[log] A catastrophic meeting which forces people into a catamari. [closed]

[croi]

Characters: Lancer, Archer, Marcos, and Miranda. Or...LAMM, apparently.
Location T4, 83, nyanhouse
Date: Day 32, late afternoon, I'd write prose about how the sun is setting but it's fucking cloudy out, yo.
Summary: Random schlubs met in a (nyan)house and travel together. (Also, if through some coincidence your character happens to be in 83 at the exact same time then ping us, and welcome to the team, else it's closed.)
Warnings: Probably cat puns.

As established, it was late afternoon and cold as balls.

Having spent the last few hours uselessly wandering around los- momentarily turned around in an area which would ultimately turn out to contain jack shit with fuck all (probably accompanied by a lot of bickering), Lancer was fucking cold. And kind of annoyed at the sight of the house before them, one which they had passed by before. Which proved that they had gone in a large circle and...

Fucking dammit.

In a few minutes, they would all open the door, and a murderous cat shaped out of shadow, malice, and bullshit would emerge and try to kill them all. But that was in the future. At the moment he was freezing outside, and he wasn't alone.

Comments

[cloneprincess]

Miranda wasn't paying attention; that was really the only excuse she had to offer. The tablet provided a little too much distraction, and the cold, hard floors of Norfinbury provided too little decent sleep, and those things together were enough to completely ruin her plan to avoid people until she knew everything about everyone. It had been a good plan, and in a few days, she would deeply regret deviating from it.

Right then, though, she looked up and spotted someone else at the front door of the house she'd planned to search. She was already too close to avoid having been spotted, probably, and running away would just provide them with a target to chase. Instead she straightened up and marched directly for the person without making any attempt to quiet her steps or hide in the rubble.

"Hello," she said, when she entered conversational distance.

[esparasido]

Well. This was...new. Not the seeing people thing— somehow Marcos'd found himself stuck with two hulking behemoth guys with random medieval titles as names (Archer? really?)— but the person he's seeing Not Contributing To The Sausagefest thing. A welcome change of pace.

Right out of the gate, the biggest effort was not to stare. Something he dubiously accomplished, if the wandering eyes were any indication.

But anyway. Here's Marcos, 'subtly' elbowing the person behind him (sorry Lancer, or is this Archer?) and pushing forward to be the first one to say hi.

"Hey. You wanted to shack up in here, too? Good coincidence, huh?"