![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Carcosa, pt. 2
✖ Carcosa
Ⅰ. CARCOSA
You Are Still Here.
Another month, and you’re still in the city of Carcosa! Isn’t that just wonderful?
You still have access to the city’s temple and the High Temple.
The side effects you may have suffered from throughout the month of May are now at an end - if you had a pesky mask glued to your face the whole time it will now fall off. You might need a little moisturizer, but otherwise you’ll be just fine.
You could sit around inside the relative safety of the temples, of course, but why not get out there and explore the city some more? Come on, grumpypants!
Ⅱ. SPEAK EASY
CW: Optional alcohol consumption.
What kind of pet shop is filled with rambunctious yahoos and hot jazz music at 1 AM? That's right - the best damn pet shop in town! Sidle up to the back door of Curly's Pet Shop and a panel will open enough to reveal a pair of eyes. "What's the password?" you'll be asked. Whatever word first comes to your mind, well, that apparently is correct because you're let in at once.
The front of the building definitely does indeed house fish and birds and kittens, but the back room is definitely not a good place to find a new animal companion; you find yourself in a crowded little room with low lighting and a small bar crammed into one corner. There's seats and some tables, and most importantly there's a band playing jazz music across from the bar.
Why not take a seat and have a drink? It's probably not paint thinner. Probably. Maybe you'll spot some of your fellow Travelers and you can sit and have a chat. Make a new friend who can hold your hair back if you party too hard.
And you better hope that the place doesn’t get raided!
Ⅲ. EXPRESSIONISM YOURSELF
CW: Optional paranoia, hallucinations.
If you wander the streets at night, you may find yourself getting turned around. You'll find that the streets have lost their many lights, and the beautiful and delicate art deco architecture has given way to something much more stark and heavy. The buildings are block-like, but they curve in exaggerated ways that hurt the eye if looked at too long. All are in blacks and whites and greys. Nothing looks quite real, but you can walk along just fine. Probably better not to go off alone, though.
Periodically you will encounter that pesky sign of some sort painted on the walls. If you follow the sigils, you will eventually be led to a long staircase that winds down and down until it finally terminates in a large white room lit by a few electric lanterns. There's black paint there, with brushes. Maybe you're feeling creative?
Ⅳ. AS FAR BACK AS I CAN REMEMBER, I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A GANGSTER
CW: Optional gun violence, injury.
Art? Theatre? Music? BAH! Boring!
Maybe your tastes are a little more on the dangerous side? Whatever this island may be, it seems to offer plenty of opportunities to get into the seedy underbelly. Maybe you feel the need to steal a car, rob a bank, transport some illegal hooch for a smiling fellow in a yellow fedora. Grab your tommy guns, kids, it's time to outrun the Feds!
Naturally, you could wind up injured having all of this fun, but surely you could get some help from your fellow Travelers, either directly or by having them haul you to some sort of underground doctor. These doctors do exist, although it might take a while to get referred to one by a local.
You might also find yourself under arrest and stuck in an old-timey jail cell for a month. What fun!
You still jamming to that Carcosa playlist?
You Are Still Here.
Another month, and you’re still in the city of Carcosa! Isn’t that just wonderful?
You still have access to the city’s temple and the High Temple.
The side effects you may have suffered from throughout the month of May are now at an end - if you had a pesky mask glued to your face the whole time it will now fall off. You might need a little moisturizer, but otherwise you’ll be just fine.
You could sit around inside the relative safety of the temples, of course, but why not get out there and explore the city some more? Come on, grumpypants!
Ⅱ. SPEAK EASY
CW: Optional alcohol consumption.
What kind of pet shop is filled with rambunctious yahoos and hot jazz music at 1 AM? That's right - the best damn pet shop in town! Sidle up to the back door of Curly's Pet Shop and a panel will open enough to reveal a pair of eyes. "What's the password?" you'll be asked. Whatever word first comes to your mind, well, that apparently is correct because you're let in at once.The front of the building definitely does indeed house fish and birds and kittens, but the back room is definitely not a good place to find a new animal companion; you find yourself in a crowded little room with low lighting and a small bar crammed into one corner. There's seats and some tables, and most importantly there's a band playing jazz music across from the bar.
Why not take a seat and have a drink? It's probably not paint thinner. Probably. Maybe you'll spot some of your fellow Travelers and you can sit and have a chat. Make a new friend who can hold your hair back if you party too hard.
And you better hope that the place doesn’t get raided!
Notes:
1. The drinks are all era-appropriate - you’re not getting Redbull with vodka here - and even if your character has non-human physiology they will work the same as they would on a baseline human. That’s right, your magic or your healing-factor or your vampire blood is no match for these Gin Rickeys!
2. If Curly’s does get raided while you’re there, you can run and hide or choose to engage with the police, who are armed and not too shy about opening fire if you go on the offensive. As with the rest of the regular residents of Carcosa, the officers are human and can be killed. Killing them may affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation. (Is it beneficial to personal growth to kill in order to save someone else, for example? You tell me!)
3. Did you want a pet from the front of the building? Well, just remember that baby turtles and alligators might SEEM like a good idea, but they grow up! Also any animal you take will not travel with you to the next island. So sorry.
Ⅲ. EXPRESSIONISM YOURSELF
CW: Optional paranoia, hallucinations.
If you wander the streets at night, you may find yourself getting turned around. You'll find that the streets have lost their many lights, and the beautiful and delicate art deco architecture has given way to something much more stark and heavy. The buildings are block-like, but they curve in exaggerated ways that hurt the eye if looked at too long. All are in blacks and whites and greys. Nothing looks quite real, but you can walk along just fine. Probably better not to go off alone, though.
Periodically you will encounter that pesky sign of some sort painted on the walls. If you follow the sigils, you will eventually be led to a long staircase that winds down and down until it finally terminates in a large white room lit by a few electric lanterns. There's black paint there, with brushes. Maybe you're feeling creative?
