Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jun 30, 2019 22:11:22 GMT -5
Nico shook his head. He knew his outburst had been unfair, but he was rather out of practice with apologizing, and wasn't the biggest fan of doing it anyway. Nonetheless he shook his had and glanced at Sam, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. He watched as Sam poked around a bit before he finally forced it out. "Sorry," he managed, catching Sam's gaze. "I appreciate you trying to get us out, I really do. I'm just sick of the House giving us tedious tasks that are almost impossible to fulfill, and that's not your fault. I just wish we had been given more clues. And less heights and less water," he added, gazing at the river warily. Even if he hadn't recently had some traumatizing experiences concerning rivers - the Lethe and the Phlegethon alone were probably enough to ensure he never enjoyed being near a river again - but the truth was Poseidon still had it out for him, and he wasn't particularly keen on risking getting near any body of water. It didn't matter what his more recent actions had been, the god of the sea hadn't forgiven him for betraying Percy when he'd been too deep in to think about anyone's life but his own. Not that he blamed the sea god. He still hated himself for it too. He was grateful for the distraction of the graffiti. However, he wasn't any more successful than Sam. "Dyslexia is hard enough by itself," he grumbled, "I don't get why this has to be illegible even to someone who can read easily." He turned to look at Sam, forcing himself to take one deep breath in, then out. "I'll go look at the top of the bridge to see if there's anything out there that could give us a better clue." He needed a breath of air alone, honestly. He knew his frustration was probably wearing at Sam, and he didn't want that. "It's okay," Sam reassured. Well, no, it wasn't okay, but he accepted Nico's apology and understood that the House wasn't treating him fairly. Sam didn't blame him for getting a bit snappy for that. But it took a bit to say. "I get snappish sometimes too," Sam admitted. "And the House is being a pain. So it's okay if you're a little angry. Now that I know the situation I wont take it to heart so much." His head dipped and it wasn't because he didn't want to meet Nico's eyes. It was just so he wouldn't have to worry about whatever expression Sam might be wearing now. He only looked up when Nico said he wanted to check on top of the bridge. To that, Sam nodded his head. "Okay. I'll just ... check down here some more." He was pretty sure that Nico just wanted some time alone in his own head. He watched Nico and wondered what, if anything, he could have done to avoid that. He wished he could have. But either way, he hoped that Nico met his goals of figuring out a way out and got a breather. Sam also meant it when he said he'd check down below the bridge some more. He looked up and wondered if he could jump to the graffiti. Then again, it looked like it should be read or maybe show something. If Sam thought about it too much, it might be some sort of petroglyph? Nico took a moment at the top to gather his thoughts and suck in a deep breath. He let his eyes drift closed, feeling the stone around him for anything that could be a way out. There was no hollowing of the bridge from the top, although he really hadn't expected there to be. He knew he was treating Sam unfairly, and he knew he needed to get his act together before he went back down, otherwise he would lose a chance at a friendship that he honestly felt would be worth the risk that came with caring about other people. Besides, it didn't seem like Sam's world was dangerous enough that he could just disappear without notice, and Nico still had more swordfighting to teach him... if he wanted it. There was no way Nico was just going to throw that all away because he was annoyed at the House. After a few moments he pushed himself over the side of the bridge, lowering himself slowly from where he still grasped the handrail, and let go, landing a few feet to the side of Sam. "Anything new down here?" His tone was low and measured, far calmer than it had been before. "Up there isn't much help." He turned his attention to the graffiti. It wasn't anything he recognized, but... perhaps it was there for a reason. Judging by Sam's expression, he had reached the same conclusion.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jun 30, 2019 23:59:17 GMT -5
L let the guitar go, a mixture of regret and relief playing out in his eyes as both the chance to learn and the possibility of messing up vanished. Music, something he always seemed to underestimate. Much like art, he supposed. It took a day, a week, five minutes of wandering through the halls of the orphanage and seeing the children bloom like midnight flowers in art, song, dance, and anything else he could conceive of, to even begin to gaze at the possibilities it offered, and a lifetime to touch them. The song cut deep into his heart. No, not cut, he corrects himself, more....filled. Or maybe something else, that the human language had failed to invent a word for yet. His eyes fluttered closed and his head tilted back, as his body swayed gently and a sense of peace swallowed him whole. Yes, Orpheus could have been a child at Wammy’s house, had they lived in the same version of time and space. He opened his eyes slowly as the music cut off and blinked, then blinked again as something else came to life in his brain. “Oh, I’m sorry, you asked my name, didn’t you? I’m L. Did you really write that?” Orpheus watched L's reaction carefully once he had stopped playing. He wanted to make a good impression, wanted L to like it, wanted some proof that what he was doing was going to be worth something some day. He knew he didn't usually rely on validation, but it was the first anyone had heard of the song he was writing. Or... writing was definitely the wrong word. It was the first anyone had heard of the song he was discovering, like it was some ancient thing that was just being awoken after far too long. "Right. Nice to meet you, L." Orpheus held out his hand to shake. He gave a soft smile as well, unsure if L wanted to continue learning, or if he had just been humoring him. He didn't want to force anyone to play who didn't want to, and although L had seemed to enjoy it, there was always the possibility that he didn't want to continue. "Yes," he murmured after a pause. "Though I'm not sure it can qualify as writing when I hear it sometimes... in dreams, or in moments when I'm not quite anchored to reality... it speaks through me more than I'm the one writing it," he admitted. L was always difficult to read, but right now he seemed content, peaceful in a way he very rarely was. Music played by the instrument of a god might have side effects like that, he mused. Still, he didn’t think this was a spell, because he could imagine how a spell would feel and he didn’t think he’d be able to think that far ahead were he under one. Listen to me talk. The detective thought wryly, half amused by the odd thoughts crowding his brain. He wasn’t sure what the other half was. “Nice to meet you too.” He said immediately, then reached out and carefully took the other blinker’s hand in the tips of his fingers for a moment, before letting go and dropping his arm. “I suppose you could be right. Although if a thing comes from your dreams, that’s your subconscious, so technically it is still you writing it. Just not on purpose.” Anyway. The guitar. “Can I try it again now?”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jul 1, 2019 0:24:03 GMT -5
Orpheus thought the way L shook hands was a little bit odd, but nothing that merited commenting on. L had proven himself to be interesting and quite friendly, considering, and Orpheus wasn't about to ruin that by making a rude comment. Perhaps that was the custom for a handshake wherever L was from. And even if it wasn't, who was he to judge someone based on a handshake? He considered L's theory for a moment, tossing it through his head, but he had a feeling that the song came from deeper than that. He didn't know why he was the conduit for it, or how he knew that one day it would bring back spring, but for now it was his. He was creating it, even if he couldn't entirely take credit for it. "Writing, but not on purpose," he echoed, the words rolling from his tongue. "That's a bit of a romantic sentiment." He hadn't really thought L the type to make such poetic observations, but perhaps he was wrong. Or perhaps there was just more poetry to be found in the factual than he had previously thought. "Of course," he added, passing the instrument to L. "You were getting really good at switching back and forth," he commended. "Would you like to learn a third chord?"
