2017-05-03: Quest for the Fistagons

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  • Log: 2017-05-03: Quest for the Fistagons
  • Cast: Ida Everstead-Rey, Claude C. Kenny (as Precis F. Neumann)
  • Where: Academy City of Linga
  • Date: May 3, 2017
  • Summary: Ida follows a lead from the Ruins of Memory to Linga, and meets a chipper young machinist who will surely go places.

=========================<* Academy City of Linga *>==========================

The second-largest city in the Kingdom of Lacour, Linga is most notable for housing the Academy, a centre for learning of natural and physical sciences, arts, linguistics, history, symbology - pretty much anything that /can/ be studied /is/ studied here. Scholars in residence can be found in nearly every field, which makes Linga an extremely popular destination for Drifters who have found some sort of ancient relic and have absolutely no clue what it is or does. The answers to almost any question can be found in Linga...for a price, of course.

The village surrounding Linga is surprisingly rustic, and has built up over time to provide residences and support services to the students and faculty of the Academy. Foodstuffs and supplies for nearly any form of craft can be found with relative ease.

BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VXzx4Zhd1k
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.


Linga is an Academy City, and tends to attract its fair share of people who are, shall we say, intense about their particular field of study. Professor Levron (the Metal Demon Wars guy, not the mushroom guy) is one of the more normal and well-adjusted ones. This is a thing Ida Everstead-Rey will discover in the time it takes her to walk from Levron's home to the southern end of the city, which is about 300 yards distant. During this time, she will see:

-A man attempting to weigh the planet by picking up a handful of dirt, placing it on a scale, hotting down the measurement, taking a step to the left, and adding a new handful of dirt. -A taxidermist that simultaneously sells models of wildlife for zoology study /and/ does a brisk business in children's toys. -A young lady attempting to teach ants to build simple machines. -A guy just squatting in the street, staring at an orange.

Eventually, however, one of the more lucid students directs Ida's search for the 'masheen professor' to a modest home with a large attached outbuilding (Filgaia doesn't have garages yet) that is larger than the actual house. The garage door is open, and the interior looks like the contents of three blacksmith's shops had an orgy with a couple of ARMs meisters. Weird bits of metal and glass and wire are just everywhere, and a young brown-haired girl with a ponytail is leaning over a large metal ovoid, occasionally whacking it with a hammer.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida still has no idea what the man staring at the orange was trying to accomplish. He didn't so much as respond to a polite inquiry, unless you can count '...' as a response. Nevertheless, Ida finally gets her directions, and after thanking the helpful student, it's just a short hop, skip, and jump to the home of the lady she's looking for. From the outside, it looks fairly normal to her, and even the inside is within expected tolerances--her father's workshop isn't quite as messy, but that sort of thing happens when you're working.
Ida approaches the young woman, waits a moment to see if she's doing anything delicate or dangerous, and once she's decided it's okay to, she speaks.
"Excuse me, miss? Is Doctor Neumann here?"
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

Ida speaks up between two whacks, and the girl turns around. She's a little under Ida's height, and is probably in her mid-to-late teens. "Oh hi!" she says, and if Filgaia has valleys then this girl's voice is from every one of them. "Oh, you must mean my dad. No, he's, like, out teaching classes or something. He's probably not gonna be back for, like, hours and stuff." The young woman looks Ida up and down, then starts tapping her chin with the back end of the hammer. "Huh, I'd've thought you're a little skinny for his type, but oh well! You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family!" She pauses, frowning. "Or your family's hook-ups, I guess."


"So like, I'm Precis! Precis F. Neumann," the young girl introduces herself. "I should probably try to make a good impression if you're his latest attempt at a replacement mom. Do you want some tea or something?" she asks, then turns her head toward the interior of the garage. "HEY ROBBIE!" she yells.

A tiny pile of machine parts shifts out of the way, revealing a small metal sphere, about a foot or so tall. With...feet. And tiny arms? AND A FACE?

"Like, go get some tea, or whatever?" Precis asks. "And, like, put some of that red jam in it, you know? Since she's a guest and all."

The little metal thing turns and begins bob-waddling off toward the interior of the house. Precis smiles. "So, like, are you hooking up with him for better grades in his class, ooooooooooorrrrrrrr..."

