Downwards IC - Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, it's off to work w- BALROG!!

Deep within the confines of the earth, several miles below the surface, one would find stones, dirt, maybe some magma, a couple lost civilizations here and there, and who-knows-what in the terms of biological creatures (although most people’s guesses are worms. They’re probably right). However, if you were to pinpoint a certain part within these confines, you would have a chance to find the current location of the project currently being executed by the Exploration And Scientific Tourism campaign.

As you pinpoint their location of entrance and steadily guide downwards, you would eventually notice an unprecedented amount of miners drilling away at the walls which were dug out by whatever main tool of operation was used by the campaign. Vast complexes were made from these outer walls, up to and including a gigantic stairwell that spiraled down towards where the exploration team might be.

One would notice that as you went steadily downwards, you would find less and less miners working, with less and less construction being done, until eventually it was not but a tube heading straight down onto a vast platform. It is then that one might see that this platform is actually the roof of a building, with said building being the main tool the Campaign is using as their chief tool of digging.

Upon this platform stood plenty of people, be them miners, administrators, tourists, or what have you. One in particular was a tall, lanky, well dressed gentleman by the name of Matthias Mathley, one of the administrators to the project. A cup of wine in hand, with his other hand busy twirling his moustache, he watched in a rather bored manner an assistant, after having gazed over some schematics with one of the miners, proceeded to dash quickly back to the admin’s side, awaiting orders.

“So, tell me,” began Mathley, “Have we figured out the problem with the genetic coding in our Dwarf making processes? As well, have you managed to pinpoint all their exact, new clichés?” Indeed, while there were some unique, volunteer miners here and there, most of said miners looked exactly alike.

The assistant shook his head, “I’m afraid, sir, that we cannot change the coding. However, our scientists have deducted that these new miners would be superior to the typical Dwarven workers that you were planning on.”

“Confound it.” Muttered Matthias, having hoped to be surrounded by thousands of stocky, bearded, mining, muscle-bound, ale-addicted fantasy-men.

“It would seem, sir, that these new types stand at around 10ft, speaking in loud tones with accents that sound to be from somewhere in the UK, are fanatical to us and our cause, seem to be obsessed with Pauldrons (whatever those are…), and enjoy rewriting accounts of their experiences in deeply melodramatic tones.”

The admin shook his head, deciding that dwelling on a new subject would be best. As he dismissed the assistant, he began to realize that he hadn’t the foggiest clue what he was even doing there, or many other particulars concerning the campaign, like what they were searching for, why they had accepted several tourists, what means the bottom of the rig they were on was using for drilling downwards, why they had stopped, and worst of all, where the medic’s room was so that he could go check and see if some kind of released fumes were giving him some classic amnesia.

Huh, this is one weird voyage.

Two Drawles were standing on the platform, one of them looking at the administrator rather impatiently. And what might be a Drawle? Well, picture some odd mix between a classical eastern and western dragon, but standing on two feet, and almost three times as high as the average human being at full size. Really, that was as descriptive as one could get about these things without delving into a hundred-page essay on their physiology, for not only were their subraces determined by what birthstone of the month of the year they were born into, but further details and subclasses were also determined by the geology and the weather at the time of their hatching. As a result, after maybe a millennium since these beasts gained sentience, they decided to toss out any social caste ideals and stereotypes whatsoever, for it was just way too goddamn complicated.

The two current beings that were standing on the platform were a part of Ggren:Dell, Corps. (the closest equivalent translation of their business language [yes they had languages for different occasions] that could be found). One of them, standing tall and imposing at almost 16 feet, was the leader of the company, which was dedicated to the making of fine jewelry. Born in the age of Amethyst, his scales were a deep violet shades, and his sharp claws and teeth were as faceted as the gemstone itself. His "whiskers" were bushy, downright brittle-looking protrusions from his snout, but were not quite furry enough to even closely resemble a mustache. Duke Vraull adjusted the tie to his red, velvet suit, and glared at the administrator with a fierce-looking lavender eye. "I thought you said that you would be ready by the time we arrived, sir Mathley..." Grey smoke speckled with purple sparks floated out of his nostrils. The Duke was clearly not quite happy with the situation.

