Goob

The fool ducked the beam of light, the shot barely soaring over their head before they stood back up. "Oh!" The entire room had started to tilt to one side, and cracks could clearly be seen in the walls and supports. "The destruction's probably a couple floors below us, and will reach us any moment now. We'll have to stop messing around, then." The fool began to start walking towards Nameless, who was still on the opposite side of the room to them.

Lightning fast, the fool's blade flew to their side, blocking the strike with the flat of the blade, tip pointed towards the ground. "This'll be fun," they say, breaking off from the clash, swinging their sword back around and up towards Nameless' head once more. "You know, I wonder when the floor's gonna fall from underneath us..."

“I shall warn you, I have picked up quite a lot on my travels… Though, if I’m going to ever show you, I’m going to have to stop beating around the-” Suddenly, they leapt forward with enough force to leave a small crater on the floor behind them, soaring over a desk, and slashing downwards towards Nameless’ head with their sword. “-bush.”

“Whenever you wish,” they said, hefting their blade off their shoulder for the first time since they arrived, clutching it in both hands and taking a fighting stance. The edge of the sword, seen from the thin side from where Nameless stood, visually split the fool’s face in half as it was held in front of him. It was perfectly still, and even as the fool shuffled to the side and weaved around the desks and other furniture filling the peaceful office space they both stood in, this illusion never broke, and no view of the flat blade was made available to Nameless.

"Interesting question. If it's collapsing, does it really have a defined in or out...? I'll take in." The fool looked over to Nameless. "Perhaps now we'll finally get to test our mettle. We've been here a suspiciously long time in this battle hub without any... well, battle." They look back to the book and quill. "Oh, and no restrictions please. I had the feeling you were about to ask. Can we fight now?"

The fool laughed, before abruptly cutting themselves off and mumbling "Damn you were not listening were you" under their breath. "Ahem. Again, I am not from anywhere. Perhaps this body was created someplace specific but I no longer remember where. My very nature abhors the thought of being attached to anywhere and there's nowhere you're more attached to than where you originated from." They sighed. They'd explained this many times before and yet people seemed to have such struggles understanding... They couldn't blame anyone else, really. The fool's opportunities had been... unique, after all. "You know, I was thinking of starting off simple. A big, flat circle... but that's boring. I'll take a infinitely tall skyscraper collapsing upon itself forever, if you will. Unpopulated, obviously."

The fool gave a sly smile as the stranger appeared before them. "Ah, well met, Nameless. As for my name? Don't have one. I had to give up something to end up here, after all. Though I've been given many names by others, none really ever stuck..." they chuckled. "Good thing, too. A name anchors you to a place. One word with so many connotations, so many memories that could drag you backwards to a place you've already been. Nothing could be more of an anathema to me than that, I think. You can give me one, if you wish, but just remember that in the end, I'll always just be some fool." Looking closer, you can clearly see and describe the fool's appearance, thought what it is for you or for anyone else, I have no clue. "Ha! Perhaps a little much for a first meeting, but you were the one to ask. Anyways, since we're still absolutely nowhere-" the fool looked around, as if to confirm the situation- "I assume we aren't here to fight, at least not yet."

The fool tapped their chin. An interesting set of prompts, though what exactly they wanted out of them, they were unsure. Was it for navigation, were selecting an option would bring them somewhere else to choose their 'contender,' 'environment,' or 'construct' (whatever that last one meant)? Or did it want the fool to fill in the blanks themselves, requesting a specific example of one of those three? They decided to try the simpler question first and circled "Contender" with their quill and let the book do it's thing- if it does anything, of course. In the meantime the fool began to wonder. A dangerous thing for many others, but the fool had practiced long and hard in order to separate themselves from their wonderings (as to not be disappointed when reality kicked back in, as it always did). Who else was here? They had requested other contenders but... they saw no one else around to contend with. Or did they? They squinted their eyes and looked around at the nothing around them. Perhaps some silhouettes were visible in the void...? Eh, nothing there. If anyone wanted to reveal themselves, they'd have to do it themselves. The fool had already revealed themself, but they had no right to break the veil of privacy anyone else had taken in this place.

The fool laughed heartily at the question. Simplicity can be the greatest form of comedy, they thought. What would happen if they answered 'no'? What else was there even to do here? Would they just be immediately ejected from the dimension or be turned into a spectator? The absurdity of the question in a place like this nearly tempted them into scratching down the lie, but they refrained, and scribbled a messy X down beside the 'Yes'. The fool stood up straight, set the quill down, and looked around. "Now what?"