Notes:
1. You’re pretty sick of this stupid sigil, aren’t you? In fact, you consider yourself QUITE the detective and have been searching after its meaning! Or maybe you played Call of Cthulhu a lot in college, you nerd!
Painting the sigil on the wall will cause you to feel disoriented and paranoid until you leave the white room. From that point on you can discover a copy of a play entitled The King In Yellow anywhere in the city you choose. Reading the first act of the play has no effect on you, however if you choose to read beyond the first line of the second act you will spend the rest of the month suffering from periodic hallucinations, often of a tall man in a pallid mask.
2. While there is no compulsion to paint, choosing to work out any of your character’s issues through art therapy can be reflected in your Scrywatch colour if it is significant enough.
Ⅳ. AS FAR BACK AS I CAN REMEMBER, I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A GANGSTER
CW: Optional gun violence, injury.
Art? Theatre? Music? BAH! Boring!
Maybe your tastes are a little more on the dangerous side? Whatever this island may be, it seems to offer plenty of opportunities to get into the seedy underbelly. Maybe you feel the need to steal a car, rob a bank, transport some illegal hooch for a smiling fellow in a yellow fedora. Grab your tommy guns, kids, it's time to outrun the Feds!Naturally, you could wind up injured having all of this fun, but surely you could get some help from your fellow Travelers, either directly or by having them haul you to some sort of underground doctor. These doctors do exist, although it might take a while to get referred to one by a local.
You might also find yourself under arrest and stuck in an old-timey jail cell for a month. What fun!
Notes:
1. As was stated in the first prompt, the regular residents of Carcosa are normal humans. Killing them is possible and may affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation. Any weapons you find are era-appropriate.
2. You can break out of jail if you’re resourceful enough.
3. The underground doctors aren’t working in a real hospital for a reason. In fact, some of them might be less doctors and more, well. Vets.
Questions, comments, concerns?
Re: Questions, comments, concerns?
If he took/borrowed equipment, would that come with him to the next port of call?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
Re: Questions, comments, concerns?
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
Question: About the smiling fellow in a yellow fedora.
What would happen if someone were attempt something hostile towards him? Either physically or by some other means of manipulation?
Any deets appreciated! <3
Sephiroth | OTA
[Before you enter some kind of shady location requiring a secret password, it only makes sense to investigate the publicly accessible part of that building, right?
Sephiroth wouldn't normally care about a pet store. He's never owned a pet and has never had the inclination. However... He's already realized that the fauna here aren't entirely the same as the ones he knows, and this is his first time seeing some of them.
The rodents are either unfamiliar or they definitely shouldn't be pets, and that is the smallest adamantoise he's ever seen... What even is an alligator? He's not staring, really, he's just studying them.]
II - Speakeasy
[...oh. To find that this is just some cramped bar is a little disappointing. He's not much of a drinker, but he'll pick up one of those gin cocktails he's never heard of and look for somewhere to sit where people won't try to talk to him.
Maybe there's something else going on here, if he hangs around to listen for a while? At the very least there's music, but otherwise Sephiroth seems rather out of his element.]
III - The Sigil
[What else would an insomniac do but walk the streets at night? But Sephiroth isn't used to losing his way. He's explored quite a bit of this city already, and he has good night vision, but somehow neither are helping him now. Retracing his steps seems to take him in a different direction than he came. The buildings don't look right. Has he come under this city's sorcery again? When he spots the first sigil, it cements that thought, and at first he refuses to follow them, looking for some other way out of this unexpected maze.
Are you lost, too? Maybe you run into him in the streets. He will eventually take up following the sigils, practically stalking them as though he's hoping to find a fight at their end.
Instead, he finds himself inside that white room. The paint is an obvious invitation, but by now he's growing frustrated with this, and he snatches up a brush. Will painting the damn sigil open a way to something worthwhile? You could try to stop him, or just let him have at it and see what happens.]
IV - Library
[Throughout the month, the most likely place to find Sephiroth is at Carcosa's sizeable public library. He mostly sticks to the nonfiction sections, standing in the aisles while he reads up on Earth history and geography and various random topics he's seen mentioned on the network. It might be a little out-of-date to most Travellers since there's nothing past the 1920s, and he hasn't been able to figure out what "Netflix" or "Boomers" are, but it's a start.
If you're lucky, you might catch him sitting down to read... faerie tales? So one of them might be called The Pink Fairy Book. What of it?
If you're extremely lucky, you might catch a glimpse of him sleeping in a chair. He's a light sleeper, so it's difficult (but not impossible) to approach without waking him, but you definitely haven't seen him sleep at either of the Temples. He's more comfortable here.]
((Looking for something else with Seph? Feel free to hit me up at
( ii )
Did you get lost?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
pet shop, natch
[There are a few questions Sephiroth might have -- 1) what is that tiny fluffy thing Saxsice is holding and cooing over, 2) how did she get the cage open without the shopkeeper noticing and/or 3) is she following him? The answers are "chinchilla" "very carefully" and "maybe", respectively, but the important thing is that Saxsice is in love.
She nuzzles the little creature, cooing softly:] I'm gonna name you Paul.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
IV - Library
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
i.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
iv
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
IV - Library
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
IV Library
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Jack Rackham | Black Sails | OTA
[ Finally, Rackham thinks, it's a place he finds intimately familiar. The speakeasy's missing the sand and the snake in the tree and, well, the pirates, but it's the Nassau-like energy he really appreciates. There's a hum in the air, a certain vibe of not a crime but also a crime, something Jack drinks up the moment he speaks the password (he'd said it was calico, he's not entirely sure why) and the door opens.
The place is crowded, cramped, foreign but pleasant music in his ears, and as he's waiting for his drink to be fetched he drums his hands on his thighs, a toothy grin surfacing on his face. ]
Finally. [ It's said with relief as he plonks himself down at a table, elbowing himself between two people, and turns to the one on his left whether they like it or not, chatting like they'd been friends for years. ] Some actual fun, with neither pomp nor circumstance hovering around the room like miasma. If I'd want trouble to cloyingly envelop my surroundings, I'd find my way to the nearest whore house.
