Dielle is cleaning up some part of the Aspire, with kittens making it difficult (because she meant to clean and she's playing with kittens instead,) and waiting for Czibor and Vorpal, who'd indicated that they needed to talk to her. For the moment, the doors of the Aspire are unlocked...well, one of them is. There's a fire in the firepit, because it helps with the chill, and there might be a dragged paper towel to try to distract the kittens from her feet. They're not distracted. They like feet, the little fetishists.
Vorpal enters at a bit of a rush, ducking into Aspire and moving out of sight with relative haste. A moment after he does? The Glamour wrapped around his overbearing presence frays, and his Wyrd settles over the room like a lead blanket, accompanied by a sigh of relief from the godling himself. "Oh, bloody hell, that's better." He glances back to see how closely behind him Czcibor followed, then heads towards Dielle and kittentown.
The strangely warm wind follows Vorpal in through the door, making it in just before the door slams shut. It follows him until they're in sight of kittentown, not commenting on Vorpal's eternal problem because really what can he say? Finally, the roses-and-gunmetal spring breeze resolves into the familiar form of Czcibor Kowal, wearing snow boots and heavy jeans and a parka, the last of which he shrugs out of because firepit. Under it's a faded old Slask Wroclaw t-shirt. "Hey," he calls over to Dielle, then grins at the kittens. "You name 'em yet? I'm waiting until mine figure out if they want to tell me theirs before I name them."
Dielle says, "Well, yes, but they change, every day. Jon keeps calling 'em Steve and Doug, in spite of the fact that one's a girl, and I address them by a different name damn near every time I talk to them. Which is everything from "Stop attacking my feet, you little shit" to Wigglefloof Squishbeans, just to piss them off." She grins at both men and offers seats to them, near the firepit and the kittens. She's sitting on the floor, herself, but she doesn't want to assume anyone else wants to sit there and get their feet attacked.
Vorpal fears no kittens, and drops onto the floor without care for their assaults. In fact, he encourages them, shifting his position as they try to pounce, looking for all the world as if each change in posture is completely random as he deftly dodges kittenstrikes. "Far be it from me to stifle the practice of the next generation of hunters," he proclaims, switching from a sit to a casual lay as stripey flops down where his foot just was. "So. About those lovely soldiers burning holes into the looptrod. It so happens that I tracked them home. Learned four important things. First," he ticks off, rolling up to kneel as Fluffbutt pounces where his toes were a moment earlier, "Their sentry wolves are obnoxiously alert. While invisible, further hidden, nearly weightless and leaving no tracks, the damnable things STILL almost found me. I won't say they noticed me, because you can't -not- know I'm around, but thankfully, three quarters of a million square feet is a lot of Hedge to search. Second," he continues, rolling onto his back and bouncing one leg over the other whilst Fluffbutt tries to recover from another missed pounce. "The location. Obviously, I know the location now. Which will make it very easy to get back, when and if that's in the cards. It's weird space, with paths along the walls, ceiling, everywhere. Like a strange little... tubeworld. Third, there's a Machine there. It's either fueling or healing the soldiers with what looks like Amaranthine Squash, so far as I can tell, which means it could be loaded with poison instead- I like Fuguespores, for that job- and possibly shut them down entirely. Lastly, uh." Vorpal clears his throat. "I found their command tents. Arraigned around a doorway, partly overgrown by the Hedge. That door, ah. Rather resists approach. Trying to get nearer is like running, in a dream. If we go back, I'm thinking we stay far away from that door- and watch it, at all times. Just in case it suddenly decides to open."
"...Wigglefloof Squishbeans," Czcibor repeats dubiously, shifting so his weight's on his right leg, then sticking his hands in his pockets. He falls silent as Vorpal makes his report, and then takes a breath-- and looks hesitant-- and then plows ahead. "And all that considered, and knowing what they've done to our people, I still... only just learned that they're tin soldiers, Dielle." He shifts again, this time to stand straighter, mouth in a thin line. "And we don't know, do we? That they're hobs? Given descriptions of them, and my own experience, and ... the fact that in escaping Arcadia fifteen years ago, I lost my entire rota -- one hundred men -- and that I was only one of many captains, they... could be Lost. They could be being controlled, through contract or through the slurry in the machine; they could be brainwashed, they could be hideously misinformed."
