Erhart had been stalking around the Hangar for quite some time. The various ships interested him, as he went from ship to ship, analyzing each with the augmented mind of an Astartes. But then... he saw something strange. A flash of red. Something obscured by other ships, but now found to him. His hearts pound, and he runs toward it, clambering up the side of a larger mass-conveyance ship to find the half hidden thing.

A gunship, in the colors of his artistic brothers. The blood Angels. Heavily armed, and with a certain ferocity to it, like that of a predatory bird. He stares at this wonderful fruit of the Omnimessiah, unsure of what to do with it, who he should call. What he should do. Indeed, if he can do anything with it.

It was like a Thunderhawk, the steed his chapter rode to war in, only smaller, more agile. But so heavily armed it could only be a form of gunship. He crossed to it, touching the heraldry of the Blood Angels blazoned on the side with a reverent hand. "Dorn's blood!"

Sleeping in a small hole quickly lost its appeal. It was alien and strange and Ian had adjusted to sleeping on a odd-shaped bed once upon a time, but this would take more adjusting. And when there were perfectly normal rooms in the city there didn't seem like much point.

Although Ian was temporarily living in the city, he needed somewhere more permanent and preferably more normal. He wasn't going anywhere, and it didn't look like the war was ending, so he might as well settle in.

Of course it would help if he didn't keep getting distracted by discovering more of the city...


((ooc: He is going to be finding somewhere with John Crichton, but you can find him gaping at the building of your choice in the city.))

Alendian knelt in a large, flat, and obstacleless area - one she had created for this sensorium trial. Robed and without armor, she had a long rifle in her hands. Slowly, she plinked away at incoming targets far, far out in the distance. Metal machines with weapons that glowed a bright green. No, there was no danger since she had set them to just march forth. No attacks, no weapons blazing. Just mindless machines. Mindless so she could keep her own mind wandering while knocking off head after head on the metallic skeletal creatures known as Necrons.

For Alaitoc Eldar, what she was doing was wrong. She was using a weapon and skills she had gained on a previous path in life but Alendian wasn't quite known for her rule following. Still, she was forced to wonder how much the situation had changed from home. Was this the right thing? Was making use of what she knew really going to cause problems on a scale larger than she could view? Alendian had it in mind to ask the Farseer but she wasn't from Alaitoc. Just as Alendian couldn't understand why the Biel-tan were so aggressive, the Farseer would probably have trouble understanding why those from Alaitoc were so strict.

It probably wouldn't hurt to ask in the end.

With a barely audible noise, another shot left the rifle and pinged into a head of yet another Necron. Releasing a sigh, she realized it was going to be a long day.

How did Applejack stand working so hard around the farm? Her secret was simple: combining work and play. She'd brought the same styl to Hydroponics, where she'd sectioned off a small patch of the ground to be a place for some of the animals to play. The grass was dug up and seeds were planted elsewhere, water was poured, and Applejack herself was pounding her legs into the dirt. Making mud! Her bright orange coat was now coated in brown, and the longer she worked, the further she sank.

But this wasn't very fun. Back home, she'd done---yeah, that was what was missing! She hopped out of her little mud pit, tracked dirt across the grass, and set off at a fast trot. "Yee-haw!"

If anypony happened to be hanging about, they'd be splattered when the large pony came crashing down, rolling in her little pit of dirt. Her hat sat some distance to the side, miraculously untouched by the splattering of mud. Surely most would know to stay away from such a display.

The television in the living room lights up.

Tyrant Mail,

However many models will appear for judgment. However many minus a few will remain in the competition.

Fiercely in love,
Tyrant

The contestants are then led from the mansion to the judging room. The judges sit behind a long counter with a screen behind them to replay the highlights from the runway challenge.