[ His whore house, to be more precise. But this comes close. He knocks back a drink eagerly: Jack Rackham, social butterfly and extrovert, at your service. ]
Do you think the owners could be convinced to shuffle a few turtle eggs our way? [ He'd seen one on the shelves in a little tank, after all. It never hurts to ask. ]
ii. impressionism yourself;
[ It's certainly appealing, painting something with the instruments provided, but while Jack has always been a connoisseur of good art, he can't actually paint for shit. He's not about to learn, either, not when there's someone else right next to him. He's not lazy, he's just very good at delegating. Made for a great quartermaster for a reason.
Also, he just doesn't want to. Not when he's staring at that white canvas, thinking about that little yellow symbol. ]
I don't suppose that insignia is familiar to you? Other than from the terrible masquerade. [ He hitches his nose up, wrinkling it, still feeling how tight the mask had been. ]
iii. jailbreak; (closed to anne bonny, nate and sam drake)
[ It was bound to happen. Inevitability likes to glide towards the two of them, drawing them closer and close while they remain in blissful ignorance. He just wishes Invetiability didn't also hit them upside the head with the butt of her rifle and without warning, leaving them bleeding out in the streets.
Something like that.
Strange metaphors aside, it really was a matter of time before Jack and Anne wind up being dragged into cells by rather powerful police. Rackham is keenly aware there's blood on his face from when his head had collided with a table courtesy of an officer that looked suspiciously like a humanized version of a ham hock. Talking, apparently, had gotten him nowhere, and neither had Anne's way of doing things after rhetoric failed to calm things down.
They're two of many, and Jack only starts to truly struggle when he realizes he and Anne are both separated--they're put in different cells, something that sends a shock of panic through him as he's shoved into one, tailbone smarting as much as his head, his lanky, thin frame tossed right on his ass. He doesn't assess the cell, not yet, darting up to grab at the cell doors just as they're slammed shut. ]
Anne-- [ he doesn't finish his sentence, doesn't say 'we'll be alright.' He doesn't think he needs to, though he tries in vain to stick his hand out of the bar as far as he can to grab at hers, dramatic and instinctual. He can't reach. ]
iv. wildcard;
[ If you want to plot or have an idea in mind and want a starter for it, hmu at
speakeasy
It wasn't. Of course it wasn't.
Hence her seeking distraction in a glass of something clear and sharp-tasting that made her lips numb. A good third into it, Saxsice is embracing the feeling, and the smile she gives to the stranger dropping into the seat beside her is slow and bemused.]
Turtle eggs? S'that some kinda slang I haven't heard of or are you really into exotic food?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
1 - Speakeasy
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
i
i love when dw doesn't give me notifs : ' )
always classy, that
(no subject)
(no subject)
iii. jailbrecc
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
ii. impressionism yourself
(no subject)
(no subject)
Carter Ghazikhanian| X-men 616 (Adult) | OTA
They say that music is a language all on its own and for Carter it's one he knows well and has dearly missed. The last month has been truly bizarre with being swept away to this strange island where he's witnessed sea zombies, grinning skulls, and a few other notable strange things. So to be able to do something that is normal and fun for him seems almost bizarre but he's not about to say no.
He doesn't bother asking questions when one of the jazz musicians offers to let him sit in with the band for a song or two, he grabs the opportunity like a dying man grabbing a life preserver.
So now up on stage, crammed next to the bass player he is sweating, straining and feeling almost delirious with joy, his fingers flying across the guitar as he tries to keep up with the frantic pace of the song. When the song ends, with a great jazz flourish of course, he grins and thanks the band leader before hopping down off the stage and making his way towards the bar.
"Fuck that felt great."
no subject
Yes, that's how he's going to greet you, Carter. Just sitting on a bar stool nursing some sort of drink he suspects was made with lighter fluid.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
loki odinson | mcu | ota
( ii. expressionism yourself ) cw: grief, trauma, possible violence
( iii. gangsta's paradise )
( iv. wildcard )
( iii. gangsta's paradise )
[ the man knows how to talk, Booker'll give him that. Self-reassured and promising, but Booker's also been on that end of the dime enough not to take it at face value. ]
A gang that does what?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
ii
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
ii
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
iii
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
i. speakeasy
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
iii.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
ii.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
iii. gangsta's paradise
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Booker | OTA
Ⅱ. SPEAK EASY
Booker's not sure why, but the booze here hits him faster and harder than anything he can remember having. Logically, he's sure that this was how alcohol hit him before his first death, but he remembers the blackouts more than he remembers this sensation.
This isn't drowning, it's floating, and he sits at the counter of the bar and drinks, eyes glazed and easy to smile.
There's freedom in this, and he's here to indulge as thoroughly as he can.
"Can I grab you anything?"
Ⅳ. AS FAR BACK AS I CAN REMEMBER, I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A GANGSTER
It isn't surprising, really, that after so much time spent in that bar, he'd get picked up. Better him than the poor woman he'd mentioned her children, and he doesn't regret shoving her into the streets and occupying the officer in her stead.
Imprisonment should trigger a thread of panic but he's heard the coppers talking, and there's no worry of being trapped here forever, or of a death sentence that they won't be able to impose. No, just standard slap on the wrist stuff, and therefore he finds the four walls and their containment somewhat reassuring.
It's harder, to feel listless, when there's no where to go, and he eyes the people he sees with lazy intrigue, wondering what's brought them to this place. One can't struggle with obligation and purpose when they have no means to act on it.
iv
Though what, exactly, he's waiting for he couldn't say, until he happens to catch the wandering eye of the stranger across the little block of cells. Not passed out, maybe even sober - he might even be up for a chat.
