Male clothing turns out to be far less complicated than female clothing. There are no extensive undergarments with lots of clasps and supports. In fact, it all seems to follow the philosophy of 'pull it on and go'. This works in Envoy's favor as she manages to get a still very unconscious (and muttering disturbing things), Walter Thorndike dressed and looking reasonably presentable without waking him up.

Envoy then left Walter on a gurney in her main lab as she went down to collect the electrostatic crystal from the core of the modified Titan. By the time she returns to her lab, Thorndike is awake and sitting up on the gurney. He stretches and groans as various joints pop loudly and then shifts to rubbing at his neck as if it feels chafed.

"When did you get back?" Thorndike actually asks, then blinks and looks horrified. "Oh no, I'm dead aren't I? You came to collect me in the afterlife! When I said I wanted to explore the unknown this is not what I meant," he moans. "I haven't even had the chance to heroically rescue a damsel in distress like all proper adventurers."

Blinking, Envoy has to pause to collect her thoughts before saying, "Of course you are still alive, Walter. Your joints just popped and you probably need a bath. I was rescued by Born-In-War from one of Dr. Von Bronson's other hidden bases. It seems he faked his own death all those years ago and is still getting by thanks to a portable life-support system."

"Then why do I have vague memories of being molested by some really strange looking angels. Or maybe they were demons," Walter remarks as he pokes himself, then even pinches his own arm to test that he feels it and is, in fact, alive.

"Well… do you really think that's something to speculate on right now?" Envoy asks, hoping the man's Victorian sensibilities will kick in and that will be the end of it. "Born-In-War will be bringing Icarus home soon, so we really should prepare," she notes, and goes to the wall and begins to cast a quick Mold spell so she can stash the crystal orb in the wall itself – just like she's done with the crystals from Number Twelve.

Walter continues to rub his forehead, looking pained. "Well, something had to have happened. I was just clearing space for the aluminum shipment and everything went fuzzy," he says, "I don't like not remembering. How am I supposed to keep a proper journal if I keep forgetting what happened."

"The shipment!" Envoy squeaks. "Did it ever arrive?"

"I don't remember," Walter complains. "If it did it should be in the corner of the main bay."

Envoy pushes the power orb into the wall, and then goes to check for the shipment.

Walter slides off the gurney and follows Envoy out. Slowly at that. He complains, "Goodness, I think I need to use more talcum powder when I shower. A bit of heat rash is upon me." Out in the main bay there's a pile in the far corner with a tarp thrown over it.

Heading for the tarp, Envoy breathes a sigh of relief. "I wonder if we could use that tarp to cover the Perambulator or the Gravy Boat," she says to Walter, and winces at the heat rash comment. Still, she figures he got the better deal from Inala than when she was the Goddess's plaything.

"I don't think it's big enough. If there a reason to cover them?" Walter asks. When Envoy isn't looking, the human grabs his pant leg and shakes it rapidly to increase airflow through them.

"Well, I don't suppose it really matters," Envoy says. "Born-In-War already knows who you are, so the Perambulator is hardly a secret. And… uh… was there a green angel in your dreams?"

"Green? That would be a silly color for an angel," Walter notes, "They were mostly all white. Maybe blond. And oh, one small brown one. Young. I think it was just a messenger, like, well, out of mythology. She giggled a lot. Why?"

"Oh, that's… good," Envoy says, then takes Walter by the shoulders and looks into his eyes. "Because, Walter, I'm afraid that for the past several hours you've been the sexual plaything of the Babelite goddess of Lust. Although it's interesting to know Barada was there too. So, since you didn't see a green one, then you don't have to worry about any sorts of diseases… "

The human blinks repeatedly at this. "That's, that's … amazing!" Thorndike declares and points towards the ceiling in obvious excitement, "Why, my luck couldn't be better! Hah! The society cannot mock me anymore, now can they? How many of them can claim firsthand contact with some sort of pagan deity? They're all amateurs in comparison, I tell you!" The human blinks again, and then asks in a more deflated tone, "Did you, uhm, say sexual?"

"Yeah, that's her theme, and you know how deities can be about stuff like that," Envoy says, and then pats that man's cheek. "I'm sure there wasn't any permanent damage though. She can be a bit bossy and… well, divine personifications of mortal characteristics tend to be self-absorbed and egotistic. She and I don't get along all that well. Sort of an 'ex-roommate' situation."

"Dear me, however will I explain this should I ever decide to wed," Thorndike worries and pulls at his mustache. "I am hardly one of those kinds of explorers that jump in the bed of every Hottentot they come across. I have morals."

"Well, if it helps any, Inala isn't technically real, being a magical spirit being," Envoy points out. "And I'm sure that if you ever recover your memory, you'll have all sorts of useful experience to apply to married life. Also, I doubt any humans on Abaddon know who Inala is in the first place, since I doubt the local Eeee population worships Her or her Sisters."