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 1, 2019 0:29:02 GMT -5
Izaya peered down at the mummy speaking to him, in a voice that sounded very much like sand. “Oh?” He asked, smirking down at him. He would have said more, but the thundering crash distracted him and he flipped midair to see what had caused it. “Oh, you’re a big one, aren’t you?” He asked, and zoomed closer, the wind going right through him instead of hitting him like it should. He leaned in close to one of Anika’s eleven heads and tried to look in its mouth. “Gotta hand it to me. My imagination is stunning. I have to wonder though, why eleven? Odd number, but-“ He spread his arms and flipped backwards, more for fun than safety measures. “-I won’t judge!”
(Short post is short)
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 1, 2019 0:44:25 GMT -5
L hadn’t really meant it to be a romantic thought, but he was pleased by the concept. Orpheus seemed like someone who could find poetry in mathematical equations and songs to sing where there wasn’t any air, so it probably said more about the kind young man than the detective, but he didn’t mind that. He wanted to know more about someone as fascinatingly different from himself as Orpheus struck him. “You look skeptical.” He noted out loud, watching the poet’s face intently. “Do you think it’s something else? Or do you think I shouldn’t try to play it again?” Well, he hadn’t been any good at it, so he couldn’t blame Orpheus. Especially in comparison with him, L wasn’t sure his chords even counted. It didn’t really bother him, but the way he’d felt with the music coursing through his whole body was something he found very difficult to remember unless you were in the middle of it. So, naturally, he wanted to do it again. “Mm?” He hummed, surprised as the instrument was handed so easily back to him. “Oh good. I thought you might not let me have it a second time.” He smiled a little at that. “Yes, I would like to learn all of them.”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jul 1, 2019 0:56:50 GMT -5
"I'm not sure," Orpheus admitted with a slightly self-deprecating shake of his head. "It seems like something that already exists, I've just been the first to hear it. I wouldn't be able to summon spring on my own." It wasn't as though he was being down on himself, just stating what he saw to be the truth. He would be the first to admit that he could change the world with his music. He was determined to and he had enough skill to be able to do it. Yet to find a way to bring about spring? That seemed a little arrogant even for him. "Why wouldn't I let you have it again?" Orpheus asked, confused. "You were doing quite well, especially since you haven't played before!" There was a sort of joy in his eyes as he contemplated the very idea of what L could accomplish if he put in the practice on the guitar. "You've probably been told before, but you're a quick learner." Orpheus had never taught anyone before, but he figured a lot of people would probably be far harder to teach than L. Orpheus had to admit, he liked it when L smiled. It didn't seem to happen very often, but it made the detective seem more cheerful, and for whatever reason, it meant more coming from him. "Here," Orpheus murmured, shifting L's fingers again. "D chord," and then to a slightly different position, "G chord."
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Pansexual
Cloverleaf
For certain as our banner flies, we are not alone. The people too must rise.
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Post by Cloverleaf on Jul 1, 2019 1:31:16 GMT -5
•~•~In the living room~•~•
Hector shook his head, not recognizing the idea of coffee at all. "What's it like?" He asked, curious about what sort of goods other places have. What made it so good that people just couldn't live without it? He would have liked to try some, though, by the way it sounded, Mal would be loathe to part with any.
"We do just fine without it." Hector replied, though his tone was good-natured. "I suppose no one's ever had it, so we don't know what we're missing." He was more indulging Mal's high opinion of coffee than truly lamenting his world's lack of it.
"Us? Well, water, for quenching thirst, primarily, or some farmers and such drink milk for something more hearty. Fruit can be made into something sweet as a treat for children. And then honeyed wine for banquets, and the gods of course. Do you have any of these in your world?" Hector asked. Before, he wouldn't have considered the fact that other places wouldn't have such things, but then, Mal was horrified at his world's lack of coffee. He was learning to assume less in the House.
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Post by mintedstar/fur on Jul 1, 2019 2:30:24 GMT -5
But Myrnin did not last another fifteen seconds. It wasn't really his fault. His eyes just weren't used to staying open that long. So, soon enough, one of them watered and a tear ran down the side of his face. Myrnin sagged a bit, disappointed, and wiped at his skin. He seemed a bit annoyed that his own body had betrayed him. He blinked several times, trying to work feeling back into his gaze. His eyes felt really dry. He shook his head several times and then admitted, "You win. But it was close!" Noah had shown no signs of moving, but that didn't mean much. Myrnin wanted to believe that he had been close to winning, so that was what he believed. But he grinned and seemed happy enough with second place. "You were close," Noah replied with a small smile, kneeling down and holding out his hand for a high five. Would Myrnin know what a high five was? Noah hoped he would, but considering what the kid had seemed to know and not know... he somehow doubted it. Yet maybe the high five had been invented a long time ago and had just been forgotten to time before someone picked it back up in the... when was the high five supposed to have been invented? It was a tangent he hadn't really meant to go on, so he redirected his mind pretty quickly. "Next time you'll have me for sure!" Noah promised, pushing some of Myrnin's hair out of his eyes. He liked spending time with the kid, he found. He hoped the House would let them have a little more time. Myrnin looked at the hand, not having a clue what a high five was. Instead, he positioned his smaller hand, palm flat against Noah's, fingers interlacing with his, and bobbed Noah's hand up and down in something close to a handshake. He knew that at least and seemed really pleased that he could do it. "I will!" agreed Myrnin heartily. "I'm gonna beat you really good next time!" As soon as Noah brushed some hair out of his eyes, Myrnin reached up to see what he'd done and effectively undid everything. "What else can we do?" he asked. "Did you wanna do a room or something? Or did you wanna play another game?"
