" ... Wonder what he means by'at. Are we actually gonna leave'a sim or are we goin' in another program?

[Balin's kind of hoping it's the former. The question of whether or not he is who he thinks he is unnerves him—whether it's wondering if he's just a personality formatted over a drone or if he's just raw data in a computer sim.]

[That's a worry that bothered Caesar before, too, but it's something he's decided not to think of.]

Beats me. I had to ask what a virtual reality was in the first place. If it's more computer stuff, I can't really help you there.

[Balin hands the letter back to Caesar.]

Guess we ain't gonna know for sure until we do it.

I take it that means you'll be going through one of the portals?

[He takes the letter back, folding and pocketing it.]

Yeah. If'is place is gonna fall apart like'a other Mayfield? I'm gonna do my part in stoppin' it.

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22nd Tactic

LET'S GO BACK IN TIME, SON

TIME IS JUST AN ILLUSION

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