"Well, I hope nothing embarrassing happened, then. She didn't get you too, did she?" Thorndike asks.

"I used to be her living avatar," Envoy says with a sigh. "My only consolation for that period is that she was incredibly frustrated by the limitations of my body. Now, do you think we can clean up the lab so that it doesn't look like we use it for a kitchen? Born-In-War seems very concerned about Icarus having a proper environment and all."

"She didn't use your body to do things to me, did she?" Thorndike clarifies, looking mildly disturbed by the thought Envoy may have done untoward things to him. "As, er, for the lab I can try to straighten it up. Do you want me to convert one of the old dorms to a kitchen?"

"If it is suitable, yes," Envoy says. "I would prefer it if Born-In-War does not think me an unfit mother. I need to retrieve something from the lower offices as well."

"Okay. I'll get to work on that. When do you expect them to arrive?" Thorndike asks.

"Well, the vehicle that brought me will need to return to New Zion, then report in that I made it here safely… " Envoy says, "… then they'd need to fly back out. So… two to three hours, possibly. I still have my Reshape spells, so can help with moving walls or creating counter tops and such."

---

About five very exhausting hours pass before there is a knocking at the hangar side door. During that time, Thorndike managed to clear up the lab and only leave things in it that look, well, lab-like. The kitchen and their rough gear (including the makeshift hot plate) were moved down to the first dormitory. Envoy shaped a full counter there and the hot plate was embedded in it to give it a stove like appearance. Walter even managed to rig up a makeshift refrigerator by stripping down one of the bio-lab's deep freeze units and adjusting its cooling rate so that it would not produce dry ice. Anyway, it is fortunate that Envoy was straightening up in the main bay when the knocks came.

Envoy blinks, and hurries up the ramp to the door. "Who is it?" she calls, before sliding the cover of the viewing slit open enough to peek outside.

"Pizza delivery!" chirps Icarus' voice on the other side. By the time Envoy is looking through the slot, the mute Silent-One, Born-In-War, standing next to him just sighs and gives Icarus a disapproving look. "Such levity," Born-In-War signs and the glove translates in its metallic, tinny, voice.

The door is pulled open, and Envoy gives Icarus a hug! Then she asks, "What kind of pizza did you bring?"

"Something called a special. It has 'everything', according to Rising-Star," Icarus claims. "I do not see why they have interest in human foods such as that, but I am a tolerant parent and permit them their eccentricities," Born-In-War claims. "May we come in?"

"Of course! Welcome to… uh… well, it doesn't have a name," Envoy notes, stepping aside for the Silent-One. "Leviathan's Lair is catchy, but the Leviathan isn't here anymore… "

The Silent-One and Icarus enter. Born-In-War is dressed in some sort of tight-fitting suit, probably some sort of assistive interface for piloting titans, and his usual mask. Icarus is dressed in his 'street' clothing again and is without his mask for the time being. "Oh, uh," Icarus says and darts back outside, "Be right back! I forgot the box!"

"This is your home?" Born-In-War signs as he looks around, bemasked expression impassive and perhaps a bit critical.

Envoy bows to Born-In-War, feeling a little more confident in her own clothes and amber robe. "It… serves that purpose for the time being," she says. "I have no home, really."

"None at all? Not even on the world you came from?" Born-In-War asks. "This does not inspire confidence in leaving Icarus in your care."

"I was my own home in the world I came from," Envoy claims. "As a mage, I travel to where I'm needed. But I do have family, of a sort, on Sinai, and he has a home beneath the palace of the Khattan Emir."

The Silent-One seems to consider this, then nods once. "Ah, then there is a place of residence that should be of the standards I expect for family," Born-In-War signs in approval.

Icarus comes back through the doorway carrying several large, flat, cardboard boxes. Apparently it really was pizza delivery. He stops mid-step though and stares at the place where Inala had appeared earlier. The spot is still vacant, but the hybrid is wide-eyed.

"I admit this place is… not the best environment," Envoy says, "but Icarus is hardly an infant." Noticing the boy's gaze, she clears her throat. "Icarus, let's get those to the kitchen."

"We have a kitchen?" Icarus asks in a rather distracted tone. He blinks and pulls his eyes away from the spot and looks to Envoy.

"We do now," Envoy says, and leads the way down the ramp into the hangar proper, to where the kitchen has been set up. "Walter!" she calls. "Icarus brought pizza!"

Walter comes out of the 'kitchen'. He's wearing a rather ridiculous apron over his 'refined' clothing. It reads 'Adventures in cooking, from Bora-Bora, to Swaziland!' "Did someone say pizza?" he asks, sounding hopeful.

"It may need heating up," Envoy notes, a bit excited herself. She knows about pizza, it being a sacred dragon food group, but has never actually had any.

"Pizza," Icarus claims and thrusts the cardboard boxes into Thorndike's arms.