The fool, as always, wandered. Song propelled them as they whistled a merry tune, their eyes barely watching where their feet led them as they savored the lilting melody that floated through their mind. At their side hung a concertina, silently waiting its turn for whenever the fool’s mouth grew tired, or perhaps when they wished to accompany the melody with lyrics. Of course, the fool would also have to sheath their sword in order to wield their weapon of music. The silvery blade was easily 10 handspans long from hilt to tip, long and thin, and currently rested on the fool’s right shoulder, the flat part of the blade resting on his collar and the edge dangerously close to their neck. Only one hand was used to keep it stable, with the other used to tap along with the nondescript song the fool held in their heart. They seemed unconcerned with the possibility of some unexpected obstacle throwing them off balance and causing their own sword to separate their head from their neck; after all, why would they? It hadn’t ever happened before, in any of the uncountable moments in their wanderings. As for where they were, the fool did not know. Nor did they particularly care. They’d come upon someplace interesting soon enough, they knew, as long as they kept walking and whistling. Perhaps they’d run into a city, they thought Or a tree. Or a revolution. Perhaps a refreshing glass of water, a bar of gold, a mountain, a criminal, or anything from the infinite set of anything. They’d seen it all already. And yet, still they had more to see. And they’d be happy to stumble across it on their wanderings, before moving on to the next something. They smiled at the thought. Ah, how wonderful was existence. And if on cue, the fool arrived… somewhere. They stopped their whistling and looked around at their surroundings. Some sort of arena, it looked like, though for now the place of combat was ill-defined, a place without any way to describe it. Though, as with most places, the fool saw beauty, or at least the promise of it. The arena was a blank slate, a sea of possibility, ready for anyone from across dimensions to form it any way they wished. As long as they followed the scene's main prerogative as a place to fight, of course. “A perfect place to practice my barbarism,” they said, chuckling to themselves. Now, they wondered, did they need to register…?

My choice is C. Go big or go home.

As you peek into the room, you get a good look at Prathen before openeing your mouth. He's a shorter man, with his arms and legs covered by a nice jacket and roughed-up jeans respectively, along with a pair of practical boots on his feet. His most striking feature, however, is the metal mask he is wearing over his face, likely made of stainless steel and is adhered to his head via two leather straps. The mask is a bit wider than his face and has some pleasant enough geometric designs around the edges, eye- and mouth-holes. The top edge of the mask is obscured by a wide brim hat and little bit of visible scraggly brown hair. As for what he's doing, Prathen is sitting on the floor next to a box full of ammo, carefully picking each one up and appearing to apply some sort of grease to each of the bullet's tips, dapping a tissue in a small black tin sitting next to him before gingerly placing each round in a pile before him. His revolver is hinged open forward on the nightstand beside the king-sized bed, with all six chambers clearly filled. As you glance in, he stops his work and turns up to look at you directly, brown eyes poking past the shiny exterior of his mask. "Indeed it is. If the room tries to eat me, I can't be fiddling with doorknobs, after all."

Personalized rooms were another red flag, but honestly at this point Prathen was utterly exhausted and also had mild blood loss. He was half-tempted to talk to some of the other patrons but the mention of an 'interdimensional agency' was the final straw that caused him to retreat to his new room- he was in hot water with quite a few of interdimensional agencies and honestly, he was quite finished with any more action for the day. He kept the door to his room open, however, partially out of suspicion and partially as an invitation for anyone who wanted to peek in and perhaps start a conversation without the chaos of the lobby.

Alright, alarm bells going off. An almost too perfect inn in pocket dimension that is perfectly free? Suspicious. But also... it was a real nice looking inn. "Hmmmm. Here..." he shuffles in one of his pockets and pulls out four dollars and fifty-nine cents before placing it in Fadran's hand. "I'll take a room. Oh, by the way, got any bullets? 'Fraid I only got two left, and I get anxious when I don't have a full chamber."

"Just got stabbed. The job gets a little rough sometimes. Anyways, thanks for the help- if I may ask, where is this, and-" he pauses, looking around for a moment as if just noticing the beautiful, pristine nature of the Inn- minus all the strange people, of course- and admiring it for a moment. "Wow. How much does it cost to stay here?" He'd been joking when he'd said he might take a vacation to Joey, of course, but damn.