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
"Ah," Ida says, in response to Precis's wild and completely unfounded suppositions. "My apologies, miss, but you must be mistaking me for someone else." Did Doctor Neumann not bother to teach his child proper etiquette? Part of Ida is completely horrified, while the other parts, which have become much more used to the ways of foreigners and the lower classes, just kind of take it in stride. Her public face doesn't so much as waver. "I was referred to him by a Professor Levron, but if this is a poor time, I can leave my calling card and--"
Okay, apparently Precis wants to receive a guest for her father. Ida glances at the pile of parts, keen interest gleaming in her eyes. "Goodness," she says, as the little, incredibly adorable robot assistant goes off to do its thing. "May I ask what that is? It's--" Ida's lips tighten into a little line. "No," she says, a little bluntly. "I need his expertise in the matter of ARM identification." Assuming that Levron was right about the whole thing. He seemed convinced the figure on the mural was a man, and Ida is not so sure.
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

"Oh, that? That's Robbie," Precis 'explains'. "I put him together a year or two ago. He's totally cool, isn

<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

"Oh, that? That's Robbie," Precis 'explains'. "I put him together a year or two ago. He's totally cool, isn't he?" she asks, beaming proudly. At the explanation that Ida's here for business, though, Precis's triangle grin broadens even further. "Oh, ARM stuff? I can totally do that for you," she insists. "Dad doesn't know half as much as I do about it, since he taught me what he knew and I figured out other stuff. Come on in!" she says, leading the way.

The interior of the Neumann home looks a lot more like an actual home; the lower level consists of a small receiving area and a dinner table; a doorway on the far side of the dining room is separated by one of those weird half-length curtains that hangs down to chest level and basically just serves to get in the way of everything. The rattling of dishes suggests that something is going on in the back; Robbie re-enters the room, slowly waddling with a pot of jam balanced atop its head.

"I had a bunch of extra parts lying around from some other stuff I'd taken apart, and so I made him. He's still pretty dumb," Precis notes, "But I don't really want to take him apart to make him smarter," she says, at which point the robot starts waddling forward again. "Here, sit," Precis says, pulling out one of the four chairs for Ida. "And tell me about this ARM you want...oh for crying out loud," she groans, looking at what appears to be a drying coffee stain on the table in front of where Ida is supposed to sit. "Dad is such a slob. Give me a sec..." Precis looks around for a rag, can't find one, then shrugs. "Eh, he won't notice," she says, pulling a tan jacket off the back of one of the other chairs (revealing what appears to be a heavy belt with a holster and a sheathed sword, belted over the back of the chair); she swishes the coffee off with one of the sleeves. "THat should...huh," she notes, holding the jacket up and frowning. "Weird, it's not soaking up," Precis mutters, turning it around until the weird green C logo is visible. "Eh, whatever - boys don't notice stains," she concludes, tossing it back over the back of the chair, where it dangles next to---

---is that an Everstead-Rey repeater?

Dishes rattle in the back room as Robbie slowly begins to climb up the table leg.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida can't even begin to wonder how complex such a project might be. So far, in the few minutes she's seen Robbie, she's observed it responding to vocal commands, engaging in basic bipedal locomotion, and--presumably--following instructions to perform a complex task. She's seen remains of ARMs that did that sort of thing, but that was... not of human design. And Robbie is over there, presumably doing what his teenage creator told him to do. Ida is at a bit of a loss for words, though she's still as polite-seeming as ever.
"Thank you," she says, as Precis pulls out the chair. "I can't--" She sees the stain at about the same time Precis does, and peers at it, as if expecting it to disappear on its own. Alternately, as if expecting some help to materialize from the aether and deal with the coffee on Precis's behalf. Neither happens. Ida does seem to recognize something familiar about that jacket, and frowns, just a little. "How odd," she says. She sits down, carefully positioning herself to avoid what's left of the coffee, and waits for Precis to take a seat.
"I came across an old mural in one of my excavations," Ida says, deciding to launch into things right away. The table shakes. Ida looks down at Robbie, carefully-suppressing an aww. "It climbs," she remarks, more to herself than Precis. "I've never seen..." Anyway. Ida clears her throat. "It appears to be part of some old exhibit or memorial of the Metal Demon War, and Professor Levron thought it matched a record of someone named Kovak. Someone who wielded an ARM Called the FISTAGON." She is careful to enunciate.
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

Precis gives Robbie an affectionate look. "Aw, doesn't climb very good, but he tries. And see, he's too dumb to figure out that he left the jam at the bottom of the table." She leans over briefly, then picks up the pot and leaves it on the edge of the table, near to where Robbie is ascending. He's about a third of the way up now. Precis turns her attention back to Ida, listening to her story...