"Come here often?" Anders asks, a cheerful sally, though the grin that tugs at his busted lip stings, as he lifts his head from where he was resting it against the blessedly cool wall.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Ⅱ. SPEAK EASY
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
Deadpool | OTA
Deadpool sat at the bar, swirling his drink around in its glass. It was gin, four fingers, neat. His mask was pulled up above his nose, revealing the travesty that was his ruined features. Somehow, in the past month, he'd gotten his hands on a red and black suit and fashioned himself a mask. Yeah, he was the real picture of a 20's era Deadpool. Did he miss his spandex? Sure. But he missed his Ryan Reynolds features more. He'd dared to hope that he'd spoofed the universe and he could look hot forever, maybe score a Blake Lively, but no.
To add insult to injury, he'd actually come here not for booze, but to see if Jeff had somehow ended up here. It was a pet shop, yeah? And he had some reward points in this game that he was hot to spend on his little buddy. Well, Gwenpool's little buddy...but she'd left the landshark with him and that made it his little buddy now. Or would, if he'd been able to find Jeff. Unfortunately, there were no landsharks at this establishment...just illegal booze. All he wanted was a little buddy that bit people up to and including him. Was that so much to ask?
So it's a much more subdued Deadpool this time around, sitting at the bar and drinking his troubles away. If you wanted something more serious with the guy, this is your chance. This booze actually works, too, which is fucking dangerous when he's in this depressive state. Weren't these supposed to be the happier toplevels, less dark, more fun? Couldn't he get anything right?
Nope.
IV. I Always Wanted a Heist Monkey
It's sometime later. Perhaps the booze (so much booze) has kicked in. Perhaps it's the monkey he found at the pet shop. Perhaps it was the contacts he made at the speakeasy who hired him on to a gang that was pulling a heist on a local jewelry shop - a gang that promised him Tommy Guns. (He sure had felt naked without any real weapons for that first month besides his own arm broken off and used as a bone shiv against zombies.). Perhaps it was some nice characters who responded to this here top level and cheered him up.
Whatever the case, a very drunk Deadpool with a monkey is serving as the muscle for some gangsters, waving two tommy guns around while leaning out of the window of a car that is rapidly speeding up to the fanciest jewelry store in town. Is he firing his guns off into the air and yell-slurring whatever pops in his mind? You betcha. Is it causing everyone to run for their lives? Yep.
Is he doing this intentionally to scare people away and reduce casualties? Well. You'll just have to draw your own conclusions there.
iv
He's no Ryan Reynolds with the power of movie magic to get him out of difficult situations, but he wasn't going to do nothing.
Re: iv
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
IV: Pray. For. Mojo.
AMAZING reference!!!
this entire game is just Simpsons references.
it's why the game feels so much like home to me!!
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
II. Speak (not so) Easily
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
Alucard | Castlevania
[The wine is shit.
Alucard knows that, huddled in his little corner of the bar, pouring the last drop of a bottle into his wine glass. It is terrible wine, sharp with too many tannins and no real flavor to it, and he shouldn't be drinking it.
But he is.
He's turning into Trevor Belmont and he absolutely fucking hates it.
There's a sigh as he shoves the bottle away, making it easier for the bartender to pick up. His eyes go everywhere, noticing how few are actually drinking wine and--]
I suspect I've picked the wrong drink.
[He sighs when he says it. Somehow, he's even screwed up drinking to negotiate with trauma.]
III. Expressionism
A
[The room is white. Alucard understands he's drunk enough that following the ominous sigils is not a great idea, but where they have lead is an interesting enough place that the part of him that should be on high alert isn't there. There is, instead, a tiny part of him that remembers that on occasion, he enjoyed drawing. That he wasn't half bad at it, even if most of his work in the past few years was more architectural.
There's paint. There's brushes.
Alucard walks over to one of the paint buckets, considering. And then, in one fell swoop, he splashes the entire bucket towards the wall with the sort of violence he'd reserve for an actual fight. The splatter sounds, followed by the clank of the tin hitting the floor.]
--Satisfying.
B
[The initial splatter is opportunity. From it, Alcuard has taken up brushes, dragging the globs of paint into terribly dense trees. Then thinner ones. A landscape in black, made of intersecting branches and implied bright moonlight above.
His hand isn't steady. He's drunk. None of it matters. He's absorbed in the work of it, hardly aware of anyone else entering the place.]
Wildcard
Please PM me if you'd like to do something else!
III - A
It's an improvement.
[He doesn't like the white walls, he doesn't like whatever magical headgames have led him here, so he appreciates what he perceives as the other man's rejection of the whole thing. Even if it doesn't get him anywhere. A little violence is still an improvement.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
ii
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Benedict Bridgerton ✦ Bridgerton ✦ OTA
✦ ii. expressionism yourself
✦ iii. wildcard
Victor Frankenstein | Penny Dreadful | OTA
Honestly, Victor isn't one for alcohol. He can't drink. Not because he doesn't want to. It's just that medically, alcohol doesn't mix very well with his chosen vice. And honestly, he probably shouldn't do this here. But it's not like Victor hasn't done this sort of thing in front of others.
A tourniquet, a needle, and then just the lethargic feelings that come as his world calms, his thoughts finally slow, and he allows this new strange music to sweep over him.
There's a soft, almost sad smile on his face. The problem comes when the police show up. There are shouts and people are scattering. Except for one still rather blissed out scientist. He's got no idea what's going on and even less ability to really function quickly. But he can at least be there to stall. "You should go. I'll keep them busy."
Ⅲa. EXPRESSIONISM YOURSELF
[Victor pulls a small leather bound journal from a pocket. He'd picked it up in his first weeks in this place. Already, pages are being filled with words and drawings and questions to be answered.
He stops before the symbol and makes a quick note. This again. Let's see where you lead.
[It's probably not very smart for him to simply go off on his own to check things out, but that's never stopped him before. He might find answers.