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Post by mintedstar/fur on Jul 1, 2019 2:52:13 GMT -5
"It's okay," Sam reassured. Well, no, it wasn't okay, but he accepted Nico's apology and understood that the House wasn't treating him fairly. Sam didn't blame him for getting a bit snappy for that. But it took a bit to say. "I get snappish sometimes too," Sam admitted. "And the House is being a pain. So it's okay if you're a little angry. Now that I know the situation I wont take it to heart so much." His head dipped and it wasn't because he didn't want to meet Nico's eyes. It was just so he wouldn't have to worry about whatever expression Sam might be wearing now. He only looked up when Nico said he wanted to check on top of the bridge. To that, Sam nodded his head. "Okay. I'll just ... check down here some more." He was pretty sure that Nico just wanted some time alone in his own head. He watched Nico and wondered what, if anything, he could have done to avoid that. He wished he could have. But either way, he hoped that Nico met his goals of figuring out a way out and got a breather. Sam also meant it when he said he'd check down below the bridge some more. He looked up and wondered if he could jump to the graffiti. Then again, it looked like it should be read or maybe show something. If Sam thought about it too much, it might be some sort of petroglyph? Nico took a moment at the top to gather his thoughts and suck in a deep breath. He let his eyes drift closed, feeling the stone around him for anything that could be a way out. There was no hollowing of the bridge from the top, although he really hadn't expected there to be. He knew he was treating Sam unfairly, and he knew he needed to get his act together before he went back down, otherwise he would lose a chance at a friendship that he honestly felt would be worth the risk that came with caring about other people. Besides, it didn't seem like Sam's world was dangerous enough that he could just disappear without notice, and Nico still had more swordfighting to teach him... if he wanted it. There was no way Nico was just going to throw that all away because he was annoyed at the House. After a few moments he pushed himself over the side of the bridge, lowering himself slowly from where he still grasped the handrail, and let go, landing a few feet to the side of Sam. "Anything new down here?" His tone was low and measured, far calmer than it had been before. "Up there isn't much help." He turned his attention to the graffiti. It wasn't anything he recognized, but... perhaps it was there for a reason. Judging by Sam's expression, he had reached the same conclusion. "Nothing new," Sam confirmed. Over Nico's time on the roof he'd been thinking. He pointed upwards. "Okay ... might sound stupid ... but it looks like a code. Ever seen, like, computer coding? It has all these symbols first, then words that the computer will understand next. This is kind of arranged like that, only I can't really recognize what it means. Also, it isn't coding a game. It's just a single line. So the first symbol - that one - repeats at the back. So it closes the command. But as I said, I can't read it or even tell if that's right. But assuming it is a command, then all that we'd probably have to do is complete it." The young vampire's foot tapped against the gritty earth. The Doctor would probably know how this language worked. Myrnin too. But Sam didn't. He wasn't that smart. He looked at Nico, eyebrows pulling together in a confused expression. "Are all House puzzles usually this complicated? I mean, the only thing I can think of is trying to get up there and pressing the concrete. It doesn't look like any language you know, does it?"
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Post by mintedstar/fur on Jul 1, 2019 3:15:47 GMT -5
•~•~In the living room~•~• Hector shook his head, not recognizing the idea of coffee at all. "What's it like?" He asked, curious about what sort of goods other places have. What made it so good that people just couldn't live without it? He would have liked to try some, though, by the way it sounded, Mal would be loathe to part with any. "We do just fine without it." Hector replied, though his tone was good-natured. "I suppose no one's ever had it, so we don't know what we're missing." He was more indulging Mal's high opinion of coffee than truly lamenting his world's lack of it. "Us? Well, water, for quenching thirst, primarily, or some farmers and such drink milk for something more hearty. Fruit can be made into something sweet as a treat for children. And then honeyed wine for banquets, and the gods of course. Do you have any of these in your world?" Hector asked. Before, he wouldn't have considered the fact that other places wouldn't have such things, but then, Mal was horrified at his world's lack of coffee. He was learning to assume less in the House. "Amazing," answered Maladict easily. His pupils had dilated and he waved any other questions regarding coffee away. "Rather not talk about it. Since no one has it here." He still looked mournful about the whole ordeal. He knew it would be more than a mournful expression he wore when he ended up back in his world. The whole problem was that he didn't have coffee. And if he didn't have coffee ... But he wasn't going to think about the B word. There would be no B word. He was off the stuff and he'd stay off. That was just how it was going to be. "Have gods back in my world?" asked Maladict, with a perfectly innocent voice that said he knew what Hector's question had actually been, but was going to poke fun at his word choice anyway. "Yes. I'm sure Nuggen's around somewhere. As for wine of any type, I think so. Not really in Borogravia. We're at a bit of a shortage for anything of that fancy level. Got milk and water though. Plenty of water. If you don't mind river sludge. Do the gods come over for these banquets of yours then?"
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Pansexual
Cloverleaf
For certain as our banner flies, we are not alone. The people too must rise.
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Post by Cloverleaf on Jul 1, 2019 8:50:39 GMT -5
Hector raised an eyebrow at Maladict's predicament, but let the subject drop easily. No need to push him. Besides, he seemed a bit... twitchy, maybe? Hector couldn't quite put his finger on it. The prince started to shake his head as Mal answered the question differently than he'd intended, thinking to correct him. Hector still hadn't had a decent explanation of how the translator worked; and the Trojan had been on plenty of trips as an ambassador where his Eastern Greek, nicked with a Luwain accent, had needed to be rephrased for the Greeks he'd spoken with. He paused as he realized Mal was just poking fun, saying, "So this Nuggen is a very powerful god in your world?" Was Hectir poking fun back? Very possibly.
"There is hardship in your country, then?" Hector asked the vampire soldier, running a hand over his bearded jaw- it seemed to be a thinking gesture for him. He remembered back to when the two had first met; Mal had been slogging through mud and hearing murmurs of deserting. A war torn, hungry country. It was something the warrior feared for his own country. The city of Troy still had allies to the South who could offer supplies, but good will and open roads would not last much longer. Already, the Acheans attacked surrounding farms, villages, towns, cutting off more and more sources of food with each day. The streets of Troy overflowed with refugees, and her stores, though rich, would not last forever. A graveness crept onto his face as he considered this, worry lines folding themselves into the smile lines already beginning to permanently etch themselves at the corners of his brown eyes. He looked up at Mal's next question, though.