His son, on the other hand, didn't really seem to care that much. He had a the distinct look of an eastern dragon, rather than his scalier and "rockier" father, and was also born in the age of Topaz, possessing a brilliant shade of orange on his scales. While he was wearing some of the finest Drawle clothes money could buy, the outfit was much more casual, albeit very fashion-oriented, though the hoodie couldn't cover up the fine crest of orange-brown antlers he had. At the moment Xex was way more excited by the expedition itself, though he was kind of concerned about meeting all of these other people. He hoped that his 10 foot self didn't stand out that much.

To one side of the platform - as out of the way as possible from the general activity that was supported by the frenzied mannerisms of the tourists and assistants as they rushed about, either to get a better look at the rocks and dirt that the former somehow found fascinating or to deliver important messages to workmen - was an unfortunate clipboard and its owner.

If clipboards had feelings, and mouths with which to communicate them, then perhaps this particular specimen would have forgone all verbal language and simply bitten angrily at the hand that was, at the moment, scribbling with all the composure of a drunken hippopotamus. Papers fluttered all about, and the air around the hand's owner seemed to be afflicted with a permanent haze of graphite dust, vomited up by the fluttering motions of a rapidly-deteriorating pencil. The owner did not seem to mind this cloud - perhaps because she did not notice it, or had gotten used to its presence, or maybe even that she found the dull (and probably quite hazardous) sting of the dust in her esophagus to be a rejuvenating comfort, possibly reminding her of the good old days in the coal mines at home.

This peculiar creature stood on two feet, and had two arms, two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth, as well as short black hair that wrapped around the back of her head in simple glossy curves, and accentuated her piercing green eyes. She was about five and a half feet tall, had lived for perhaps thirty years, and looked to weigh between one-hundred thirty and one-hundred forty pounds. In these and other regards she quite strongly resembled a human being - and in fact, she was one.

The human being looked up from her writings for a moment, fetched a new pencil (for the old one had died of a broken stick of graphite, and from a broken heart as well - for it is a little known fact that pencils, unlike clipboards, actually do have feelings), and glanced down at the mass of papers that lay in terrified huddles at her feet.

"That should do it for now," she said with the voice of an octopus stampede at a spinach factory (yet with none of the quiet dignity) before signing her name in lopsided, flourishing letters on the final piece of parchment - 'Gena.' The clipboard breathed a sigh of relief with its hypothetical lungs as Gena set its poor, ravaged form aside to harvest her field notes.

Much to the displeasure of any sane being within earshot, Gena's vocal chords had not yet fled her body to a happier life elsewhere. "Assistant, could you fetch me some binding, please? I wish to add these observations to the rest of my collection on the symbiotic properties of the mycelium indigenous to our current depth!"

A Frenchman stood at the rail of the platform. He was a tall, thin man with a beret and a smock, clutching a paint brush and a palette. His mustache twitched, as if he were getting a creative urge. "Sacre bleu! My creativity has reached a spike! I must sieze this opportunity, and begin my latest masterpiece!" he exclaimed in French.

"Papa, you really think that painting a cave wall--" asked his daughter, a similarly-dressed girl with a purple barrette on the side of her hair. She appeared to be about ten years old, and had shown signs of artistic talent.

"It is not the content but the soul that you put into a masterpiece, my girl!" said the Frenchman, waving his arms wildly, before asking: "Throw me a sketchbook! I must capture this majesty immediately!"

In truth, the Frenchman was only trying to lift his daughter's spirits.

"Papa, this is the seventh cave wall you have painted this month," she complained. "Is there anything else you can draw?"

Seeing his failure, the Frenchman put down his sketching pencil and sighed. "The caves are all that I have seen the entire month, my dear. Oh, how an artist longs for a change of scenery! What a pain it is for my artistic passion to be diminished by a room of... rocks!"

"I don't think that painting the same thing without adding anything to it is creative at all. It seems like busywork," his daughter asserted.

"What do you mean?"

"You shouldn't just paint the walls alone! Surely there is something you can add to the landscape to make it interesting!"

The Frenchman jumped up. "You're right! My daughter, the ten-year-old genius!"

"If that's true, why am I still failing math?" the daughter murmured.

Immediately, the Frenchman sat and drew the cave, but this time, he added flair to it.

