Sabra La Tau

Who: Someone, anyone
Where: Ophi dorms + wherever you are
When: Day 157, Mid-morning
What: Destroying memory tubes :|

[There is a young girl with golden hair in the dorms this noon. She is also making a lot of noise, dropping her memory tube from the second floor, whacking it against the walls or trying to stab it with one of the kitchen knives. She doesn't seem happy that it's not working.]

Open!

Who: Anyone
Where: Anywhere
When: Day 157, late morning
What: Morning walks and visits

*time to stretch his legs... well, leg, anyway.*

((OOC: If you are injured and want to play anyway, assume he walks past your dorm; he doesn't really have a planned path today.))

Who: Stresspire!
Where: Everywhere
When: Day 156 (late night) and Day 157 (eeearly morning)
What: Ren is hungry and hunting down stressed people.

[If you're awake and stressed, this guy wants YOU]

Who: Any
Where: By a WALL
When: Day 157, morning
What:

THERE!

[There is a wall. It wasn't there last night. It doesn't really start or stop anywhere interesting, and certainly is not rooted in any wall. In fact you could, just as easily walk around it.

It IS huge, though. With a small stepladder, and a rather comfortable looking cushion perched on the top of it...]

Crude... but it just might work.

Who: Peacocks. Stealthy peacocks. And anyone who notices the peacocks are not as stealthy as they wish to appear.
Where: Pyxis/Cygnus cavern
When: Day 157, late afternoon
What: Tribute


[It's been two days of mad planning. The walls of Pavo's common room have been covered with skcetch after sketch, debates on position, size, rates of flow and whether clockwise or counterclockwise motion is more visually appealing. Materials were tested and retested, soaked, broke, stained and drained. Too excited for sleep, trips were made in the latest of hours; to the forge, to the mushroom forest, to the dimly-lit river's edge.

'Measure twice, cut once' was never so thoroughly applied. Every board was planned before the first log fell. Every ounce of metal accounted for.

But it's today, today that it all comes together. Holed away in a dead-end tunnel so conveniently close to the river's falling hiss, boards are cut, holes drilled. Conversation comes in bursts of whispers, laughter muffled in a sleeve, or cut short with a pensive look to the tunnel's first turn. There are no deadlines to keep, but the press of time is motivation enough, the itch in the fingers and the heart of how long has it been, lifetimes almost, since something last came alive under their hands.


. . . which, even all together, may not even begin to explain why a pair of Pavo are carefully rolling a giant wooden wheel down to the far side pf Pygnus's fertile ground, to where an odd mix of gears, two chiselled stones, and a triangle-shaped rest have been placed carefully at the river's mouth.]