"They don't exactly pop by in all their blazing glory." Hector answered with a smile that could almost be considered wry, though his features held little bitterness or malice. He tucked away any weariness or worry that had been on his face before. Mal wasn't at all involved, and besides, the prince had had plenty of practice hiding his emotions, lest his men read any misgivings in his expression before a battle, or his citizens see the weariness that came from defending the city against an unrelenting enemy. "There are stories of old beggars arriving at such events and asking for food and kindness, their godly identities only unveiled after the hosts have revealed their true colors. It keeps everyone in their toes, at least. But no, most banquets are mortal only. We pour out libations for the gods."
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 1, 2019 11:41:53 GMT -5
"I'm not sure," Orpheus admitted with a slightly self-deprecating shake of his head. "It seems like something that already exists, I've just been the first to hear it. I wouldn't be able to summon spring on my own." It wasn't as though he was being down on himself, just stating what he saw to be the truth. He would be the first to admit that he could change the world with his music. He was determined to and he had enough skill to be able to do it. Yet to find a way to bring about spring? That seemed a little arrogant even for him. "Why wouldn't I let you have it again?" Orpheus asked, confused. "You were doing quite well, especially since you haven't played before!" There was a sort of joy in his eyes as he contemplated the very idea of what L could accomplish if he put in the practice on the guitar. "You've probably been told before, but you're a quick learner." Orpheus had never taught anyone before, but he figured a lot of people would probably be far harder to teach than L. Orpheus had to admit, he liked it when L smiled. It didn't seem to happen very often, but it made the detective seem more cheerful, and for whatever reason, it meant more coming from him. "Here," Orpheus murmured, shifting L's fingers again. "D chord," and then to a slightly different position, "G chord." L had to concede to the other man’s point there. Besides, if he thought he was getting the song from somewhere besides his subconscious, he was probably right. Anyway, it didn’t much matter to him, because either way the song was hauntingly beautiful and the poet was a mystery L wanted to learn. Playing his instrument, perhaps even singing a bit, that seemed like a good start to figuring Orpheus out. “Was I?” He said, surprised at the praise. “I didn’t notice. So you’re the sort who gets more satisfaction out of sharing what you love, then?” L accepted the guitar back, his hands sliding into position. It felt quite natural to him, like he’d done it many times before, and his fingers only hovered uncertainly for a second before coming to rest on a C chord. He glanced up expectantly, ready to be praised, then noticed the look in Orpheus’s gentle eyes and his own darker ones went very wide. “You’re really enjoying this.” He whispered, so quiet he could have been talking to himself. He’d assumed his curiosity was, as usual, being politely humored but this new blinker was genuinely happy to let a stranger cradle something important to him, and play odd attempts at chords.
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jul 1, 2019 12:20:51 GMT -5
Orpheus tilted his head. It was an observation he hadn't been expecting. It wasn't something he'd ever really thought about himself, but he supposed it was true. "There's no point in music or poetry if you don't share it," Orpheus replied, studying L's face for a moment as though he could glean something that the detective wasn't saying. It was odd, to be presented with such a mystery. L's face wasn't easy to read, that was for sure, but Orpheus didn't think he'd ever been particularly good at reading people's expressions. Another smile twitched at Orpheus' lips as L remembered the C chord position. He was about to say something, but L spoke first. Confusion flickered across his face as he began to process exactly what L had said. "Why wouldn't I be enjoying it? You're impressive, and you're willing to listen to me go on and on about music. I don't..." he trailed off, trying once more to read L's expression and falling short. There was something easy and comfortable about being here and teaching L, and he wasn't particularly inclined to let that go. "It's just that nobody's ever been interested in how the music happens before."
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Bisexual
Iceclaw
You can kill me, but you will never destroy me.
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Post by Iceclaw on Jul 1, 2019 12:55:53 GMT -5
Lucian looked down at Duad's hand, watching it pass through his chest as if he wasn't there. He wasn't sure how it was happening, or why, but he figured it might be sort of useful here if he got into a fight there considering how many magic users seemed to be in the area... or did they even have magic? Originally he'd thought so but seeing how he was now transparent and about as solid as air he wasn't so sure. For all he knew their 'magic' was something they'd gained when they'd appeared in this place. "Yeah, I guess so," he replied finally. He was quiet for a few moments, glancing between the groups of people further away. "Do you think any of them have learned anything about this place?" Iceclaw Peter looked back at Lucian sympathetically, getting the feeling that the man wasn’t too comfortable with his new state. Neat as it was, he figured that was only reasonable. He could remember his own reaction after first being bit, so warming up to the idea of unnatural abilities was a understandably stressful process. At the question he sighed a little, looking out toward the others. “It’s hard to know, everyone seems disoriented, but surely there’s an explanation somewhere. We just need to look around some.” He glanced at Daud, giving a small huff then a nod towards one of the nearest groups. “We need to start somewhere, huh? Let’s go see what everyone’s thinking.” (sorry this is short,, I didn’t really read any recent post before posting oops. I’m not used to having sociable characters Daud let his hand fall out of Lucian's chest, then turned his attention on the others small groups that had formed. It seemed that a few had disappeared, while some new faces had appeared. Meanwhile, the dragon was beginning to get more agitated. Catching what the man wrapped in tissue said, Daud's lips pressed together. According to the stranger, he was one of the very few in this place who was still decidedly human, meaty bits and all. Which naturally meant that when the dragon did lose control, it would be going for him. Fantastic. Eyeing his exposed hands and the dead Outsider's mark, he felt now would be a very good time to find out exactly how this place had changed him.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 1, 2019 12:59:28 GMT -5