Instead, he finds eyestrain and a headache as well as a pure white room with paint. In a flash of inspiration, he sketches out the symbol.] Nothing ventured.
[No sooner has he done that does he feel it. The same terror he's felt day in and day our since he'd fled from his first creature.
His breath starts picking up and Victor places a hand against the wall to steady himself.]
He's not here. He'd have made himself known already...
Ⅲb. The King In Yellow
The book appears next to Victor's cot at the Temple. The young man gengerly takes the tome carefully. He knows it wasn't there the night before.
He itches to read it. "Who ever owns this, I'll be borrowing it. I should be finished shortly."
It won't take him all that long to finish the entire play. Even if he pauses halfway through to remark "Shakespeare this is not."
Ⅳ. AS FAR BACK AS I CAN REMEMBER, I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A GANGSTER cw: blood
He's been asking around for doctors and others in the profession for a while now. There's a lot of new things he needs to learn. Medicine has changed a lot, even within the next twenty to thirty years. Victor wants to know it all.
Eventually, he finds himself in a rather nostalgic place. It looks like a run down factory, with creaking stairs and leaking ceilings. It's all dirty and ramshackle.
At first, the doctors scoffed at him but soon enough, Victor is elbows deep in removing bullets and setting bones.
He's just finished with a minor surgery. It's not even remotely what he's capable of with the right tools.
He steps into the waiting room. There's a bright splash of crimson against a pale cheek. It splatters across the apron he's wearing but his hands are very clean.
He looks over those still needing to be tended to, far too calm for someone working a back alley emergency room. "Next."
IV.
nothernecromancer.Harrowhark the First, or Harrowhark Nonagesimus, or 'Harrow is fine' depending on who you might ask, found her way there via the rumor mill. She's pretty sure that she wants to see these doctors in action, and she is also pretty sure that some of them might like to see her. It is penance, or retribution, or something against the toll of her birth that she may offer her services here.
"It is quieter here than I expected," she says, not knowing this is also the fastest way to curse an emergency room. No one is screaming yet. Harrow is honestly a little disappointed.
IV
Chloe | Detroit: Become Human | OTA
( Of course Chloe is going to go into the pet shop – there’s the promise of cute fluffy and feathery things. The rest of the noise is ignored for now as she takes her time peering at all the animals.
The birds are her first port of call, marvelling at their colours. It’s such a shame that until someone buys them – and assumedly treats them well – they don’t really have the room to fly. As if to soften that blow for them, she makes a few coos and chirps at them. They flit from short perch to short perch and flap their wings a bit but otherwise don’t seem as enamoured of Chloe’s presence as she is with theirs.
Moving along, she spots a sight that instantly tugs at her heartstrings. Sitting alone in a cage is an adorable little bunny. And that won’t do. That won’t do at all.
Fortunately for Chloe, the rabbit seems to be a friendly soul as she scoops it out of the enclosure and into her arms. Sitting down on the floor in case her new friend decides to take a flying leap, she rests it in her lap. Stroking its soft fur, she murmurs soothingly. )
You’re not supposed to be alone. Where’s your friend, hmm?
(As she knows enough about them to be aware of the fact they’re gregarious creatures who should be sold in pairs or as part of a group. Maybe this one will become part of a pair, but still. It’s irresponsible. Maybe she’ll have to pay another visit to question Curly on their business ethics.)
⭕ SPEAK EASY
( Following the music, Chloe gains entry into the back room. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like the sort of establishment she should frequent. Not everyone is as torn, resulting in her being jostled into the joint as revellers bustle around – and into – the dithering android.
Maybe she can stay for a little while and enjoy the music. It beats drifting around the city or drifting around the temple. The clearly not above-board nature of it all aside, there’s nothing that seems glaringly strange. Not for now, at least. It’s a welcome relief, but one that Chloe doesn’t let herself settle into too much. A sting in the tail may not make itself apparent immediately.
She stands by the bar, focusing in on the band. A smiling bartender sets a drink down next to her. In spite of her protests that no, that really isn’t necessary, but thank you, the bartender insists she gives it a whirl. There’s a glint in the bartender’s eyes that piques her curiosity (not that it’s hard to do so).
Picking up the drink, she peers at it. Slowly swirls the liquid around in the glass. Chloe glances back to the bartender, who just gives a little nod.
Well. When in Rome. Or something like that. Maybe the island has gotten to her. Or maybe a damaged system just doesn’t matter so much anymore.
Taking a tentative sip, Chloe waits for the inevitable system warnings. A moment passes. Then another. Nothing. No internal alerts to signal critical issues with her biocomponents. No sort of sensation that would suggest any kind of issue with her biocomponents. She’s just standing there having a drink.
Reckless as it is, she finishes the glass. Whether it’s the revelation of being able to consume the booze at all, the booze itself or a combination of the two that makes her start to feel rather giddy, who knows?
But it is interesting. Very interesting. Certainly something that warrants further testing. Just to see.
She orders herself a second round, sipping at it. )
Well. That really is quite something.
⭕ EXPRESSIONISM YOURSELF
( Chloe’s wanderings lead her to the white room, its stark, bare walls reminiscent of the tech lab. An eternally blank slate waiting to be written upon. Waiting for the next discovery to be made. And while this room isn’t that room, it’s so easy to picture.
A man at work, surrounded by devices of his own invention and those he’s had to upgrade to raise them above their mass-produced roots. A man who doesn’t sleep for hours because you can’t stop progress, and progress will wait for no man. Not even the man who changed the world.
Without her usual daily routine, there’s been so much time to just think.
It only takes her a moment to reach for the painting supplies once she spies them. Art has always appealed to her. Her talents may not have been worked for but she finds a freedom in the creative expression (even if how creative she may truly be has been the subject of very literal debate).
Her creator has always had the same response; she likes it and therefore it doesn’t matter what anyone else has to say about it.