Prathen, as he had been many times before, was well and truly cornered. A hard wall behind his back and enemies in closing in before him- well, in this case, they were also behind, as he was ducked behind a corner, hiding from the guards of a recently-stolen-from facility. His leg was bleeding right through a makeshift bandage from a lucky strike of their blades and he was drenched in sweat. His only comfort was the familiar grip of his revolver clutched in his hand- Unfortunately, only two chambers were filled and those bullets constituted his whole supply of ammunition at the moment. Prathen had an escape plan ready, of course, when he started this escapade. Four, actually. First, out the main entrance (Unviable now his disguise was nullified), second, a vent in the main generator room (which apparently could seal itself when the alarm went off), and third out the secret, unguarded back door... which was on the other side of the building, with about 150 guards blocking the way there. The fourth option had it's own special flavor of issues, which is why it was the last. Prathen pulled a small glass sphere out of a pouch on his belt and started to whisper to it. "Joey? Joey, c'mon!" Joey!" Moments later the sphere went opaque and a face appeared, clean-shaven and smooth. "Prath? Is everything alright?" it replied. "No, Joey, I'm a bit trapped right now. Really need you to cast that returnal spell, and quickly." "Wha- Prath, I told you, I can't! You know that- what happened to the other escape options?!" "They are not currently avaliable for a multitude of reasons- and, I know we're out of the Uiu bark, but could you just... go without?" Prathen peeks around the corner for a moment. No one- still safe, for a couple moments at least. "No, you cannot just 'go without' a vital component of the spell, Prath! I-" he pauses for a moment. "I guess you could... no, no. Without the bark it'll just be a random teleportation! You could end up anywhere in the whole Macrocosmos!" "Well, it's either that or I get captured- probably worse. And to be honest that doesn't sound that bad in comparison." "ANYWHERE, Prath! Think of every terrible, nasty place you've ever been, or ever could imagine- you could just show up there!" "Look, I haven't ever been killed by somewhere I've been, and certainly nowhere I've imagined. I can handle myself wherever." "Prath... I won't be able to contact you either. The sphere requires me to know where you are." "Look, Joey I'll be back in a month, at max, and if I take longer than a week, assume I ended up somewhere real nice and I'm taking a vacation. Alright?" Silence from Joey. "Fine, fine, fine. I can try and reduce the risks, anyways. And if you take longer than a month, you are going to regret it, understand?" "Of course." "So, here what's you need to do..." Two minutes later, and Prathen had successfully escaped once again... though, the next problem to solve was figuring out exactly where to. Complete chaos, apparently. Prathen spun around, nearly stumbling due to his injury- some sort of pocket dimension it seemed, with two streets, dominated by a single large building... the "Mishmash Inn." Well, the 'Mishmash' seemed to be accurate enough, with an insane diversity in the small crowd within the hotel. Well, hopefully they had medicine. And bullets. Prathen limped into the inn and listened around him- he couldn't pick out any sort of authority figure by sight, but people's conversations would be telling enough. Once he found the most likely candidate, he walked up slowly and asked "Morning. Do you have any bandages? I need some fresh ones." To prove his point, he pointed at the trail of blood splatters on the floor that he left as he had walked into the Inn. @Channelknight Fadran

"Oh, just from Rsta, just down the road. It's nothing special, just makes and ships grain to other, nearby places- including here, actually. You?"

"Ĵrda Ŕbópi, nice to meet you." Now that she got a better look at the other girl she was quite the sight. Skinny, weird... tattoos...? on her arms, and looks like she fell into a vat of blue dye. Didn't really seem the soldier type to her, but that was no reason to be rude. "Come back here to escape the crowd too? I don't really mind other people, but when you're trying to sleep... eh, if I want to talk to lots of people, I can just go walk over to the commons."

@EmulatonStromenkiin Jrda trundled out of the hall and towards her new quarters in the dormitory, backpack full of supplies on her back. She gave a quick, mildly angry look at Domuy as she passed by. It was insulting, honestly. We were all adults here, and it’s not like separating it out like this would help anything anyways. All it did was- oh, whatever. Not like she could do anything about it, for now. She quickly found her way to the back of the dormitory, hoping that being farther from the entrance would make it less crowded back here, keeping the noise a little quieter. Picking a bunk at random she threw her stuff down onto its surface and sat down herself next to it, lifting the bag onto her lap as she began to unpack. While doing this she figured she’d get herself acquainted with her neighbors. “Hey! What’s your name?” she calls out to the girl nearest to her.