Event Log: Home Sweet Home

[hadrielmods]

Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for the Home Sweet Home event
Where: All over the city
When: June 20th-July 2nd
Warnings: Nothing bad could ever happen now that you're home

It could happen at any moment- any action you do could be cut short by a sudden trancelike state, and so hopefully it happens when you're safe in your surroundings. And of course you're safe... after all, what could happen to you now that you're finally home?

Whether you don't remember Hadriel at all, or you just believe that this entire ordeal is over, you're home for good now, which is something worth celebrating. What happens in your home? Are you treated like royalty or just cast aside and forgotten? How are your friends doing? Your family? Everything is just as it should be and it's easy to get lost in it, even for an unlucky onlooker who may find themselves drawn into your trance and able to interact with you as you mill about your world and your reality.

Snapping out of it is the only way to end this trance, and you've got to eat and sleep at some point, but how can you go back now that you've been teased with what you desire (or maybe even fear) the most?

► This log covers June 20th-July 2nd.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you die of homesickness let us know here.

Comments

charles eyler || ota, warnings for options 3 and 4 in the comment

[proselytise]

Though he wouldn't think so at the time, it's actually lucky when this happens somewhere public; not that it's his goal to have people watching him just staring out into space like his mind is totally somewhere else, because his mind is totally somewhere else. It's just that if he stays like this forever, that's not exactly a good thing, or at least it's less good than being conscious and here. The point is, you're a good person and you tried to help, or you're a bad person and you tried to do something like push him over.

Shame on you, if it's the latter.

Anyway, it turns out that was a mistake. Welcome to the House.


option one; school's never out
Whoever says that high school is the best time of your life is wrong. And that's not just because here, at this nameless school, the classes make no sense, your teachers have no faces, and most of your fellow students respond to you like they're NPCs with one line of dialogue.

Then again, you're not really here for them.

There's someone in the school uniform, plus a pair of gloves, who (if you're aware that this is just some Hadriel stuff) you somehow recognize as the person who you saw just before ending up here.

Which is definitely weird, considering the person in front of you is about half a foot shorter than the guy you saw, and is also definitely female.

"Aren't you late for class?" she asks, even though she is obviously also not in class right now. "Or are you skipping today?"


option two; rooftop book club
The door to the rooftop closes quietly behind you; it's almost churchlike here, quiet rows of white stone benches looking out into a sky that feels somehow empty. On one of the benches closest to the railing is a boy with white hair. He starts a bit when he notices someone is here, almost dislodging the notebook from his lap. It probably has something to do with the fact that he looks like he's recently been in a fight, and not one that he won, either.

"I wasn't sure if you'd still come here." He still looks slightly nervous, but smiles at you, unsure, as if he's testing the expression out. "But, thank you."

You're aware of who he is, and whether that means "the boy that you just saw standing outside staring into the distance at Hadriel" or "the new student who introduced himself as C, the god of this world, and was immediately laughed at by everyone in the class," well, who knows?


option three; the world outside
Warning: this option will lead to discussions/themes of suicide.
You find yourself in the infirmary, lying on one of the beds. Sitting on the stool next to you is a white-haired boy, looking slightly upset. "I'm sorry," he tells you. "I should have known that you would end up becoming their target, as well."

After a moment, he gets up from the stool, but doesn't leave. "But-- we don't have to stay here. If we take the elevator down from this level, we can leave. It would be...better than this." He's looking down at you, hopeful.

You don't want to let him down, right?


option four; home sweet home
Warning: npc body horror, possible mentions of suicide.
There is someone else on the elevator with you. Actually, that's not fully correct, because the "someone" is lying on the floor, unmoving. So you definitely won't be getting much conversation out of him. On the plus side, the elevator ride up isn't too long, and you have the slightly-calming elevator music to keep you company until the doors open.

When they do, the person standing there is the one you had interacted with to get here in the first place. Charles looks a bit surprised, but only for a moment. The expression gives way to a sad kind of smile. "Oh," he says. "It was nice of you to come with him."

He picks the body up as if it weighs nothing.

When you step off the elevator, the doors close behind you, and in their place is the front door of the apartment you're now in. It's locked. No going back, it seems.

The apartment you've been dropped off at is small. Dark, slightly gloomy, but clean. "You can wait here, if you want." He looks down at the body in his arms. "I have to take care of him first."

Of course, you're certainly able to follow. Maybe it'd be nice to have company.

option four

[am_i_a_monster]

Abigail's never been sure if she's a bad person or a good person.   Maybe it's both.   She feels an odd combination of curiosity and concern for the man staring blankly.   There's nothing ahead of him that looks interesting enough to capture his attention so completely.  "Lost in thought?"  She asks and when there's no response she touches his arm gently.  The simple action is enough to pull her in.

