Sunshine in Sharo (EVENT!)

"W-Well, if w-we're not n-needed like that one g-girl, er, g-guy says," MeleeMan affirmed, "I g-guess I wouldn't mind a change of sc-scenery. I'll go w-with you."

"Alright. We should try out virus busting; it's the way most netbattlers amass chips, you know," Rania nodded. "That's fine, you can go with Seraphim."

"Huh. W-wasn't asking your perm-mission, Rania," he shivered, heading for the port out of Sharo. "I c-could definitely use s-some warm w-weather..."

"Shouldn't you say farewell to the rest of your allies before you leave? You couldn't have gotten through a battle like that without their support," Rania urged him hastily.

"F-fine. Th-thanks guys. You all d-d-did well- HACHOO!" he sneezed, spraying his allies in disgusting snot. "Uh... yeah, th-thanks again," he sniffed, whiping under his nose with one of his large forearms.

"You're so rude, MeleeMan. Try to act a little more gracefully around your partners, please?" she begged him, her face reddening in embarassment. "I'm not sure I can bare to meet any of their operators now!"

With that exchange, MeleeMan left the frigid terrain of the Sharo region.
OOC: You know, supposedly you'd have to go through the NetSquare to get to other areas without jacking out, under our new concept of the Net.

"Hold on!" Shouted Oberon, appalled at MeleeMan's departure. "We're not done here!"

Internally, he asked himself, and his counterpart, if they were stalling for no reason. They had thought that they were recovering the stolen chips, but from the looks of things, this expedition might have been a waste of time. Perhaps it would be best to head back to the NetSquare.
"I just thought of something," Pianissimo spoke up suddenly. "What if there are no stolen chips? If my operator's right, then the guy who sent us out here was the heelnavis' leader the whole time. In other words, we told their leader that we'd receive the chips, not the ones who they were supposedly stolen from."

Pianissimo sighed. "Besides...THEY provided the pie to lure us there, didn't they?"
"Lovely." Oberon was the only one speaking, but internally there was an entire scene playing out, with him comforting Titania as she mentally slapped herself for the oversight.

"Unless you want the battle to be resolved without us, I say we move out. It's been a pleasure fighting with you-- anyone who wants to see how this plays out first-hand, come with me."

With that, he saluted his party, then turned his back and ran for the NetSquare, the form of his weaons appearing on his hands in mid-dash. As his white form retreated into the snowy landscape, his outline became more and more indistinct, until nothing could be seen but the articulated edges of his form, the grey moving shadows betraying his body, and nothing else.
"Finally," Chaos muttered. "Some action."

The beige NormalNavi followed Oberon at a jaunty pace, practically skipping through the snow. On the inside, Chaos was fuming at the delay of his meat shields and at the fact that the muscle bound clod had deserted the group along with the game freak. That left "NaviMan" stuck with the schizo, and the two who new his secret. At least he would be able to get his claws around the fool who had started this whole mess.

"Yay!" He shouted with glee. "We're gonna stop the badguys!"
As the NormalNavi drew closer, the white-bodied Navi gradually took on a more definite form. It could have just been that Chaos was seeing him up closer now, but in any case Oberon's figure appeared to arrange itself into his recognizable form. "Glad you came," said Oberon as he ran, as soon as Chaos was close enough to make out the contours of his face. Maybe it was the lighting imagination, but Oberon's form still wasn't very definite, and his voice seemed to ... skip, once in a while.

"You don't seem like the vigilante type," said Oberon without turning his head. "What's your story?"
"Me?" The beige Navi seemed to hesitate for a second before responding. "I guess I'm just your average Navi."

Chaos cursed mentally as he quickly pulled together a rough background for his newest disguise. It wasn't very hard to come up with believable lies, but he had to be sure that the lies fit with each other and that they fit the character. It was truly a tangled web, but Chaos was a master of the art.

"My NetOp suffers from a general lack of creativity. He is far more analytical and calculating than artistic. Therefore, I was designed with the most base elements, lacking any proper color, customization or specialization. All I really have is this basic personality that is quite generic as well. I may not seem like a mercenary, but most Navi have a desire to delete virii and stop injustices. It is rooted in my core data that I must have such feelings as well." Despite the rather depressing topic, "NaviMan" maintained an all to cheerful tone.

"Anyway," NaviMan laughed. "I'm quite boring. However, you seem very interesting. Tell me about yourself!"

Chaos chuckled silently. He had ulterior motives for learning all that he could about the opalescent Navi. Perhaps he could still have some fun with the schizo hermaphrodite. Or, perhaps he could use him against the other two if they decided to show their true colors. Either outcome was fine for the dark Navi within the beige NormalNavi suit.
Pianissimo dashed off after Oberon, not wanting to get left out in the cold when it was he that first suggested they go back. Besides, he didn't trust Chaos alone with him, no matter how well he was keeping up that act of his.

His scarf no longer flapped in the wind, as by now it had accumulated so much ice that it hung limp. The eyepieces of his helmet were starting to frost over, as well. I have got to get out of here he thought, clearing his helmet of ice. Fortunately, Duke tends to prefer navis with a good deal of speed. He had finally started to catch up to Oberon and Chaos.
"I was a subject in a Navi development company's field tests," said Oberon flatly, the gem on his chest catching nothing but the erratic natrual light now. "I was used to acquire data on team tactics, LinkNavis, Crosses, and combatibiliy configurations, that sort of thing." His voice was terse, guarded, as if he didn't yet trust Chaos enough to completely spill his past through his mouth.

"As you can clearly see, I was pulled from the field after I reached my limit, and was given to my most recent operator as part of a severance package."

For a moment they ran in silence, and then: "Quite a severance package it was, too. Kept him living quite comfortably until he found a job as a stay-at-home fiancee of sorts, living off of a rich girlfriend. It's a fitting end for such an... illustrious individual."

Towards the end of his speech, Oberon's face and voice changed just slightly, though nothing in his face, body language, or even the sapphire accessory hung from his neck betrayed why.
The stagnant breeze rejuvanated itself amidst Triggerman's poncho as he listened to the proposition Oberon had set forth.

"...Head back to the square." Marlowe commanded directly, his private voice momentarily drowning the faint melody of the Western Wind.

Triggerman nodded mentally; at the moment, he had other pressing priorities. With a snap of the revolver, Triggerman paid his dues to the .45, by respecting each chamber with a new lead friend.

Four shots in and a spin; the deed was done. As his gun arm reholstered the revolver, his free hand took the opportunity to lower his hat.

With silent assent, Triggerman's form became solely poncho and hat, floating in unison. As his features faded, the Western Wind's strength grew. In another moment, he had migrated in the same direction as Oberon had made for.