Orpheus tilted his head. It was an observation he hadn't been expecting. It wasn't something he'd ever really thought about himself, but he supposed it was true. "There's no point in music or poetry if you don't share it," Orpheus replied, studying L's face for a moment as though he could glean something that the detective wasn't saying. It was odd, to be presented with such a mystery. L's face wasn't easy to read, that was for sure, but Orpheus didn't think he'd ever been particularly good at reading people's expressions. Another smile twitched at Orpheus' lips as L remembered the C chord position. He was about to say something, but L spoke first. Confusion flickered across his face as he began to process exactly what L had said. "Why wouldn't I be enjoying it? You're impressive, and you're willing to listen to me go on and on about music. I don't..." he trailed off, trying once more to read L's expression and falling short. There was something easy and comfortable about being here and teaching L, and he wasn't particularly inclined to let that go. "It's just that nobody's ever been interested in how the music happens before." “Not always. It could be just for you.” L replied immediately, thinking of the children he’d witnessed draw out their deepest, darkest emotions to the very tip of their paint brushes, and twirl in place until the detective couldn’t help but wonder how they didn’t trip and fall. He was agile, certainly, but he was a slug in comparison to some of the people he’d worked with. “I mean, for some people I know, sharing would ruin what they received from their music or poetry. But it isn’t like that for you, is it?” Yes, Orpheus was certainly an enigma, and his music was even more so. He found he had trouble remembering exactly what notes had touched so deep inside of him, but the feeling.... ”I believe younreally will bring back your spring.” He murmured, something flickering in the back of his dark orbs. He continued to practice the new chords, and add them into his rotation of the old ones. They weren’t hard to remember, and soon he could play all eight of them in order, with only a slight hesitation between each one as his fingers found their place. Orpheus made him look up again, and he took in the searching gaze with his own, slightly more intense version. “I mean, you want to be here right now.” He tried to clarify, not sure which part the other man didn’t get. “Perhaps even enough not to wish to go back to your own world right away. I know some blinkers who feel the same, but never a newbie.” He hesitated, a crease appearing between his eyes as he thought. “No one? Hasn’t anyone ever wondered how you do it? Or how a mere instrument can create what it does?”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jul 1, 2019 13:12:06 GMT -5
Orpheus had trouble wrapping his head around the thought of not sharing one's music. Sometimes, when he felt too deeply, it would pour out of him, drowning his spirit in something beautiful and dangerous, and he knew others felt its touch too. He figured that if he had the power to create something... wouldn't it be selfish to keep it to himself instead of allowing others to share in it, letting them learn from him and create their own? "I won't lie, music is... well, it's everything to me. But I couldn't keep that to myself. Part of what it gives to me is what it gives to everyone else," he explained, though he wasn't sure exactly how well he was articulating the sentiment. "Thank you," he murmured, voice soft. "It feels like it comes later and later every year, and disappears far too swiftly." He knew why, but he didn't really want to think about it. It was easier to pretend that he could fix it just with his music rather than blaming the god of the Underworld. The gods left them alone, mostly... perhaps this lack of spring really had nothing to do with the legends he heard of Persephone. Though he had seen her arrive later.. and later... he shook away the thought. Now was not the time. He nodded as L mastered the current chords, something like pride swelling up in him. He had nothing to do with L's success in learning, but it was still incredibly to see him switch so easily after having just been shown them. "I make the best of where I am, wherever it is," Orpheus returned, hoping it was a satisfactory answer. "And if this place allows for new friends and new experiences and a chance to share something with someone I never would have met otherwise... why would I choose to be anywhere else?" He let the thought hang in the air before answering L's next question. "Oh, sure, every once in a while someone will comment, but nobody except other musicians actually wants to learn."
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 1, 2019 13:52:31 GMT -5
L nodded. He wasn’t sure he could say he understood, exactly. But he sensed something deep and beautiful behind Orpheus’s simple answer, something that drew him in and made him want to know how a person could grow up without losing trust in humanity. Perhaps his world was different. L doubted it. He had yet to meet anyone from a world that was kinder than his, and often, he felt he had gotten lucky as far as origin went. After all, he had to chase his criminals, didn’t he? Perhaps Orpheus himself was simply different than anyone the detective had met before. It was oddly refreshing, to meet someone who seemed to glean as much if not more joy off the happiness of others. “And you think you know why, don’t you?” He answered just as softly, his eyes unblinking as they scanned the newer blinker’s features. “If anything can bring it back, your song will. It sounds...like flowers.” He looked down again, and lapsed for a moment into silent concentration. A, B, C...how....ah, D, E, F....” “That’s a very relaxed way of looking at it.” He murmured as his hand hovered half an inch above the strings, his mind tearing through information to find the correct placement. “I’m afraid I’ve had a bit more experience than you, however, and I have to tell you that it isn’t all safe and friendly. I’ve died here, once.” Ah, there you are. L played the final chord and let it draw out into the space between his words. “I want to learn.” He said finally, his tone matter-of-fact. “I want to know exactly how your music works, and perhaps even learn to build a song of my own someday. Not to bring back spring, mind you, I have allergies.”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jul 1, 2019 14:15:01 GMT -5
There were a lot of words that could be used to describe Orpheus, and although innocent was one of them, it wasn't entirely accurate. He knew how cruel the world could be - that was the job of a hero, after all, and considering his upcoming voyage on the Argo, he knew he was technically counted among those ranks - but he thought he could soften it. He felt he could make it better, help it heal, find the joy and the goodness when most people saw none. That was what he lived for, it was... it was the best he could hope for. "Yes, I think I know why. But I wish I had an easier answer," Orpheus replied, his easy smile turning rueful. "I hope you're right." He left it at that. Orpheus watched as L continued to practice, smiling to himself as his fingers became nimbler and he seemed to be getting the hang of switching quickly. "Most songs are made of patterns from those chords. There are other chords, but they aren't used quite as often." He turned his attention back to L's words, eyes widening at the new information. "You've died here?" The words were scarcely a whisper. "But you came back. You're here to tell me this, and... I'm sorry, it must have been awful to die, but perhaps it's about balance. The world itself is unbalanced, or at least mine is... you can't be a hero without meeting a tragic end, for the most part. Yet here... if you can die and come back, there's balance. There's horror to match the good, and there's ephemeral moments of joy to match those of pain. Is that not how the world should be?" That was how Orpheus would choose to see it, at least. "I don't know enough to say for sure if this place is balanced, but... I would like to believe it is. I haven't experienced the other face of the coin, yet, but in your experience... is it even?"