"This way, then!" Thorndike says and heads back into the kitchen, "I was putting some last minute adjustments on the infra-red oven." The kitchen itself is spartan, just a sterile cooking area with embedded hot plate and jury-rigged oven. There is also a table with several folding chairs around it. Nothing special, but serviceable. Thorndike sticks the boxes into the oven and turns it on to 'low'.

"I hope the journey out here was uneventful?" Envoy asks Born-In-War.

"It was extremely boring," Icarus complains.

"It was uneventful," Born-In-War states. He heads to the table and actually pulls out a chair for everyone before sitting down in one of them.

"What would you like to drink?" Envoy asks around. "We have water and… dehydrated milk," she notes. Really, they need to some proper shopping one of these days…

"Milk would be fine," Born-In-War signs, "Thank you. I was also not aware that you had taken the unusual entertainer as your mate."

"Walter is neither, actually," Envoy notes. "He is a friend and trusted ally – and also an Exile, though a very resourceful one."

"From what I have heard of his shows, he is an entertainer," Born-In-War signs.

"Those were necessary for survival. I have to fund my research and expeditions somehow," Walter points out and frowns a bit.

"He is an inventor and explorer who only happens to be entertaining," Envoy points out. "I am a powerful Mage, but I am also a singer and actress."

"I'm nothing useful," Icarus chimes in, "Just a chimera."

The stove goes 'ding'! "Ooo, food is hot," Walter announces. He grabs a towel and opens the door to extract the warmed boxes.

"You are a teenager," Envoy tells Icarus. "You'll find what you want to be in time."

"Technically, he's seventy plus years old," Walter points out as he spreads out the boxes and opens each one, unleashing an aroma of melted cheese and a mixture of toppings. It smells far better than most of Envoy's food experiments. "So, older than any of us."

Envoy finds herself actually salivating, and wondering if this is an inherited trait from her draconic mother, somehow. "Is there a special ritual?" she asks the table. "For the pizza, I mean?"

"You just pile slices on a plate and start eating," Icarus explains as he grabs a plate and several slices of pizza. "Just be careful to not burn the roof of your mouth with cheese."

The Aeolun reverently takes a slice onto her plate, and contemplates it for a moment before taking a bite. "Mmmm," she goes, chewing with her eyes closed.

"I do not understand the attraction," Born-In-War signs. Icarus brings him a plate anyway and sets it down before him. "Your daughters do, though, so you should try it," Icarus says.

"It… is… very… TASTY!" Envoy declares, and devours her slice as if there was a risk of it escaping! She makes growling noises too.

Everyone else, including Born-In-war, have all paused mid-bite to watch Envoy lose her mind. "She isn't always like this," Walter notes to Born-In-War, "She usually makes some sense."

Envoy DOES pause after finishing her slice, and checks to make sure her teeth haven't grown or anything. "Sorry," she says to the others. "It was my first pizza. My mother was very fond of it… "

"We're waiting for you to pounce a box," Walter actually says.

"One? I bet she pounces two!" Icarus chimes in.

"Are you certain you are a powerful mage and not merely an escaped mental patient?" Born-In-War signs.

"I do not pounce," Envoy says, and tugs the box over to herself instead. "Pizza deserves respect. It is the king of foods, and one of the few pleasures I can experience. And I've only ever visited an asylum before, never as a patient."

"Does this mean you want me to install a pizza oven?" Walter asks as he resumes eating too. He's very careful to keep his mustache out of the sauce.

Envoy considers it. "That might be too much of a distraction," she concludes. "You can't indulge all of the time. That would be… wrong, somehow. We have lots of work to do still, and I don't intend to stay here forever. The former owner isn't happy about us being here."

"Good ol' 'dad'," Icarus grumbles through his pizza.

"If you signed the property over to us, I could assign a contingent of soldiers to guard this location," Born-In-War signs.

"It… it isn't mine to sign over," Envoy notes. "The Museum just lets me use it. It's not like they'll risk any of their own to explore it after the first few got melted… "

"Melted? You expect me to leave Icarus in a location where he could be melted?" Born-In-War signs and his brow arches a bit. "I may reconsider relinquishing him back to you."

Envoy is much more reserved with her second slice of pizza. "Oh, that trap has been disabled," she says reassuringly. "And the rolling death balls removed. There was just the old Titan that was dangerous… "

"Yes, the titan. I may take that back with me if it is in salvageable condition. Otherwise, I believe property wise ownership would fall to Icarus, since he is the closest blood-relative to its original owner," Born-In-War signs. "But for now, we may as well enjoy the meal. Such matters will come in time."

Indeed, Envoy enjoys the meal. Is this the power of pizza? she wonders, as all of her various worries shift to the background for the moment. Titans, skeletons, Icarus's origins, Inala, Barada, Von Bronson… washed away by grease and cheese and tomato sauce and something that might be a mushroom or a pepper or an onion. Even that doesn't matter now! Just the next slice…