She's quiet in the elevator, trying to figure out what happened.   The idea of being alone when they reach the apartment is unappealing.   "I'd rather go with you if that's okay?"   She glances down at the body too.   "How will you take care of him?"   She knows how her father 'honoured' the dead.   It can't be that bad.

Delmar | OTA

[imhisaunt]

Delmar has stopped in the middle of one of his morning walks along the seafront. At first glance he might appear as though he’s just staring out at the horizon, lost in thought, but the book in his hand seems dangerously close to being dropped and if you call his name or say good morning he’ll make no move to respond or even acknowledge that anything has been said.

Odd for some who is usually so chatty.

So if you find yourself concerned and perhaps try to take his hand or in your annoyance at being ignored you try to tap his shoulder you will find yourself in….

Main Street and Mr. Zelnick’s Drugstore

…Queens, NY – 1968. A world of pea greens and khaki yellows. Paisley and psychedelic patterns, the cast offs of the hippie heyday only a few years gone have managed to trickle their way into this quiet neighborhood, hanging in the windows of used clothing stores and being advertised in the windows of a local hair salon.

The street is not very wide, lined by storefronts and the occasional brownstone that needs looking after, but for the most part it’s quiet. A mother doing her shopping with her children in tow. The occasional businessman out to get a coffee and their copy of the day’s newspaper, etc. And of course, one timid old man in a worn but lovingly looked after cap and coat.

Delmar walks with a quiet but nervous desperate energy, his hands gripping the strap of his shoulder bag so tightly his knuckles have gone white. He carries himself apologetically, shoulders held high as though he could make himself shrink to a much smaller size, and chin tucked inwards as though maybe that would stop people from recognizing him.

It doesn’t.

Despite his best efforts to be as unobtrusive as possible, he sticks out like a sore thumb, and the people around him pass looks as though he is a thumb covered in abhorrent warts. The mother grabs her children nearer to her and bends to whisper loudly in their ears not to make eye contact before hurrying them to the other side of the street. Men in suits openly eye Delmar with disdain while refusing to make space for him on the sidewalk where it gets pinched off by the drugstore’s flower display, forcing Delmar to go far around them and circle back.

Entering the store he does his best to call out a cheerful ‘Good morning, Mr. Zelnick’ to the man behind the main counter but the words don’t even get a nod of acknowledgement, the Mr. Zelnick in question simply continuing to rub at the counter with a wet rag.

Little by little what confidence Delmar had gathered for the day slips away from him like air out of slowly deflating balloon. So he wrings his hands and begins gathering up the things he came for: a new hairbrush, some new soap… all the while trying to pretend like he doesn’t hear whispers just a few feet away and that he doesn’t feel the staring every time he reaches out to pick something up.

But the air is heavy with one sentiment: no one else wants him here.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry” he’ll offer quietly under his breath if you come near him, assuming you want to pass by. And he’ll quickly try to scurry to another aisle so as not to bother you.

Should you approach him on the street he will timidly look down at his feet and hold his bag of groceries closer to his chest.

And I’m afraid to say he doesn’t remember anything about Hadriel in this space. This is home as he lived it.

[roseofthetyrells]

[Margaery finds herself in a place she's never been, wearing clothing she's never seen before (really, isn't indecent to show so much leg?), when her eyes alight on someone she does know. she approaches him with a warm smile and her arms open to give him a hug]

Delmar, it's so lovely to see you! I thought I'd gotten lost somehow, but here you are.

Caedra | OTA | CWs for most everything that happens in the Abyss

[abyssalarcana]

((Please see my ooc plotting post for more information.))

Wherever it is that you find Caedra, it's obvious that something is off. Usually quick to spot someone walking up on her, and just as quick to react, instead she stands paused on her way to the shore, sits motionless in the orchard, or slouches at the speakeasy with a drink still in hand. Or, it might have been mid-conversation: one moment cheerfully discussing the failings of mortal creatures, the next moment silent. Or if you're particularly unlucky you may already have had a hand on her for some reason or other, which probably makes the abrupt change even more extremely confusing.

Welcome, people of Hadriel, to the Abyss.

The City of Rust
It's a pleasant day in the city, Caedra thinks, as she makes her way down the main boulevard, recently widened to accommodate the growth in the layer's population. Shrieks and howls fill the air - locals bicker with each other over the prices of poisons, a quasit screams as a pack of its former companions tear it limb from limb in the middle of the street for some offense, and ahead, a pair of armanites herd captive mortal creatures of a variety of species off a grand 4-masted merchant ship, captained by a mercenary who greedily triple-counts the gems in the box he's just been handed. The river flows rapidly past, and in its yawning chasm the other side is just faintly visible through the red-tinted mists.

