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Snippet #2700585

located in The Wasteland, a part of The Age of Gifted, one of the many universes on RPG.

The Wasteland

An apocalyptic landscape, most of it is covered by ash, earning the nickname "The Ashland"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Beretta Character Portrait: Agent Mayday Character Portrait: Mimic Character Portrait: Canvas Fajaar
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Footnotes

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"Pinot noir, Beretta, dear. I am a little off time," Supervisor Canvas Fajaar admitted. The Supervisor usually had a pleasant demeanor, but he seemed extra cheerful today, his stride loose. He entered dressed to match the in-character Agents: A silver-gray tuxedo, black shirt, and a white tie that caught the low light in geometric bits of shine. "I nearly forgot a favorite." The Supervisor held up a smooth bottle of a pinkish, crystal liquid labeled 'Se Détendre,' and set it in a row of similar bottles bearing labels like 'La Félicité and 'L'aigreur.' It was already open.

"Did you know," said Canvas, half sitting against the table, "they've got emotional manipulators whose entire jobs are to add dashes of feelings into beverages with so much alcohol content, they could be adding dashes of hair bleach and you'd barely know the difference? Really, it's terrible. Ridiculous waste of resources. It's this sort of wasted talent that will lose them the war." The accusatory words didn't quite match his flippant tone, or the fact that he appeared to have had a taste of ridiculously wasted resources already. For educational purposes, of course.

"Have a drink." He paused. "That's today's lesson. All of you, have several." He made a sweeping gesture across the glittering array of multi-colored beverages. "If you can avoid it, don't get anywhere near inebriated on the job, of course, but it's nigh impossible to make it through a party without taking a sip or two, and we can't have you making faces and choking and such. In any case, you'd be wise to get familiar with your tolerance. I recommend you start at the table on the left and work your way to the right, because the best stuff is on the left, and I suspect you won't be noticing the taste by the time you get halfway. Try all of them. If you can." He smiled. "I'm not going to say this is strictly a competition, but I will say that I got a small head start to make it a fair one. Get on with it. Try to enjoy yourselves. It's easier than pretending.

Dark eyebrows drawing together, Canvas stood aside for a moment, casting critical looks over the trio, his eyes suddenly showing a clarity that his entrance hadn't let on. This team had not gelled yet. He had some major concerns about this mission. He looked at Mimic--still in her mask, not yet wearing the face of the Erubescan partner Canvas was trying not to imagine locked up somewhere in the base (pity, because he'd rather hoped he could get used to that on the drinking day). Beretta, still not steady on those heels. Finally he looked to Mayday (still-stiff-despite-sleeping-with-Beretta-for-days-Mayday) and, as if just noticing the Agent's colorful presence, Canvas broke his momentary seriousness and laughed aloud. "By the way, you look preposterous, Agent Mayday. You would stand right out. By which I mean you would fit right in. Lovely."