At least he tried to. He flung down his paintbrush in disgust. "THIS CONSTANT RATTLING IS DESTROYING MY CONCENTRATION!" he cried in angst. Then he calmly spoke to his daughter: "Cover your ears, please, my dear."

As soon as his daughter covered her ears, the Frenchman began to swear in French, cursing the constant droning of the massive machine that the platform stood upon.

Elsewhere in the carved cavern, a raindrop wandered around. Technically he wasn't a raindrop, he was a Pippopupian, but he sure did look like one. Putting these technicalities aside, Splash Drop looked around at the cave chiseled by "giants who are really dwarves", as the banner at the front said. Acid paying for this vacation was the nicest thing he'd ever done for him. 

"Finally, he's gone," said Acid Drip as he watched his brother take off for his pre-paid departure. "Let's go through his stuff and mess it up!"

"Let's steal his Super Nintendo!" one voice in the pack of five said. 

"Let's put his action figures in naughty positions!" another one said. 

Back in the cave, Splash had decided to do a bit of mining of his own. Unfortunately he couldn't find any axes, so he stole a paintbrush from the area around some swearing French guy and put a rock on the end. "Maybe I'll find gold!" he thought to himself. 

As he made the first swing, he heard a snap over his head (or maybe it was his body? They kind of just blend together), followed by a strong, blunt pain, causing him to be knocked down. "Ow, jeez!" he said in his high, slightly nasally voice as he rubbed one of his floating hands on the place of impact. "Hopefully that brush wasn't worth anything..." Trying to stand up again, he collapsed and fainted. 

Upon awaking, he had found that he was somewhere else in the cave. Additionally, his head was bandaged. Looking up, he saw his rescuer looking down at him. "Hey, are you my guardian angel? Because you must have fallen from heaven," mumbled a delirious Splash Drop. 

"I said stop talking!" The stone head of a worker who had slacked off so much that his services had been terminated in the most efficient way possible rolled off to the side as his neck was turned to powder. The long tail covered in pattered scales retreated from the decapitated figure to slide back towards the wall. Long nailed fingers of pale green stroked the rough area where the crushing power of her body had ended.

Flicking her tail around to loosen the stone dust clinging to her scales, she returned to sitting in front of the warm fire once more. The rags that made up her shirt hung loosely around her shoulders as she basked in the light. Having to serve as both quarry executioner and miner's adult entertainment was never what she expected in the last hours before her long hibernation.

"You've had enough rest, there's some trouble down on the platform, and we need you to keep them under control. Otherwise your feed will be delayed another day." She got up with a hissing slash at the speaker. Caged in heavy duty mesh too tight for her fingers to reach, the speaker had been the only contact with the ones who kept her caged since the beginning of her incarceration.

"I want food!" Whipping her tail to further destroy the headless statue, she slithered around for several moments in a fuming mood. The door opened to a rather lean male of human origin, clothes removed as she preferred. Hissing in delight, the human portion of her rose up into the air as her jaw unlatched, opening up to the width of his shoulders.

In a quick strike, she had swallowed the victim up to his waist, throwing her head back and convulsing as he was pulled down into her stomach. Shaking her head to allow the jaw to re-attach, she slid over to the door which was only unlocked when they needed her services. That is, when they needed the gorgon to scare the lazier of workers into efficiency.

The security man looked around, waiting for anything out of the ordinary to happen. He had been hired just a week before, after a really stupid biologist's run-in with a hostile insectoid. Nothing much had happened since the cave had been blocked off.
He tapped a cattle prod he had taken against his leg. He hoped he wouldn't need it. However, security is security and all that crazy stuff. He strapped the cattle prod back on to his belt and removed a small .38 special from its holster.

Gena frowned at the little raindrop, which she had found unconscious near an ore deposit, and gave it a curious prod with her new broken paintbrush writing utensil which she had found nearby.

"Sample displays sentience, common speech abilities, and considerable sweetness," explained Gena, flattered by the young drop's comment. She picked it up in a napkin and set it on a nearby table.

"There there, you little biological ooze, you. Now I need you to hold very still - the dissection process is a difficult thing, and I have access to only the most basic tools!" Saying this in as calming a voice as possible, Gena brandished the broken paintbrush in an attempt to sooth the curious specimen into cooperation.