Taking another steadying breath, he gets to the part where he figures he's got a fifty percent chance of being shot down. "I propose deliberately getting myself captured in order to infiltrate them and see if it's even possible to reason with them, or free them if they are captive, or turn them against their masters. I know what they've done to others. But-- I am like them. If only being like them, and persuasive, is not enough to prevent them from harming me-- well, I already know that I'm difficult to kill or control, and I don't break under prolonged torture. If they are mind-controlled in some fashion, and manage to control me, I'm... going to provide you with the means to disable me beforehand, so they cannot raise my hand against you. If I don't manage any persuasion but manage to escape, it will be with invaluable information on their command structure and weaknesses."
To quote Lego Batman, blink blink blinkety blink blink blink. Dielle doesn't SAY it, she just blinks at Vorpal and then Czcibor and says, "So you're proposing a suicide mission, rather than an attack on the Machine itself, on the /possibility/ that they're you're people and can be saved when you don't /know/ that they're your people, you're just speculating." Her voice is curiously flat. She also nods at Vorpal as she absorbs all the information he gave.
It...takes Vorpal a moment to absorb the fact that he's not getting dressed down. He'd been braced for it, but then, he hadn't factored on proposing the whole suicide mission thing, either. So thank heavens for small favors! He listens, but grimaces as Czcibor suggests getting captured, and shakes his head. "You know, we -could- just capture one of -them- instead. That'd be far safer, likely easier, -and- would also give us some insight on whether they -need- the machine's intervention to survive, maintain control, what have you. Which'll let US know whether they can even be liberated from the thing or not. If they're dependent, then when we take down the machine- which I presume we're going to do, I don't make policy- we doom them all. If not? Then there's hope. Either way, if anyone's making a sacrifice play, I think it makes a lot more sense to have someone just sneak in and start wreaking havoc rather than- no offense, friend, but basically throw someone away because who knows, they -could possibly- be people."
The Elemental breathes out, closing his shining blank eyes. "If I thought it would be a suicide mission, I wouldn't have proposed it," he says, putting his hands back in his pockets. "It is remarkably similar to other ridiculously dangerous plans I've pulled off before." But his eyes open again, and he's happy, somewhere, that it's impossible to tell where he's truly looking, because he can't actually look at either Dielle or Vorpal, but he looks like he could be looking at either of them. "I had been under the impression that an attempt to capture one of them had already failed; my apologies. It's considerably less risk; I withdraw my proposal."
But his mouth's started to open to continue, and he stops, and shuts his mouth. He visibly mentally rephrases what he was considering saying, then finally adds quietly, "There are a lot of people that don't look like people anymore, Vorcyk. Both of us included, judging by that girl's reaction in the Hedge yesterday."
He turns his head to Dielle and explains, taking his hands from his pockets and spreading them briefly, "The possibility that they are my people was only what made me ask Vorpal for more information about them. It's the possibility that they are people at all that makes an attempt to save what's salvageable important to me. Fortunately for me, Vorpal has a better idea that nets much of the same information-- because I will obviously go with your call whether or not it settles my fears."
Dielle puts up one hand with one finger upraised, wait, while she takes several deep breaths. She's got a bit of a temper and it's apparently been triggered. That's when one of the kittens comes up to her and climbs up her shirt and sits on her shoulder and starts licking her ear. She doesn't move, but eyes the kitten sideways. Distraction achieved. She takes another deep breath and lets it out.
"Ok, for the record, I do actually like Vorpal's idea better, it's less likely to get one of our people killed or tortured. And unless it's absolutely necessary, I won't willingly send someone off to get tortured and possibly killed." Her voice is even and calm and quiet, which really, is never a good sign for her. "And while I /am/ hoping that they're people and are able t'be saved, Kowal, and I absolutely think we need to find this out, I think that a capture party is gonna be the better way to go. Not that I don't think it was a brave plan, but I am very much against sendin' people off to possibly get their minds turned to goo on the barest possibility that a change can be effected. If I'm gonna sanction it, then there has to be more than a 'maybe' chance, y'know?"
"To be fair. Just because you didn't think it was a suicide mission doesn't make it -not- a suicide mission," explains Vorpal with a roll of his wrist, evading yet another floofy pounce as he switches to sitting crosslegged, cat trapped in the middle. "Though I'll be the first to admit a personal failing to recognize what should be a suicide mission. My internal rater tends to mislabel those "exciting romps" instead, so. The point is intellectual, not personal. I'm right there with you."
"What's this about people that don't look like people all of a sudden? I'm just pointing out that we've remarkably little that suggests they're anything but programmed hobs. The commanding officers, not so much, but the rank and file seem very... automatic. I don't judge on the appearance of persons, just the appearance of situations- and this appearance is very thin, indeed. I'd not rest your life nor sanity upon its breadth- that's the point I'm making, not when it'd take little to wipe out a scouting party and subdue a soldier for investigation."