The walls shouldn’t be so lifeless. They could really use a little flair. Something pretty to look at. Yes, a little beauty makes everything much better.
Brush in hand and standing before one of the walls, Chloe closes her eyes and searches her memory for a spark of inspiration. With an image in mind, blue eyes open as she begins to paint a lone female figure. Anyone familiar may recognise it as Rodin’s Galatea, only lacking her male counterpart. That and Chloe’s depiction is photo realistic. Meticulously detailed beyond the original statue, from certain angles it looks like it’s standing there in the room. The artist herself seems calm, the brush moving with an almost eerie precision. )
PET SHOP
(Carter had thought he was alone in the petshop so when he hears a voice suddenly speak out he freezes, the words causing a sudden chill going down his spine. He turns from where he had been studying a small baby turtle in a tank, half expecting some kind of ghost or otherworldly creature to be standing there. He's already seen weird ocean zombies so he wouldn't put it past this weird island....)
Hello?
(He takes a few steps out from where the turtles are and then sees a girl sitting on the floor.)
Oh! Uh, hi.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Birds and fish and bunnies, oh my!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
speak easy
Re: speak easy
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Sharon da Silva | OTA
Sharon leaned against the wood of the bar, a glass of a dark unknown liquor in hand, still full. She appeared uncomfortable with her back tight and blue eyes that consistently scanned the room. A lot of people appeared to be enjoying themselves and she felt a shudder of envy. She never understood how people can just... let themselves go. With a heavy sigh, she finally brought the glass up to her lips to take a swallow. The moment it hit her tongue, her face pinched tight and she had to force herself to swallow it down.
The liquor burned all the way down her throat and settled uncomfortably in her stomach.
"Oh my god," She managed to choke out to anyone nearby, her face still twisted in exaggerated disgust, eyes watery and cheeks flushed, "How can anyone drink that shit?"
I-B. SPEAKEASY | MISSION KITTEN (aka: she managed to drink that shit)
Sharon may not be in the most sober state of mind. She eventually managed to down one drink and that had been more than enough to lower her inhibitions and she never felt the need to grab another. Mostly because she'd gotten the grand idea to go grab herself a kitten from the front of the store. It'd be a mess to do on her own, however, and that leads her to approaching familiar faces and strangers alike, especially if they look like they might be down for a little mischief.
It didn't matter what they were doing, if they were alone and not in the middle of a conversation then they were future possible partners in the most minor crime in existence.
"So, did you see the pets at the front?" There's a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
II. BLACK & WHITE
Sharon would never call herself an artist. She knew she had certain talents and it'd be a lie to say she didn't enjoy losing herself to a piece of paper and a shitty 2B. But whenever she let herself go, let her mind take over her hands, the art always ended up horrific; darkness and monsters and things she can remember but would much rather not. When she spotted the strange markings, in spite of her reservations, she found herself following them curiously. She hesitated the moment she came upon the stairs, nearly turned around with a fuck it, but still she round her way down. And upon coming across the white room, she paused. She thought once again of turning around but instead she picked up a paint brush and went to work.
One messy line. Another. Another. A fourth and fifth and soon an hour had passed and her fingers were covered in black. Her shirt and pants, spattered. Even one cheek had a smearing of dried black paint. She took several steps back from the work she'd created and felt her stomach lurch. The shape was familiar. The body. The crowd.
All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears and that woman's vile voice. And the fire.
Sharon dropped the brush, heart in her throat. For a long moment, she stood there, stiff as a board, her mind clouded, before she roughly snatched up a bucket of paint, entirely ready to toss it at the work she's created.
III. WILDCARD
[ Sharon can be run into anywhere in the city but if you'd like something more personalized, feel free to PM me or hit me up at
I-B Speakeasy | Mission Kitten
Not normally one who would be considered mischievous, the mention of the pets captures her attention. A fellow animal lover is always appreciated. "I did! Aren't they lovely? So cute!"
She glances around them, like she's about to share a terrible misdeed she doesn't want to be overheard. When the coast seems clear, she speaks to the girl in hushed tones. Well, in her mind it's a secretive tone. In reality, it's more of a not ever so subtle stage whisper. "I pet a rabbit. Just took them right out of the cage."
An act she looks pretty pleased about. Truly the gangsters have nothing on Chloe.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
harrowhark nonagesimus 💀 ota
II. PET SHOP
IV. OUT WALKING ...
V. WILDCARD
i. temple
Then, in an undertone:] What're we lookin' at?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
Walkabout
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
iv
(no subject)
(no subject)
anders | ota
ii. expressionism yourself
iii. i always wanted to be a healer
( switch to prose if you prefer, i'll follow suit. and if you want to wildcard/plot/etc, feel free to hit me up by pm or @
I. Speakeasy
However, there’s an important matter to attend to first. Stopping by the bar, she requests a glass of water and a glass of their finest… finest. Judging by the liquor she receives, the definition of ‘finest’ is pretty fast and loose. It’s the thought that counts, right?
Going to stand by his table, she sets the drink down with a little flourish and a big smile. The water is also placed upon the table with less fanfare. )
I know it isn’t a well-cooked meal but it is the best in the house. For you. And some water for the kitties.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Clarke Griffin | The 100 | OTA
[ Clarke had been more or less minding her own business until she spotted a slightly bedraggled looking puppy, clearly in that gangly stage between adorable newborn and fully developed dog, but with a charm that kept her crouched by its pen as she let it lick her fingers and wondered if she ought to spend some of the money she's been given on it.
She's so taken by the little animal that she would've ignored the person who walked by, if they hadn't, you know, walked into a secret door. Of course she had to follow; sheer curiosity demanded it. And that is how she can be found: seated at a booth, drinking what's certainly a more finely-crafted alcoholic beverage than anything she's had before, and surreptitiously sneaking pretzels to the tiny dog who she couldn't bear to leave behind. ]
II. Expressionism Yourself.
[ Clarke had been an artist for as long as she can remember, and it's what she falls back to in times of stress. It's fairly safe to say that being in a strange new world of uncertain provenance -- with magic masks and the undead, of all things -- is reasonably stressful, though not the worst she's felt. But c'mon. Someone just left the paint sitting right there.