...at which point her eyes get reeeeeeeeeeal sketchy.

"Uh....the FISTAGON?" she says, scratching her head. "Uh....yeaaaaaaaaah. I mean, I've heard of it, sure, but the guy totally blew up, right? It's probably in, like, a zillion pieces or whatever." Precis laughs...totally genuinely? Maybe? "I mean, what made him think it was the FISTAGON, anyway? Like, everyone's heard that old story. I mean, if you had a picture or something, maaaaaaaaaaaaybe I could tell you if---"

Dishes rattle, and the stupid half-curtain moves out of the way as someone backs into the room. "Okay, so I figured out that he wanted tea because he head-butted the teapot, why did he hit two cups?" asks the voice of a young man, as he turns. And stops.

Claude C. Kenny is dressed in his usual clothing, minus his jacket and weapons belt, which are over a chair, and his glvoes, which are sticking out of his pants pockets. Instead, he is wearing a frilly, laced white apron around his chest and carrying a utilitarian tea service. He stares openly at Precis and, more importantly, her guest. "Uh....."

"Hey Claaaaaaaaaaaaude!" Precis half-squees. "It's cool, just put the tea down. This is Ida, she's hiring me to show her ARM stuff too! And she's not paying in chores, either."

Claude stares for about twenty seconds, by which point Precis is looking back and forth between them. "Uh....do you two know each other?" she asks, frost forming ont he edge of her word bubble.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida almost laughs along with Precis. Almost. "He seemed fixated on the gauntlet," she says. "I have a copy of the rubbing my colleague took, if you give me a--" A familiar voice.
"Claude?" Ida says, at the same time Precis emits that Valley Girl squeal. She seems just an eensy bit surprised, which means she's probably significantly more surprised on the inside. "Why are--" Hiring? Ida glances over at Precis--she can't remember mentioning anything about payment, though inwardly she kicks herself for not thinking of a contract.
The conversation stops. Things get awkward. "Claude is a colleague of mine," Ida says. "He's assisted me on a number of productive excavations, including the one that first turned up the mural."
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

"Oh is he now," Precis says, her tone a few fractions of a degree above 0 Kelvin.

"Uh, yeah!" Claude says, because he is unable to read a room. He sets the tea down. "Yeah, Ida's a pretty good shot, we've helped each other a couple times."

"Oh have you now," Precis says, looking back at Ida.

"And Precis and her dad teaching me about ARM stuff!" Claude adds because &c. "In exchange I have to clean their house. I figured it would be good to learn about it. You know, so I knew what was valuable. AND NO OTHER REASON."


"Hey Claude?" Precis asks sweetly. "I think we're out of honey. Could you go grab some?"

"Uh.... probably?" he says. "I guess they'd have some at--"

"Now, Claude."

".....okay, yeeesh," he mutters, untying the apron; he's wearing his loose sleeveless shirt underneath, which a) is loose enough that chest bandages are visible and b) is mysteriously unslashed by bearcat claws. Claude heads past the table for the front door, and Precis doesn't say a word.

It opens. It closes. Silence reigns.

"......soooooooooooooo," Precis says, leaning forward, eyes narrowed. "Is he your boyfriend, orrrrrrrrrrrrr...."

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Awkward silence just kind of sits there in the room after Claude leaves--the most unwelcome of all unwelcome guests. Ida glances down at the coffee stain, silently hoping that the problem will somehow resolve itself. It does not.
"I consider Claude a friend," Ida says, which is already way more open than her parents taught her to be about her associations with random people. "You feel a bit more deeply, I gather." Perfectly calm, perfecly nonjudgmental. "I won't tell."
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

Precis just sort of stares at Ida until she answers. Staaaaaaaaaaaaa---

"Feel deeply?" the young girl snorts and begins pouring tea. "We, like, just met a couple weeks ago, it's not like I want to marry the guy. I just wanted to make sure you were cool if he, like, came by here every now and again and just lifted stuff with his shirt off. You've seen him with his shirt off, right?" Precis asks as she passes a cup to Ida. "Seriously, I don't know what he's doing but it works. His abs have abs." She pauses, frowning. "He's kind of thick in the head, though."