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 1, 2019 17:40:34 GMT -5
L hummed softly along with the chords that were getting easier and easier to play. Once the muscle memory of the sound was in his fingers, recreating it was simple; the hard part was finding where on the strings to strum. He continued playing quietly with the chords, up and down, as he listened to Orpheus. Perceptive was perhaps the word he would have chosen to describe the poet. Because he hadn’t thought of it as a balance between two sides before. He’d thought if you died it would be for good until it had happened to him, just as he’d thought it wasn’t real at all, until he had proved that it was. That was how he’d always thought of the House, and perhaps his own world, too. Was it even? He thought of the worst rooms: the gladiator one of course came to mind, he’d died there. The forest you didn’t blink out of. The room where he’d first met Czeslaw, when that House version of Claire tried to kill them both and nearly succeeded. What could outweigh that? Flowers? Cake? A badly needed laugh? “Even...?” He murmured, and now he thought of the good. The friends he’d made, when in his own world he had no one but Watari who cared about him as more than a shield between them and a dagger. Myrnin. Kid. Czeslaw. Orpheus, now. Did it even out the horrors? “I don’t know.” He answered finally, letting his last chord fade into silence as he met Orpheus’s eyes. “For me? I don’t think anything could even out what the House has done, at times. It’s killed people, and not all of them came back. It’s torn people’s hearts into pieces, stealing away the friendships it gave us, as though to prove it can.” He looked away, unable to meet the other blinker’s gaze any longer. “No, Orpheus, in my experience the bad outweighs the good. I’m sorry.”
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Transgender
strider
No mourners, no funerals
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Post by strider on Jul 1, 2019 20:59:36 GMT -5
It was nice, Orpheus had to admit, to hear music filling the room even when it wasn’t his. Even when it wasn’t really a song, because wasn’t any collection of notes a song, technically? He wanted to think that it was. He wanted to believe that practice and learning could produce something beautiful in the same way serious study could. He wanted to believe that L’s careful strumming - experimental and strange - could give to the world, even as simple as it was. He wanted to believe in something good when he saw the look on L’s face and knew that the answer he was going to receive wasn’t the one he wanted. L wasn’t going to speak of appreciating the good times even despite the bad. He wasn’t going to say that maybe the good outweighed the bad. Just from his expression, which had been unreadable before, Orpheus knew. And he wished he didn’t. And the look in L’s eyes when he finally made eye contact again. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps the House was just as bad as any world, and he’d just been fortunate with his first two blinks. Perhaps the monsters here were more dangerous than the very real ones that lurked back in his own world. For the first time since he’d passed L the guitar, he wanted it back just to pour out the fear and uncertainty that now filled him. But no. No, this was an opportunity. He would not be cowed by someone else’s experiences, even someone he trusted inexplicably. “Then we make it even.” Orpheus’ words were soft, and he knew it was an impossible task. Knew and didn’t want to admit it, because if you said it was impossible then it would be. But so was bringing back Spring, wasn’t it? “We take back from it everything it’s taken from you and whoever else comes here. We smile when we shouldn’t and we laugh and we play music and we prove to it that we can be happy.” Orpheus believed in humanity. He believed in living more than just surviving, but he had a lot of respect for those who even managed to survive. It sounded like this place he had ended up lacked that respect. “For every life it takes we sing louder and prove that it can’t break us down that easy…” his voice cracked, but he kept going. “For every heart it tears apart we sew it back together, but stronger. Isn’t that… isn’t that how we fight back? Isn’t that the point?” His voice was so soft it was barely audible, but there was a type of naive and bullheaded and beautiful and powerful conviction to it. Orpheus knew it wasn’t his battle to fight, as it hadn’t hurt him yet, but… he had been brought here, hadn’t he? It had dragged him into this fight. And oddly enough, he found he didn’t want to leave. “Starting now, we make it even. Please. I’m not leaving until it’s even.”
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Post by mintedstar/fur on Jul 1, 2019 22:28:38 GMT -5
®Hawkpath® Sησω LarkThere was a small sigh - which sounded like wind through old tombs - from Kid. This was tricky when there were so many newbies. "It's called the Paradox House," he explained. "It's an alternate dimension. Like ... another world. But there are different locations in it and each one does something different. I take it you aren't usually a hungry, eleven headed dragon, for example. I'm not usually a mummy. But after a bit, you'll just disappear back to your own world. Like a dream." He really wanted to grab Izaya by the leg and slow him down. But that wasn't going to happen. Instead, he said upward, "Look ... I know it's very doubtful you're going to believe this ... but this isn't exactly a dream. So if it was possible, say, for dreams to have consequences, then please consider them." It usually took several blinks before anyone believed what Kid said. He really wished there was a way to speed it up. But until then, if he had to continue to play into Izaya's belief he was dreaming than Kid would.
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Post by mintedstar/fur on Jul 2, 2019 5:40:50 GMT -5
Hector raised an eyebrow at Maladict's predicament, but let the subject drop easily. No need to push him. Besides, he seemed a bit... twitchy, maybe? Hector couldn't quite put his finger on it. The prince started to shake his head as Mal answered the question differently than he'd intended, thinking to correct him. Hector still hadn't had a decent explanation of how the translator worked; and the Trojan had been on plenty of trips as an ambassador where his Eastern Greek, nicked with a Luwain accent, had needed to be rephrased for the Greeks he'd spoken with. He paused as he realized Mal was just poking fun, saying, "So this Nuggen is a very powerful god in your world?" Was Hectir poking fun back? Very possibly. "There is hardship in your country, then?" Hector asked the vampire soldier, running a hand over his bearded jaw- it seemed to be a thinking gesture for him. He remembered back to when the two had first met; Mal had been slogging through mud and hearing murmurs of deserting. A war torn, hungry country. It was something the warrior feared for his own country. The city of Troy still had allies to the South who could offer supplies, but good will and open roads would not last much longer. Already, the Acheans attacked surrounding farms, villages, towns, cutting off more and more sources of food with each day. The streets of Troy overflowed with refugees, and her stores, though rich, would not last forever. A graveness crept onto his face as he considered this, worry lines folding themselves into the smile lines already beginning to permanently etch themselves at the corners of his brown eyes. He looked up at Mal's next question, though. "They don't exactly pop by in all their blazing glory." Hector answered with a smile that could almost be considered wry, though his features held little bitterness or malice. He tucked away any weariness or worry that had been on his face before. Mal wasn't at all involved, and besides, the prince had had plenty of practice hiding his emotions, lest his men read any misgivings in his expression before a battle, or his citizens see the weariness that came from defending the city against an unrelenting enemy. "There are stories of old beggars arriving at such events and asking for food and kindness, their godly identities only unveiled after the hosts have revealed their true colors. It keeps everyone in their toes, at least. But no, most banquets are mortal only. We pour out libations for the gods." "Yeah," said Maladict. His voice was almost a sigh. "He is." Was that disappointment? Disappointment that he was powerful? It was hard to tell. There was too much weight in his words. "War," said Maladict. He fingered his uniform. It must have been another men's clothing long ago, but now he wore it. It was the best they had. This didn't mean he couldn't tell where the sword holes and slashes were. They hadn't had time to mend it. But he hadn't seen death yet, so the only thing in his eyes was worry. "It's been going on for a while. As long as I can remember." It had been going for generations. Fought over the constantly shifting border which was the river - the river that changed every flood season. The fact that Hector was worried didn't escape Mal, but he didn't call attention to it because Hector had been the one to tuck those feelings away. It wasn't Mal's place to pry. "I see," said Mal. "What if it was just a beggar though?" It was a question full of curiosity. Did something happen to them if they were not gods?