"I'm just going to slice you open, make a few notes," - Gena had stockpiled a few stacks of paper and three dozen pencils for the task - "and splice you back together! Nothing could be quicker or less painful, except perhaps an ostrich on a motorcycle."

Xex overheard the exasperated shouting of the frenchman, and decided to see what was going on. He slipped out of his father's shadow, careful not to step over his spike-encrusted tail that nearly trailed on the ground, and went over to the daughter and the painter.

He must have looked awfully awkward, being maybe twice as high as them but looking about as bashful as a little kid. To tell the truth, he was always fascinated by the arts, and what was so far on the painter's canvas was absolutely beautiful to him, even though it was just a cave wall. "Did you do all of that by yourself?" He asked in an awed manner, pointing at the painting with two of his polished, orange talons.

The maker of the post also did not want to clog up her previous post with too much description, so she left out the fact that Xex has four arms. Just picture both left arms pointing okay.

The French artist noticed that people were staring at him.

"Are you alright?" asked an American police officer who was apparently there for security reasons.

The Frenchman looked at him confusedly. They could not understand each other.

Luckily, the American officer normally lived on the border of Canada, and had picked up a bit of French there. "Parlez-vous français?" the policeman inquired.

The artist's eyes lit up and he nodded. "Oui, oui!"

Using lots of hand gestures and what little French he had picked up, the cop deduced that everything was just fine and the artist was having a bit of a nervous breakdown.

The policeman turned to everybody. "It's all clear, just a little artist's block," said the policeman. Those who were staring at the artist turned around and did whatever they were doing prior to the artist's nervous breakdown.

The Frenchman took a few deep breaths, then heard someone ask him something in English. "Je ne parle pas anglais..." the artist apologized, shrugging to the someone in particular, Xex.

Xex had pointed his talons at the painting, and the artist looked at it, and thankfully, was able to understand. "Ah! Oui! Tu crois vraiment que c'est bon?" he asked.

Then he realized that he didn't even know if Xex spoke French. So he decided to ask. "Parlez-vous français?" he asked.

"Now hold up just a second, partner," replied Splash, still feeling a bit loopy from the hit. "First, I'll have you know that I was considered Most Likely to Not Totally Fail in high school. Second, if you cut me open, all you'll find is a bunch of water. That and that tracking chip they put in after I got lost in the backyard for three days. So if you don't mind, I can't let you dissect me. " He tried to get up, but he was still a bit lame from his injury. Instead, he just lifted himself up a bit and rolled off of the table. "Ow." 

The lady placed him back on the table. As far as he could tell, she seemed unmoved by his excuse. Then again, he couldn't see clearly, so how could he know? And how could an ostrich ride a motorcycle, anyways? Maybe if it was tied on... 

Oh well, at least she was pretty, at least from what he could see.

O'neill, our somewhat bored security guard, walked over to the woman being overly loud. "Maam, could you please tone it down a bit? Our artist friend just had a nervous breakdown and people talking loud can't be helping. I hope I'm not being rude." He finished that statement with a patronizing smile he had learned to use as a hired gun. Persuasion pai more debts than bullets ever will, and had the benefit of being legal.

Gena considered the raindrop's words. "I see. Would you mind then, in the absence of a formal scientific dissection, filling out this form with information on your name, age, species, evolutionary patterns, migration patterns, nesting patterns, favorite colors, superfluous anatomical structures, date of birth, date of death, and various other information?" She held out several books and a pen, but was interrupted by the approaching security guard before the little water droplet could be forced to fill out the volumes and volumes of blank lines.

Stunned, shocked, flustered, taken aback, and even a tad surprised at the guard's request, Gena looked left - then right - and finally back at O'neill before pointing to herself and asking "Me?" in as harmless a voice as she could manage (though it came out sounding more like a squeak toy in a blender). Unfortunately, in performing the gesture, Gena neglected to retain hold of the stack of books that had previously occupied her hand, and they tumbled to the floor quite noisily.