A hundred yards distant, Claude is crouched down in the street beside a young man, helping him stare at an orange.

Precis slurps her tea. "So, anyway! Girl talk over! Gimme the drawing! Gimme gimme," she says, holding out a gloved hand.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida was not expecting a teenager to be so blunt about that sort of thing, which says more about her upbringing than she realizes at first. She blinks, once, and then seems to get what Precis was getting at. "Ah," she says. "No, I wouldn't mind at all." She gives the window a little furtive glance, perhaps looking for eavesdropping strangers and/or the ever-watchful gaze of Granas. She leans in closer. "I have. You should see him when he's working out." She's not sure if she's allowed to tell a stranger about the weird things Claude associates with exercise, like the kettle-with-a-weight-in-it or the mysterious TRX Device.
That dealt with, Ida reaches into her pocket, removes the charcoal rubbing and its protective paper folder, and presents the lot to Precis.
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

Precis takes the paper with the sort of delicacy that may be surprising given her personality, until you remember she spends half her time working with thousand-year-old stuff. She looks it over, scratching her head and tilting it around. Eventually, she smiles. "Ha!" she says, handing it back. "Nope, Old Man Levron's wrong - that's totally not the Fistagon. Hang on, I'll be back in a second." The young woman darts out into the garage, where there is much clanging and then a low humming, as if every bee in the world was singing in baritone.

Meanwhile, Robbie slowly pushes the pot of jam toward the centre of the table, his little legs chugging along.

"TA-DA!" Precis yells, after which there is a loud thump from the direction of the garage. "UGH, dang it, stupid doors," she mutters, then sort of turns sideways and edges her way through...revealing that she is wearing a large backpack, leather straps securing it to her shoulders. Riding atop the backpack is a pair of giant blue and green robot arms, which end in comically oversized fists about as large as the young girl's head, each finger possessing immaculately crafted, articulated metal joints.

"TA-DA TIMES TWO!" she says, beaming broadly. "There are the Fistagons, except they were old and busted, so I fixed 'em up good. I call 'em the Puncher now," she explains as she lifts a small handheld device in her hands. "Check it out!" she says, pressing a button, causing the giant right fist to drive forward in a powerful punch. "It's totally sweet," she proclaims, mashing the buttons.


<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Robbie has the sort of can-do spirit that more people could show in this day and age. You are a shining example for all of us, Robbie.
Precis confirms what Ida sort of suspected all along. She lets out a soft little sigh, despite herself--and while she figures she should feel a little bad, she got sent on a wild goose chase that involved talking to someone who was staring at an orange. Or trying to. Precis darts off before she figures out how to address the issue, and Ida sits there, wondering what's going on, and--
Precis returns. Ida's eyes widen just a little. How did Precis manage to put that thing on, it looks like it's mostly metal and it's the size of her torso. "Goodness," she says, to the totally sweet demonstration of punching. "I don't think--I've ever seen anything quite like that. You control it with those little sticks there?" She points to what is definitely not a Dual Shock, intrigued. Then she glances back at the picture, which is, yup, just a totally normal stylized gauntlet on a totaly normal human arm. "Can you make it perform delicate manipulation, or is it not refined enough yet?"
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

"All it does is Punch for now, which is why I named it Puncher," Precis says, reasonably. She holds up the updated-in-the-remake-to-a-PSP. "There's some other stuff in here, but I had to yank crap out so I could lift it." She pockets the device. "Anyway, if Claude trusts you with secrets an' stuff, then I can trust you not to tell anyone about this. Hang on a minute while I shove this back in the closet," she says, darting back out.

Another minute or so passes. Robbie leaves the jam pot in front of Ida and then waddles toward Precis' seat, sitting down and rocking from side to side. This is apparently its wait mode.

Precis re-emerges, wiping her brow. "Anyway, I can figure why Old Man Levron figured it was the FISTAGON, becaus he doesn't know it's two fists that were gone." She picks up her tea and drains it. "So that drawing's probably something else. Like the Demon Fist or whatever."

You aren't carrying anything.

