(Untitled)

[acts_of_gord]

They're about two days away from the assault on the dead zone gene worm, and Gordon still hasn't figured out his exit plan. True, they could go with what worked for Shephard, or they could try an alternative variant, but he'd like to have something a little more reliable lined up if possible. He needs time to brainstorm, so he's slipped off to

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[slayer_fray]

"Go for the brain," says Mel, who is unsurprised that someone's asking about something she has first hand experience of. She's Mel.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon glances up at that. "I'm not sure where I'd find it in relation to where I'm likely to be," he says, "but that does sound like a good idea. You've done this before?"

[slayer_fray]

Mel nods, and slumps down into the nearest chair, giving his brainstorming a cursory glance. "Swallowed by a giant caterpillar demon summoned by my twin brother to birth all the demons back into this plane o' reality and change the world as we know it."

Matter-of-factly. It's just her life.

"Didn't wanna have to deal with stomach acid."

[acts_of_gord]

Several of the ideas appear to involve attempts at overcharging or otherwise upgrading various explosive-payload delivery systems. One involves a sheet-metal shield and a pre-deployed portal gun.

"Guessing it worked, then," says Gordon. "No demons here. Just an oversized, gengineered, half-cyborged lifeform being used as a chemical conversion plant. The only person who's survived going up against one says he used everything up through his rocket launcher on the outside and it didn't even flinch, but high explosives or heavy firearms down its throat or in its stomach cavity worked."

[walking_napalm]

Liz slows (in passing on her way to the bar) to read the sign on the table, and she begins to smile a little bit by the time she reaches 'organisms.'

"I've got somebody I could send your way," she says, paused there with her mug of coffee in her hand. Today is an unassuming-looking day -- a loose black skirt, black tights, a black sweater, and black combat boots.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon, for his part, is in his usual downtime clothing- a grey and white Black Mesa T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and a crowbar hanging from his belt. He looks up and nods. "I wouldn't mind hearing from them," he says. "Any kind of voice of experience would be good."

[walking_napalm]

"He's a voice of experience, all right," she says wryly. "He kind of makes a habit of it. Hellboy. Big red lunk in a trench coat with horns and a tail. You won't be able to miss him."

[acts_of_gord]

"I think I've seen him around," Gordon says. "What planet is he from, or is it another dimension?"

What? Either one's a legitimate question, especially given what happened to Gordon's world.

[a_mere_child]

Eventually, he is joined by his fiancée.

"Hey, you."

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon looks up and offers a smile. "Hey," he says, pushing the papers aside. "How're you doing?"

[a_mere_child]

"Mmm... could be better," she admits as she sits heavily on the seat next to him. "Hormones."

She'll spare him a more thorough description.

[acts_of_gord]

That gets a wince. It's something he can literally only imagine. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Hey, you never know around here.