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Pansexual
Cloverleaf
For certain as our banner flies, we are not alone. The people too must rise.
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Post by Cloverleaf on Jul 2, 2019 9:57:34 GMT -5
"Oh?" An invitation to elaborate, if Maladict chose to. Hector realized he didn't quite understand this whole Nuggen deal, finding himself unable to read Maladict's tone. Remembering his talks with that demigod, Nico, and the attitudes of the other blinkers, Hector knew that most other worlds had very different views on the gods than he did. Even in his own world, he was considered a pious man. He was curious to hear what Maladict had to say on the subject. But he also heard the heaviness in the soldier's tone. Maladict had been kind enough to not press him about his own country's troubles. He would offer the same courtesy back to the soldier.
Hector felt a type of kinship with this blinker. Despite the fact that they came from different worlds, they could both understand war and its tragedy. Though, perhaps it weighed more heavily on Hector. Maladict lacked a certain look in his eyes. A new soldier, by the looks of it. New soldiers, old uniforms. It told the story as well as Maladict's explanation. Had he killed? Had he seen the light leave a soldier's eyes and known that, because of him, someone had lost a son, a brother, a husband, a father? Battlefields littered with the sound and scent of the dead and the dying? Hector had. For Maladict, perhaps not yet. But from the sound of it, he would. "In my country, there is war as well. Not as long as yours- three years, but with no end in sight." Hector lapsed into silence for a moment, graveness shadowing his features. He was a soldier, but he was also the commander of the army, the eldest Prince of Troy. He was responsible for the deaths of the people he killed. But he was felt himself responsible, in a way, for the death of every Trojan on the battlefield. It weighed on him. Here in the House, though, he could have a break. It rankled him, sometimes, to not be seen as a prince. But in a way, it was freeing. He offered Mal a look that can only be shared by people going through similar hardship. Not sympathy, but understanding. "Well then, from one soldier to another, I wish for a swift end to your war."
Mal's curiosity at the quirks and customs of Hector's world was a welcome subject change. "Then that beggar will find himself quite lucky indeed!" Hector laughed good naturedly. "A free meal, hospitality... Being a good host is important in my culture. That is why the gods test us so."
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Post by Sησω on Jul 2, 2019 15:26:34 GMT -5
One of the Emperor's heads had been about to eat Izaya then and there, and her one semi-functional head had the urge to dive in, too. As he spoke, her rational mind registered something: it seemed like he didn't know what an Emperor was, similar to what she'd encountered last time with Bigby. It was beginning to make her curious. Where in Sornieth had they come from? When she'd last asked that question, she didn't get an exact answer. Before she could wonder much more, her attention was diverted by the mummy on the ground. What he'd said seemed. . .creative, but at the same time she wanted to accept it. It made sense as to why she'd gone back and came again, along with the presence of other confused creatures. Now what was left was to get out. More than that, shut down who or whatever was behind this. The culprit or culprits must have possessed the power of gods, but right now stopping them seemed like something she could accomplish. If this was set up and the creatures on the ground were guilty, it would be easy: she could crush them under her gargantuan paws or eat them alive. "tEll ME moRe. . ." she said, "WHeRe hAVe yoU COme fRoM. . .HoW mANY TimeS hAve you BEeN tO thIs paradoX hOUse. . ." If anything, interrogating seemed like the best option.