O'neill sighed, and then muttered under his breath, "Oh dear." He began assisting in the retrieval of various books, pens, and other stationary. Once he had picked up what the scientist hadn't, he set them down on the table. He then spoke again, "Much better now." He then walked over to the security/admin area, looking at the small sonar screen. Nothing yet, no large chambers or imminent discoveries. This looked to be a boring job.

With all the quickness and athleticism of a snail, Mathley turned around and looked up to the sight of Vraull glaring down at him. With a few noticeable twitches of his luxuriously primed handlebar moustache, he looked upon the important-looking Dwarle with a calm, if somewhat blank expression. The admin swung his glass around in a rather bored manner, as though used to the sight.

"And just, who, are you?"

An assistant, who had previously been entertaining some other entrepreneurs, took notice of the soon-to-be-horrible situation, and quickly dashed to Matthias' side, proceeding to answer to the Duke, "You'll have to forgive Mister Mathley, sir; he isn't usually inclined to the 'relations' part of business relations."

"I say!" grumbled the administrator, delivering the back of his hand across the cheek of the assistant. "I find it rather insulting how one would think that I wouldn't recognize my old associate of the Ggren:Dell corporation. Be off with you." The assistant, of course, knew better than to object, even if it was the bizarre, old Matthias Mathley, and promptly left.

"Now then, Vraull, I must apologize for our neglect on the side expedition of the jewel gathering. However, as you can see, we're a tad stuck. Hopefully we can get going soon, and with that, have more land to mine your jewels for... Aha! Here's a miner now. Quick, you, do you have anything to report?"

The miner was typical for the batch that was being churned out: tall, completely clean-shaven, and wearing some ridiculously heavy armor. He nodded his head, and proceeded to report in an English accent, "Administrator Mathley, I must inform you that the task we have been given is complete: a lower level has been dug below the ground which the Base is stuck upon. We are ready to continue downwards."

"Excellent! Sound the alarm for everyone to report into the base immediately, and then you can go write a melodramatic log detailing the events." As the miner left, Matthias quickly turned back around to his 'friend', Vraull. "Well, it seems that we are ready to continue. I suggest rounding up anyone who minds getting repeatedly slammed against the ground and heading into the building. Perhaps we can discuss your business outlook over a dinner of biscuits and wine, yes?"

"Well I guess it would be less painful," replied the recovering Splash. "I mean, how hard can writing words be?" Picking up and sorting through the slightly rustled stack (his eyesight had recovered enough), he looked at some of the questions, scribbling some of the answers in. First question: his name. "Splash Drop", of course. That wasn't so hard. 

Continuing down the page, he answered, at least to the Tbest of his knowledge, the questions. As he went on, the questions grew stranger, and so did the answers. To a question labeled "Nesting patterns" was the reply "Well, I live in a house with my brother, I guess". Continuing on for another five minutes or so, Splash finally reached the end of the page. "Well that wasn't too ba-- crap." Eying the bottom of the page, he noticed in small print "Page 1 of 108". 

"I can't do this!" slightly yelling in a defiant tone. "I'll surely get carpal tunnel! I mean, if I had wrists that is. Maybe dissection wasn't such a bad idea..."

As he said this, a loud rumble was heard. "What the--?" Suddenly, a purple hippopotamus covered in feathers fell though the roof of the cavern. Out of the sheer surprise, plus its sheer bizarreness, Splash fell over in shock.

The cop felt the jerk of the building as something large and heavy landed on the platform. "What the--" he started, before turning to the source of the noise.

The largest, fuzziest, purple-iest hippopotamus he has ever seen was lying on the platform like it fell through the ground every day. Upon close inspection, the fuzz appeared to be feathers.

"Excuse me," the cop said, walking up to the hippo, "I'll have to ask you to please not drop from the sky like that anymore. You could damage the platform, or worse, injure somebody."

Suddenly, the building creaked and groaned, as gears underfoot began to prepare the building for further descent.

The cop really hated freefalling. He tried the Tower of Terror in California Adventure once, and he did NOT like it. At all.

He put on his bike helmet and strapped it under his chin. This was going to be a long fall. He marched down the stairs just as the alarm began to blare.

ARWOOOGAH! ARWOOGAH!

The rumble of the motorcycle's engine was drowned out by the loud alarm. The Korean stunt biker removed her helmet and untied her hair, letting it fall past her shoulders.