You have 3887 Pennies.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
"Sensible," Ida says. She then presses a finger to her lips. They are sealed. She watches Robbie, and since there is no one else to observe, she allows herself an "Awww." She reaches out to give the robot a gentle pat on its head. When Precis returns, Ida is back to normal.
Precis explains her theory. "...The what?" Ida says, arching a brow.
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

Precis gives Robbie a little poke, causing him to roll halfway along the table. He slowly rights himself, then begins waddling back. "The Demon Fist?" she asks. "I dunno, some kind of old martial artist or something like that. Claude was---"

The door opens again, and a blonde spaceman enters. "Uh, I got honey," Claude says, holding up a small pot. "Also, uh, some oranges. I got a craving for some reason."

"Yeah, like, whatever," Precis says, waving at the table, where Claude deposits his spoils. "Hey, Ida was asking about that, like, Demon Fist you mentioned a week or two back. Tell her about it?"

Claude blinks and looks betweent he two young women, because suddenly Precis is acting like they're besties and this worries him. "Uh..." he says, scratching his chin. "Right. Uh, well, after I fought Zed in Adlehyde and punched him through that wall--"

(Precis smiles a little.)

"--some dude came up to me and asked me to join his dojo. Something about, y'know, yadda yadda..." Claude waves his hand. "School of the Undefeated something... he was bragging a lot. But he said his school was descended from the Demon Fist, who I guess was a badass kung fu warrior in the Metal Demon Wars or something." The young man shrugs. "I forget his name, but when I told him to go pound sand he said he'd, uh, show me the error of my ways at the Lacour Tournament of Arms. So he'll probably be there."

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida looks at the orange as Claude deposits it on the table. She knows, man. She knows.
"I remember that," Ida says. Mostly because it was the first time she'd ever seen people get that ridiculous in a fight--before, she'd only seen little glimpses of it when her mother decided to show off during ARM demonstrations. Then she started digging into it herself, and well... "Interesting. I didn't know people were trying to recruit you. Does Zed know people are trying to poach his rival?" Ida grins. oh my god did she just needle claude a little what is even happening
"But I suppose there's the slight chance that this man is doing more than boasting. When is the Tournament, again?"
<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

Claude snorts, giving Ida an amused look that causes Precis' eyes to narrow. "It's after the Exhibition. And knowing Zed, he'd probably demand to fight the guy first. Not that I'd care if he did," he adds with a shrug. "I already have a master. And whoever this dude is, he's not the guy I'm going there to beat." Claude's eyes narrow, and his right fist tightens.

Precis flumphs across the table. "Like, whateveeeeeeeer," she declares. "You can dream about punching dudes later. Break time's over!" she declares, pointing back at the kitchen. "You've still got crap to clean if you want that lesson."

"Yes, ma'am,"

<Pose Tracker> Claude C. Kenny has posed.

Claude snorts, giving Ida an amused look that causes Precis' eyes to narrow. "It's after the Exhibition. And knowing Zed, he'd probably demand to fight the guy first. Not that I'd care if he did," he adds with a shrug. "I already have a master. And whoever this dude is, he's not the guy I'm going there to beat." Claude's eyes narrow, and his right fist tightens.

Precis flumphs across the table. "Like, whateveeeeeeeer," she declares. "You can dream about punching dudes later. Break time's over!" she declares, pointing back at the kitchen. "You've still got crap to clean if you want that lesson."

"Yes, ma'am," Claude sighs, giving Ida a wave and scooping up the apron on his way back through the kitchen.

Precis frowns at him, then beams back at Ida. "Okaaaaaaaaaay!" she says brightly. "So for that one-of-a-kind-only-two-people-know-the-truth exposé on the Fistagons, that'll be fifteen hundred Gella, please!" Precis announces. "Claude knew the rest of that stuff, so I probably shouldn't charge you for it. So long as you're friends," she adds.


<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
"Perhaps I'll speak with him myself, then," Ida says. She gives Claude a little wave as he heads back into the kitchen, and is already in the process of retrieving her gella pouch when Precis announces the fee. She counts out the gella (mostly Ignas-minted by now, though the biggest coin is definitely from Guild Galad). She slides the stack across the table to Precis, letting her count it out.
"Thank you," she says, once everything's settled. "If I need another ARMs Meister's consultation, I'll know who to go to."