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Post by Auransky on Jul 2, 2019 19:28:53 GMT -5
The Towns People : Town Square , Monster Room - Fog levels Increasing The townspeople were muttering among one another. It seemed like everyone disagreed with one another. Furthermore, the voices seemed mixed between hostile to frustration. The people were very immersed in their discussion that they paid no mind to the strangers on the roof tops, let alone the strangers roaming the foggy streets. "Good people!" Cried out the round man standing on the platform. Yet his voice continued to get drowned out by the discussions between the individuals themselves. "-Please fellow-" He was cut off again, this time by another rebutel coming from within the crowd. "We need to head off for the night! The curfew!" He tried to break the people apart, but didn't dare step off the wooden platform. To do so would be insane. "-I'll get scotland yard for this!" He threatened. "I'll get the house of commons, and if need be the church-" His attempts to break the people failed yet again. The sound of a whip slapping the cold cobble ground, from the far back of the chattering crowd was enough to instantly redirect attention to the back. In possession of the whip was a well dressed woman wearing a veil over her head. She was in boots, eyeing the Vicar (church authority) who stood besides her. She could only smile, as the Vicar gave her a rather displeased look. Behind the two was a fairly large number of people in identical uniform. The woman stepped forward, the whip in both hands. She couldn't help but look down. "Good people, on a night like this-a night like any other. We have been taught to fear, fear the night, fear the fog, and most certainly the monsters the fowl devil has brought us." She looked back at the Vicar who seemed to distant to care on her approach, simply nodding to let her continue. "The church, no-our church has been working effortlessly with the yard to find the source." She paused, her voice was breaking up, she seemed a tad emotionally distressed, "And a source they have." She signaled the Vicar to proceed. The Vicar, dressed in his best robes, took steps forward passing the woman who had spoken prior. "Good evening everyone. We have worked tirelessly with the yard, and have lost many prominent individuals along the way." His voice softened. "But today, on this night; the night they strike at their strongest, we have found the source responsible for everything that has come to trample our good faith." He took in a hesitant deep breath. While glad, he seemed upset. Silently he turned to face the yard, hand signaling them to open a path. In response, the Yard pulled out to the side, to open a path. The fog was dense, making it difficult to see, unless it was at close proximity. From the man created path, one could hear shackles colliding with the cold cobble path, per footstep. As the sound of shackles got louder, a slim figure could be made out. Approaching the front lines of the yard, the figure stopped, only to be kneed in the back by one of the individuals in line, to proceed further forward. "As mentioned, we have found the source. An individual claiming to be a man of science, but in reality a ward of the monster which laughs upon our existence." The Vicar Glanced at the figure, but only briefly as he found it difficult to look at the individual in captivity. "As many of you are aware, we take all the actions committed against our community very seriously. For that reason, we will excersice this thing, at the stroke of midnight." The individual in shackles was a gentlemen around his mid twenties. His well dressed clothes indicated he was a noble of sorts; but given the the rough beatings he had been given, his once nice clothes was clearly ruined. Along his hands, and up to his elbow, there was cuts, bruises, and a few burns; indicating that he had been roughed around prior to this. His once light brown hair had a few scorches along the tips, indicating fire usage. His faded blue eyes looked down the entire time. The crowd was silent. Listening to the church official, to the woman, then backing out of the way as the men from the yard forced the man in shackles up towards the wooden platform. The round man standing on the wooden platform stumbled back as the individual with shackles was slowly brought on. "-It's you..." He forced his own words out on the declared prisoner. He too seemed with disbelief to the situation at hand. He quickly turned towards the Vicar and called out. "Are you positive it is him?!" The vicar nodded. “We have evidence of his involvement with these ongoing nightly cases. Furthermore, his involvement with local government, his involvement with the house of commons, and the house of lords.” “T-That’s illegal! He is not of the church, there is no way for him to run for public office, nor involve himself in government in any way!” The round man replied with clear disbelief. “But he has. We have witnesses.” The woman boomed loudly from the back of the crowd. “He knows perfectly well that it is illegal to run for any form of government if he is outside of the church. However, what better way can he influence all of our prominent servicemen?” She asked, looking around to the crowd. “By advising them. How does one advice ?” She asked again with no response. “By saving them. As a doctor does, saves them from life threatening illnesses.” She sarcastically stated. “Now everyone feels obliged to listen. And here he was, under our noses. He played us fools, but tonight we will show his subordinates, that we not take things lightly.” The Vicar further added, “We must hurry. They are coming.” He emphasized rapidly, looking slightly away. “The creatures, the servants of death. If we rid of the portal, we expel the way here. It will end everything.” The towns people muttered, murmured, whispered. The crowd seemed mixed. Then, as if right on queue; a nearby tree lit on fire. A woman from the crowd screamed, “Foolish men, they are coming!” She proceeded to slap her husband standing right beside her. Another individual screamed, spotting Izaya flipping through the air. “There! They come this way!” The round man on the platform quickly rushed to the edge in attempt to calm the people. “-YARD” He referred to the large number of men in uniform in the far back. As if queued, they quickly pulled out revolvers, knives, swords, daggers, bows. Every weapon carried the smell of holy water. Some items had crosses, and verse cards wrapped around. Everyone pointing at Izaya, and the people around him. But that was short lived, as a massive eleven headed dragon landed near the otherside of the courtyard by the flaming tree asking them something-but it was too difficult to tell what it was asking over the sound of women screaming in the crowd, and men yelling over one another. The yard quickly turned its weapons to the eleven headed dragon. The man on the podium, “My god…” He muttered stumbling back, then turned his head back to the man in shackles. “Doctor-“ He cut himself off. He turned his attention to the Vicar “Where?!” He asked, demanding where the excersice takes place. The crowd in the square, continously turned their attention in all directions. The dragon... the man who flipped gracefully across the sky, and a mummy. Then there were individuals making their way to the flaming tree. As if the tree was a signal, a sign, a cry... for blood? The people didn't like it... “Hellfire…” The Vicar replied. Quickly the woman started using her whip to attract a few men from the crowd. “Take the thing to hellfire!” She ordered. The men being ordered, climbed the wooden platform, grabbing the man in shackles, then started to follow the round man, and the vicar off the platform, with the intent of leaving the platform west, where it seemed clear enough to travel. The man in shackles complied-he felt no urge to run, or make matters worse. The will-his will seemed shattered. South of the courtyard, there was a light beaming from the walls of the many buildings. There was more sounds of muttering, chanting, and screaming. It was getting foggier, but with the lights; many lights, and shadows of pitchforks, and farming items-it was safe to say that the church brought a bigger crowed to the square.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 2, 2019 20:21:09 GMT -5
Izaya flopped around a couple more times for good measure, then swooped down to hover near the mummy so he could get a better look. He sounded oddly sincere, but did that really mean anything? Dream people didn’t actually think, so it wasn’t like a deception he should be able to detect. Then again, it was a lot more entertaining to believe it was all real... “Consequences? You see awful worried about it, considering you’re dead.” He pointed out, poking Kid’s chest with smirk. “But you’re in luck.” He made himself float slowly diagonally backwards and up, spreading his arms out in a wide shrug, his smirk deepening. “I’ve decided it’s so unlikely anyone could poison me without me knowing, it’s as good as impossible. So I’m going to act like everything is real. Good with you?”
Shouts distracted him and he flipped over backwards, hanging upside down in the air with his long coat almost slipping off his arms. “Oh ho ho. What do we have here....” He murmured, and he glanced sideways back at the group of monsters, and grinned.
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Post by ®Hawkpath® on Jul 2, 2019 20:21:43 GMT -5
| Ooh interesting!! Also quick question is this a newbie only room? Or is it ok if I blink in someone else? | Kid’s already in, so I'm guessing it’s fine to do whoever you want! ))
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Post by Protractor on Jul 2, 2019 20:26:37 GMT -5
(Yo,mind if I blink in someone?
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Post by Sησω on Jul 2, 2019 20:42:19 GMT -5
(Yo,mind if I blink in someone? (That's completely fine!)
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