It was difficult to even get the motorcycle into the base. The health and safety center had insisted that a motorcycle would pose a safety hazard to the people, as well as consuming the air supply. The cyclist had insisted that the bike would only produce emissions when the battery was empty, only to charge the electrical motor, and would turn off immediately after the battery was full. And to prove her profession in the art of stunt biking, she weaved through the entire crowd, not even touching a single person.

She was able to get the bike in.

The biker turned off her motorcycle's engine and walked it toward a ramp built for the impaired. Her motorcycle probably would kill someone if she tried taking it down the stairs (it's not pleasant having a big metal and fiberglass thing fall on your head after a mishap involving a missed step).

It was quite a long way down. Growing tired, the weary biker decided to screw it and hopped on the bike, engaging the ignition, and blasting down the ramp (being careful not to hit any hobbling grandmothers or guys in wheelchairs as she passed).

O'neill sighed when he heard the alarm. He walked over to his locker, removing a SCUBA mask, three hoses, two oxygen tanks, and a Y-bend like one would use for a garden hose. He screwed together his oxygen tank contraption and placed the mask on his face, putting the two oxygen tanks into a backpack and releasing the valves that would give him the oxygen. He took a couple of deep breaths, testing the rig.
Not that he had any reason to have it. It just made him feel so much more secure. His supervisor came over, giving him the usual rant about not going near any open flames or sparks. This rig was his safety-blanket of sorts, and it made him feel so much better. Another guard walked up to him.
The other guard spoke first, saying, "You know we have artificial atmosphere, right?"
He replied, somewhat muffled, "Shut up, I'm not breathing any damn rock dust that I don't have to."

Gena, fully prepared to reprimand the reluctant raindrop for not finishing its papers, was just retrieving the broken paintbrush for the dissection (Which would most certainly be occurring, as naughty organic specimens must always be punished lest they grow up to become juvenile delinquents) when the hippopotamus made its entrance.

As it were, the aforementioned purple creature provided a large enough distraction - both in shock value and scientific interest - so that Gena could only muster the brain power to accept page 1 of Splash Drop's forms with a meek 'thank you, that will be all' before turning her attention to the intruder.

She pranced over excitedly and examined it, headless of the screams of the tortured gears that prevented the platform from plummeting to unknown depths of the earth. "My goodness me and my grandmother's goodness to her as well, what manner of mammal might you be, my dear? You are certainly a lovely shade of violet!" The excited biologist motioned for a pencil and paper, which her assistants brought over, and began scribbling observations with furious determination.

Well, that was over. As the biologist was tied up in the hippo, Splash decided to make his escape. It wasn't much of an escape though, considering he was already dismissed, but it felt like one. Getting up off of his back and onto his feet, he made his way away from the table to some other place in the cave. Thank goodness for that hippo.

Wait a minute, he thought, why was there a hippo anyways? And why was it covered in feathers? And why was it heavy enough to break through the ceiling? Come to think of it, where exactly in the world is this cavern? Considering the hippo, he figured it might be somewhere in Africa, or possibly a zoo. Yup, definitely a zoo. But what kind of hippo has feathers? This was all too much for his watery mind to think of, especially with the possible concussion he had. Changing the subject, he realized that the last things he ate were a couple candies he found on the floor of the bus on the way over, and that was a few hours ago. He needed food.

Farther down the cave he came across an area where things seemed to have been the newest place mined. Where there is work, there are hungry workers, thought Splash. It seemed as though he wasn't too stupid, as there were a bunch of the toted "giants who are really dwarves" eating along the wall. It seemed they were eating sandwiches, from the look of it. Reminding him of an old computer game he played a few times involving mining and building toys, the sight made Splash chuckle a bit. Noticing the blue laughing thing, a few of the giant-dwarves stared at the assumed mocker. In return, Splash became embarrassed and nervous.

"I'll just make my way out of here..." But as he went to make his first step, an alarm went off, along with flashing lights. Oh crap, had he set off an alarm of some sort? Maybe they were detecting him as a threat to their food! In sheer panic, Splash ran back up the cave as fast as possible. "What kind of vacation is this?"