Vorpal pauses, and amends. "Well. Little for me. I don't mean to be an ass. They -are- dangerous."
Shaking his head, Kowal lifts a hand. "No, I agree; capturing one of them is much more sensible--" and he gives a crooked little smile "--and I very much understand and appreciate your unwillingness to sign off on something like that. I wouldn't have in your place, either." His hands drop and he actually looks something very close to sheepish. "Depending on estimates of my capability and of the risk factor with this enemy, I gave myself a fifty percent chance of being told 'fuck no'-- but," and here he nods to Vorpal, "I also have a skewed mental scale for personal danger, and sometimes it's hard for me to find where the line is between 'dangerous' and 'outright stupid'."
A beat, and he bites his lip and looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or feel a little guilty. "Which is why I proposed it to you instead of just going off and doing it." The expression settles out, and he puts his hands back in his pockets. "I admit I'd be unhappy if there weren't a better plan to find out, but I wouldn't have joined the Harvestmen-- or stayed-- if I didn't trust your judgement."
Dielle says, with some dignity and a great deal more calm than she was faking before, "Thank you both for bringing it all to me. I'm more than willin' to sign off on capturin' one of them. And I'd like to request that we NOT deliver our prisoner to the Monarch before we find out everything we need to find out. I wasn't...real happy that we just offed everyone instead of interrogatin' the crap out of them. Her prerogative, but I think we need rather more information, this time."
She adds, "Which reminds me, Vorpal, I ain't averse to you runnin' off to go find out information, but you could you maybe, possibly, pretty please with sugar on top send me a text that you're gonna go and when you get back so I know whether we need to rescue you or bail you outta jail or somethin'?"
Vorpal nods his agreement with Kowal's assessment of Dielle and her willingness to sell her men's lives- or, more specifically, her unwillingness. He doesn't comment, but then, Cap'n has said about all he had to say on that mark.
Then Dielle tosses her remarks at him.
Beat.
"Oh. Yes, that- hm. You know, to be honest, that would have made quite a lot of sense, leaving word. I think- and I realize this sounds silly- but I think I was so busy feeling proud of myself for coming up with a plan besides "stab all the things" that I forgot to establish a contingency or three. I think I'll do that next time. Leave word, I mean." Vorpal nods briefly. "And you're welcome. Wanted to make sure you had the info you needed, Captain." He tilts his head. "Speaking of which. Has it been a month yet? Do I get to be official, or do I have a few more merit badges to earn?"
"--very agreed," says Kowal, and he looks absolutely mystified. "And-- I'm used to Autumn being very much more interested in grilling literally everyone, it was... kind of surprising. Maybe she just figured we were done with them."
Then Dielle's attention's on Vorpal, and he winces a little, having called her attention to his impulsiveness on accident, and he just sort of goes to half-crouch and half-kneel to start playing with the kittens, pulling his sleeve over his hand so they're not, you know, biting lead.
Dielle considers Vorpal and says, "You're impulsive beyond belief, but when I give you a direction, you /try/. So, yeah, you're now a Private, Private. God, I hate these ranks, it ain't like we're the damn Army. But I don't have anything better, either. Recruit is fine, but Private sounds like you're friggin' Captain America when he dove onto a non-active hand grenade in the first movie." She's never heard of Gomer Pyle, so she can't reference that, it's ok.
"I've got some friends who're Hunters, or used to. I really wanted to talk to those folks. See if I couldn't get more information, get my friends to police their own or something. Oh, well."
"I'll admit, I was surprised at how little information she seemed to want from them. I used to -be- Autumn, once upon a time, and even I felt like that ended a bit abruptly." Kowal's flinch is missed in the conversation- or perhaps vengeance is simply best served cold.
Vorpal makes a face as she comments on the title, clearly in agreement. "We -could- change the names. Recruit is fine. Could just call rank and file Harvestmen. Maybe up it to Reaper for the officers, and leave Second and Captain intact?" He laughs at the hand grenade reference. "I'd do that, but only to timelock the grenade and run away."
There's a snortlaugh from Czcibor, rolling a kitten around on her back while she ruthlessly attacks his hand with teeth and all four sets of tiny needleclaws. "Or. You know. Since Captain, could make your second in command Commander. And call them Numbah One."
Dielle starts laughing. "Oh my god. Or we could totally go with Reavers or Red Shirts for the Privates." The kitten licking her ear starts trying to eat her hair, while the other one tries to eat Vorpal's hand, because it's there and looks meaty. "What's awful is the realization that we've got so few damn ACTIVE members."
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