She starts by trying her hand at that weird sigil she keeps seeing, just for reference sake. But then it becomes something else; symbols etched onto her memory; the ones from that alien device that had taken them from world to world. If she could remember enough of them maybe she'd be able to paint the ones that could take her home.
It's wishful thinking, but at least it's pretty. ]
[ Want to do something else? PM or find me at
rafe adler | uncharted | ota (+ closed prompts)
[ It's easier getting around now that the damned mask has come off; turns out it's rather conspicuous having a steampunk skull plastered to your face. Means it's less of a hassle to walk the streets of Carcossa (or climb up around them, if anyone happens to glance up rather than around) and scout out what supplies aren't offered at the temples. Of particular note: weapons. While the guardians have seen fit to provide nearly everything else, Rafe hasn't yet seen anything worthwhile for self-defense and after the giant fuck-off fish and the goddamn zombies... Yeah. No. This is necessary. He's become quick to recognize other Travelers, a glance at the wrist for the telltale Scrywatch there, and if faced with one at the stalls as he checks the barrel, he offers a simple shrug before sliding the cartridge in place with a click. ]
I prefer to be prepared.
[ Otherwise he can be found at the High Temple rather than the local installation. Because while the High Temple has that uncomfortable lingering prickling sensation of being watched, of scrutiny, an air of expectation (just like home sweet home)... It also has much better baths than anything provided by the faceless fauns of Carcossa. And while a long soak doesn't fully wash away the strung out tension in his shoulders that comes from living under a glass, it sure as shit helps. ]
𝙎𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 𝙊𝙁𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙍𝙀𝙉𝙎
[ This is hardly Rafe's first time at a venue of questionable legality, though most others he's been to over the years had a tighter grip on security than waving through every Tom, Dick, and Gatsby that has the knuckles to knock. Maybe if they were a little more discreet, a little more discerning, it wouldn't be packed in like a tin of gin-soaked sardines. The crowd is the only reason Rafe stays, caught in the currents and at the mercy of the crowd around him. Which means it's only the barest stroke of luck that he's close to a wall when he hears the whistles blow, shrill even in the distance but getting louder every second as the patrons begin to panic.
Stepping back against the rush of bodies, his heel knocks against a panel and he can hear the hollowness on the other side. A critical eye and a sure hand soon find a catch for a backup exit tucked away behind an oversized potted fern. He has no idea where the passageway leads but one thing's for damned sure — it's gotta be better than here.
The door starts to swing shut behind him when he catches you nearby and he arches an eyebrow, impatient and expectant. ]
Well, come on if you're coming. I'm not looking to play doorman all night.
𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙈.𝘾. 𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙕𝙊𝙉𝙀
[ Whether it's after losing the cherry-tops on his tail or on another late-night excursion, Rafe ends up... Not lost. He certainly isn't that because he's been scoping the city out for over a month already and it's not that large a place. But still he turns one corner and then another and another and leads him deeper and deeper into what can only be called some truly freaky shit. The few streetlamps still lit throw warped shadows that flicker in and out to true darkness, that throw the buildings looming up into stark and unsettling and non-Euclidean relief, that make the whole thing more of a headache than an acid-assisted Rorschach test.
He should play this smart. Should trace back his steps or climb up for a better vantage to get the hell out of here, but... But. The sigils keep cropping up — cornerstones, under an eave, slapped right up against a door — and Rafe can't not try and follow them along. They're clues to this whole place, he knows that much by now, and he knows better than anyone how rare it is for such things to just be dropped in your lap.
So he continues on, deeper and deeper, until he rounds another corner and walks straight into you. One hand goes to the pistol at his waist before he thinks better of it, the other smoothing back his hair with a sharp exhale. ]
Dr. Serling, I presume.
𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍❜𝙎 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙄𝘾𝙀
[ Speakeasies are nice little diversions, but they're the equivalent of tourist traps — just enough crime to thrill and chill before going back home and gossiping about how naughty a night was had. A bare scratch at the surface and Rafe's never been content with half-measures. So when a yellow fedora offers an invite to something a little deeper, a little darker, of course he's going to take them up on it.
"It" is a floating casino, a basement larger than Curly's by far with flashy would-be-gilt decorations to cover the haphazard nature of a setup that'll vanish like smoke in a week's time. Rafe scopes out the room from the corner bar, weaves through the tables and observes until a seat opens up at a corner card game. Poker seems to be poker everywhere from what play he's already seen, and the seeming proves true after a few hands and Rafe has the count securely ticked off in his head.
Which means he's soon pulling in more pots than he's leaving on the table, a benign plastic smile on his face as he stacks his winnings a little more neatly in front of him. ]
Call it beginner's luck.
[ But the key part of luck, the most important part, is knowing when the ride's over and it's time to stop pressing. Which here? Is as the sore loser grumbles grow silent and the silence grows heavy with frustration and that itch to do something about it.
So Rafe chooses to fold and gather up what he's earned this evening, bundling it away in his jacket pocket after leaving something for the dealer. Time to beat a very tactical retreat...or at least shift the scene to somewhere a little more defensible if that resentment does boil over. Just one last drink for the road, his elbow knocking yours as he settles at the bar. ]
I'd avoid that table over there. [ His chin tips up, indicating the one he'd just left. ] Not too much going for it, you know.
𝙒𝙄𝙇𝘿 𝘾𝘼𝙍𝘿
[ interested in an angle I haven't covered? feel free to shoot me a line here or on plurk and we can hash out a separate prompt! ]
𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝙀𝙇𝙀𝙉𝘼
A cigar girl sweeps by (and she's got to be some kind of ghost the way she just floats through and around the other patrons, how in the actual hell—) and drops a round of drinks with a beaming smile. She whirls off again before Rafe can point out he hasn't ordered anything and he knows without even trying that he won't get anywhere trying to shout over the crowd to draw her back. ...Well. It's less of a port this time than gin but the sidecars (the sticky sweet smell of citrus gives it away) look all right enough.