Back at his house, there also appeared to be an alarm and flashing lights. On closer inspection though, this wasn't an alarm, it was the high frequencies of loud dubstep. There was a party going on, hosted by Acid Drip, and all without his brother's knowledge. New lap records in Super Mario Kart were broken, and Spider-Man and Deadpool appeared to be in an act only dogs should do. This was the true purpose of the so-called vacation, to ruin everything behind Splash's back. But what does this have to do with the story? Very, very little.

O'neill, now sporting his new oxygen rig, walked slowly and carefully over to the hippopotamus. He pulled out a small pocket flashlight to see the subject better. It was a standard hippopotamus, albeit covered with flamboyant feathers. He asked, tentatively, if it was okay. However, he soon received a message on his radio headset. "O'neill, we have an LW in one of the caves. Non-recognized species, possibly D. sinensis. We've tranquilized it, but the scientists need some help with further containment or neutralization."
Woop de fucking doo. He had heard of the Lost World incidents, but hadn't assumed he would work on one. Now he was being deployed to some godforsaken cave with an idiot scientist. Grumbling, he took the elevator to the specified level and began walking.

As mentioned before, the platform in which we were introduced to was only the ceiling of the actual mobile complex beneath. Taking a stairwell downwards, one would find it to be made very long and large, about 4 stories perhaps in a large, cube shape. The décor was typical to that of a hotel, with finely cleaned walls, gentle lights, ferns decorating the place here and there, and the smell of lemon freshener wafting through the halls.

Within many of the halls were rooms designated for several purposes. Some were practical and entirely necessary, like the many supply and garden rooms, which kept the on-board visitors fed and healthy, and the Pilot’s Cabin, which controlled the movements of the machine. Of course, there were also plenty of unpractical and completely silly rooms, which we shall not dive into now, due to the fact that they are unpractical and completely silly.

And of course, quite a few wings were devoted to the residential rooms, in which the guests and personnel did their breaks and rests and whatnot. Within one of these rooms stood a woman, whom one would identify as completely normal. On the grounds, that is, if naked, 10ft tall women with skin and hair of rocks, vegetation and water were considered normal.

Yes, this was the Earth Goddess. Most people seem fond of calling her Gaia, for some reason. Although uttering her true name would be downright suicide for most mortals, seeing that the Earth Goddess who has yet to pronounce it correctly without dying from a lack of air, so she allows them to refer to her as Gaia. Now, there are many things we can infer about her, what with her nature as the Earth Goddess. Namely, we can realize that due to being a goddess in control of things having to do with the earth, she probably does not view this excavation fondly. Or modern humans and their resource scrounging in general, for that matter.

Indeed, we can see that we are correct in our guess, as one would notice that, after being bored in the room she took, contemplating the situation at hand, the Earth Goddess decided to leave the room and confront on of the leaders directly. Naturally, many people didn’t have too calmly a reaction upon seeing a giant, naked ground goddess stomping around the halls. Eventually, she managed to get pointed towards the Pilot’s Cabin.

As she stormed up to the wooden door, she proceeded to turn the knob. Of course, she then remembered that her immortal strength was far superior to the ‘feeble humans and their weak crafts’, so it was only natural that she accidentally ripped the knob of the door. Sighing in frustration, she opted for the much more traditional route: punching the door down.

With a splendid right jab, the door shot from its frame to crash upon an unwary assistant who happened to be standing within the wooden slab’s range. Several of the personnel and guests within turned their head to observe the strange looking woman. Matthias, who looked rather crossed at having been interrupted from his conversation with Vraull, marched up to the Earth Goddess.

“Indeed, madam, I must inform you that you are not wearing a shirt! Bah.” The administrator grunted in indignation, proceeding to rip off his shirt before handing it over to Gaia, who looked at it dumbly before slinging it upon her shoulders. “Now then, I demand to know the meaning of your door punching.” He asked, seeming to miss the fact that she was 10ft tall and had a body made mostly of rocks, plants and water.

The Earth Goddess leaned forward a bit, poking the Admin’s top hat. “I take it you’re the one in charge?”

“I am one of them, but yes.”

”Good. Now listen here, bud, I want to know exactly what this whole event is, and what you hope to accomplish from it!”

Matthias pinched the slight hairs of his chin, pondering over the demand. With an answer he thought acceptable, he replied, “If you must know, this is an expedition funded by many companies, investors and benefactors, in an attempt to enact many different means for each individual. Like, for instance, drill out new, underground respites, or search for gems and rare minerals and new metals, or discover new life forms and lands beneath the ground.”

“However, one of our heaviest investors, whom pays the largest sum, has a bit more… obscure ideals, the details of which he has only discussed with a few. Our only guide as to what it is comes in the message that we should continue downwards. While vague, he is still the top payer, and thus his goal is our main goal until it is complete. Now then, are you satisfied, miss?”

The Earth Goddess stood bored, her head resting on her fist. With a sigh of contempt, she responded, ”This sounds like a complete disaster. You’ll probably end up killing everyone… so, you know what, I’m not gonna to stop you. Heck, I might even help out around here, if I feel like it! Now then, what’s your next move?”

“Right. We are about to begin digging once more. In fact…” Mathley proceeded to turn towards the pilots, who were standing at the control panels. After some thumbs up from the lot of them, One of the pilots turned off the alarm and proceeded to grab a phone connected to the intercom.

”We are now ready to take off, ladies and gentleman. You are now obliged to hold onto the nearest railing for precaution. Digging begins in 5, 4, 3, 2.” With that one of the other pilots quickly touched one of the many glowing buttons upon the control panel, with clicking another in rapid succession.

If one were to be outside, they would notice that the hotel-machine began to suddenly ‘jump’, before plummeting back towards the floor. Suddenly, as the building connected, an explosion could be heard, signifying that the floor had been broken through, and causing the building to jump once more. It again slammed into the ground, causing yet another explosion, and causing it to jump again. One would then notice that this process would repeat itself constantly, what with it being the way that the building digs through the ground.

It was going to be a bumpy a ride.

He reached the scientist and gazed down in wonder at what he had caught. It was around three feet tall, obviously a mere juvenile. It was mostly a jungle green color, with spectacular red and yellow on the crests. It was obviously a specimen of Dilophosaurus, that being proven by the crests. He set to work looking at the creature, noticing the dart sticking out of its thigh. Without waiting for permission, he removed the dart so as to not give the animal any more sedative. The little creature gave a soft hoot and stirred, very lethargic and weak from the sedative. O'neill backed off. The scientist smiled, and said, "Don't worry, he's completely harmless. He's like a big dodo bird, if dodos ate rats and bugs. He won't even attack you. He just came right up and nosed me a bit." O'neill walked back over to the small creature. At the scientist's instruction, he picked it up. It weighed no more than fifty pounds. The scientist, seeing the wonder in his eyes, told him to bring it to the rig and acclimate it to human contact.
O'neill smiled, saying, "Thank you. He's a beautiful creature."
Halfway down to the rig, the creature stirred and nestled in closer to him, as though it were cold. It gave a satisfied hoot when they reached the rig, by which time it was strong enough to walk around. He called out to the woman who had been harassing a raindrop, saying, "You'll want to see this little guy!"

Gena, who had been clinging to the railing with one hand and the hippopotamus with the other - "Don't let go, my beauty! Don't you dare let go!" - turned to O'neill as he approached. "Oh dearie me, did the thing in the third floor closet hock up another tumor? Because I specifically told the custodians to take care of it..."

She recognized the creature as the security guard came closer. "My goodness, is that what I think it is?"

Forgetting the hippopotamus, and the wild movements of the mining rig, Gena let go of the railing to prod the Dilophosaurus curiously. "My word! No, bar that, my very individual letters! This is a fantastic discovery! I would like to run some tests, if that is all-" Her sentence was cut off as the platform jumped again, knocking her to the ground. Gena picked herself up with a grumble and dusted off her cargo pants.

"One Dilophosaurus sinensis, happy to be with humans and recovering from recent sedation. However, I and the man I represent would like to ask you to refrain from taking skin samples, blood samples, open surgery notes, or any other observations that could harm this little bit of nature." The Dilophosaurus had taken a few tentative steps around, and had decided lying down curled into a little scaly circle would result in less being knocked around. It even had a few feathers growing under its chin, which O'neill stroked as he continued to stare at the little animal.
So this is how cat people feel.