He's taking an investigatory sip when the booth gets another occupant in what looks like the same manner Rafe did: dropped by a tornado dressed in shimmy beads and overlong tux tails. But said occupant is...certainly familiar. He's already seen Nate and Sam
(seen way too much of Sam)but it truly looks like the Ancient's made this a full family affair.The glimmer of recognition only lasts a moment before Rafe casually slides over one of the cocktails to his new buddy over here. ]
Unless you're looking to part the Red Deco Sea out there... [ One eyebrow lofts over the rim of his drink. ] I'd suggest getting comfortable.
(no subject)
(no subject)
𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝘼𝙈
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
[Like more than a few of his fellows, Kit becomes a fixture at the library. Any library with a whiff of a history collection, as a matter of fact, from a university campus, meandering through an archives and several eye-catching bookshops, before taking full advantage of the public library with an eclectic and ever expanding reading list that towers on stacks around him. Once he nibbles, it's like a hunger takes over and he gorges. History. Philosophy. Science. Geography. Centuries to try and absorb like a sponge; by the flurry of books entering and leaving his piles that increasingly look more like precarious jenga blocks, it appears he intends to. Promising prospects in anyone else's hands might just warrant a trade, or at least a question or two if it's worth it, tucking the titles away in his memory.
The only section that throws water on his feverish appetite contains the more personal histories. At times his fingers skims the spines in the aisles dedicated to literature, both desirous and fearful of landing on a familiar name.
Carcosa itself is not unlike a text awaiting translating. The circumstances might be drastically different, but this isn't the first new city he's had to invent himself in, and he proceeds from the beginning where he's begun before: by paying attention to what's popular. What matter to the people filling its streets. When not absorbed in a book during meals in the mess hall, he people-watches on walks or from a table at the nearest park with a glass of ale to settle his culture-shocked stomach, entranced by the simplicity of passing traffic. He ends up the culprit leaving pamphlets around the temple from day trips to museums and department stores and all manner of cultural novelties in between.
Given such, it's only a matter of time before he learns the places to be, and how he comes to occupy Curly's during several of its rowdy nights. A packed room with flowing drinks and loose tongues feels timeless, and it might just be a fellow Traveller he drifts past with a comment for the exotic drink menu or an inquiry as to these illicit Prohibition trappings. That there's the occasional ruckus in the streets hardly seems to faze him, and on one such night sensible bystanders see fit to spill out the establishment's exits on the heels of a rather vicious fight between a pair of patrons, he has an eye for the ambiance of the streetlights, and less the wail of a siren in the distance.]
— II. High Temple - cells
[From the outside looking in, taking time to understanding new textiles and fashions over three hundred years off from what he's accustomed to might appear a low priority. It won't provide him answers to what's happening to him, or the why. But it's a necessary education for all of them at some point, unless they care to add to the reasons they stand out, or make do with rough-spun robes.
(Perhaps more importantly, it's something else to put his mind toward that isn't listlessly wondered if the real Matthew has returned by now. If he, in turn, has wondered where Kit's gone.)
And so it happens one morning finds him deciphering the appropriate way to layer a dress shirt in a soft striped lilac (purple, such a beautiful and strangely casual color on Carcosa). He stops the first person around the temple's living quarters who looks like they may have a notion of proper post-16th century dress.]
You there. A moment. In your opinion, what's more appropriate--this? [He lifts a herringbone grey vest. Then he holds up a lighter-colored pullover in his other hand.] Or this?
— III. High Temple - bath
[Of the temple's sparse, spartan amenities, he will say this: the consistently hot water at hand is as luxurious as a hot spring bath.
He keeps odd hours, schedules and routines a distant memory, but no matter what time of day he ventures to it he's privately impressed to find it freshly prepared each visit. Rosemary and lavender, orange and marjoram turn the steam fragrant, and though muscle tension feels like a permanent accessory he brings with him on each pass, closing his eyes and inhaling the herbal mix offers has him the closest to relaxing in all of this.
When he opens them again, it's to fix on the copy of Giordano Bruno, On the Infinite Universe and Worlds, propped on the ledge in front of him. A recent purchase--another indulgence, really, but timely to revisit in a new light. To think he'd been on the side of arguing its daemonic author had dipped into one of his mad phases when they'd sat around Matthew's fireplace reading it.
Besides soaking and reading, the bathing pool also offers the opportunity to observe others as they come and go. The next time company arrives, he spares any undressing and overexposure his gaze, but he's obvious in his studying every other chance, mindful of what color obsidian discs flash. His own reveals a murky orange where it's hidden by the profile of his body.]
— IV. Wildcard
[Want to mess around with sigils? Spitball the creepy play? Get in some trouble and shoot the shit in lockup? If you're into something different outside the first all that and the kitchen sink prompt, just throw me a starter. c:]
Cells
The vest. It contrasts well with the shirt, both in design and color, and allows you to display both to good advantage and in an elegant manner. The pullover will cover most of the shirt, hiding the reason you presumably chose it in the first place.
On the other hand... [Connor taps his lip thoughtfully, circling Kit and stepping back to get the full picture.] If you're wishing to make an impression with a quick flash of color and a casual demeanor, the pullover would be the better choice.
[Another moment of contemplation, then:]
If you feel a chill, the pullover is also the more logical choice, but from a purely objective point of view, the vest is the better one.
android buddy!!!
human buddy!!!
ew hdu no hoomans here
he looks hooman, he acts hooman, he is hooman. connor isn't though :P
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
library nerds (though the bath was tempting)
both are ✨ there are no wrong answers here
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
III. HIGH TEMPLE - BATH
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...