Carts in the square ahead are filled with a variety of exotic wares, and Caedra peruses them with curiosity. Mermaid leather is all the rage these days, according to one vendor, but she senses the fear in the creature's voice as it eyes her with apprehension. Another approaches with slight hesitation, offering jewelry stolen from the collection of another lord, which Caedra passes up as obviously counterfeit.

A sculpture towers over the city from a southern neighborhood, but it's easily visible even here. Made of black iron, and standing twenty feet in height, it stands on a hilltop, and with wings spread wider than it is tall, it is certainly imposing, although from this location it's hard to see what the sculpture seems to be peering down at. Buildings block the way, stretching for miles, each built in someone's individual style. It's the lack of cohesion that seems to define the city - the variety of things, and people, and structures, all piled on top of each other from centuries of growth, although none of it looks more ancient than a few hundred years.

And Caedra loves it. She smiles to herself as she continues on her trek, while the unruly crowds part around her like magnets repelled by some unseen force.

The Garden of Thorns
It's much quieter here, where Caedra spends the bulk of her free time - and a good amount of her work is done from here as well. She flows from one place to another within the walled garden. Prunes her plants, makes her coffee (perhaps for a visitor), takes up a calligraphy brush to create something beautiful. The vines outside threaten to spill over the walls and overtake the scrying pool but she forces them back with the gift she was granted and they seem to retract on their own.

Hathya bounds over the wall, looking like some cross between a 10-foot long black panther and a porcupine, and nods to Caedra as the jarilith drops the mangled corpse of what looks to have been another's cambion, or an incubus, perhaps. A spy.

"It probably wasn't alone," Caedra replies as she kicks the body over, looking for an identifying mark. "We'll find the others."

Ironhold Palace
Elaborate archways line the corridor that Caedra paces down, opening out into a courtyard filled with sprays of orange flowers on tall, thorned stalks. Caedra pays them no notice. Her mind is elsewhere, focused on her destination. An aide trots along beside her, recording as she dictates.

"Fifteen, I think. The priest and eight attendants, plus six guests that I could see. Mostly giants, although the guests were mixed - possibly servants, actually. I only had a brief look. Did you get the part I said before, though?"

Distantly behind, a klurichur tails them. Here, the guards have guards.

"Well you'll have to hurry up if you want to keep your head," Caedra comments coldly to her companion, whether they had responded or not. Invasions, after all, are serious business.

garden

[magician_king]

"Was that necessary?"

Quentin asks, as the body sprawls between them. He's not the murdering type, no matter where he washes up- even if it is maybe the wrong thing to say.

"You could have brought it in alive."

Will Solace | OTA

[sonofacesius]

Camp Half Blood

Will was probably in the clinic, or maybe he was out walking to the clinic, or back home. Really there were limited places he could be, the boy practically lived in the clinic. But instead of his active, chipper self, the demigod is frozen, unresponsive, standing there. Get too close?

Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. With summer session finally in full swing, the dozen campers usually staying year round, Will included, had been filled out by hundreds more. Kids of all ages, from as young as six or seven to late teens, wading around in orange tee-shirt’s with pegasi on front that read ‘Camp Half Blood, Long Island Sound’. Off to one side there were cabins with numbers, all looked different, one was covered in leafs and plants and greenery, another badly painted red with a boars head mounted on the door and barbed wire decorating it, Will’s cabin, number seven, glittered solid gold in the sunlight. Each cabin was unique and gave some idea the god for whom the occupants were descended from.

Who wants a tour?

“You look lost. Are you new?”

Lava Wall

In the distance there was a climbing wall, with lava and boulders pouring down it, and a couple campers scaling the wall. Unless you were a really poor climber, or extremely unlucky, you only got burned once or twice. Lava helped you learn fast. Maybe Will was spotting whoever was using the wall. In case they got seared by lava or fell in.

Capture the Flag
[CW: violence, maiming, injuries, demigods who don't believe in anesthesia and pain control]

Or maybe Will was tending campers after the lastest camp wide event. There were kids and teens all around the forest, clad in really accurate greek armor, and armed with swords, shields, bows, spears, daggers. If it was greek, they had it. And then? They had tried to kill each other. Hundreds of kids dashing through the woods, swinging at each other with swords and magic, feinting and strategizing, trying to get each other’s flag.

What happened when it was over? Well chances are, someone got hurt. These things happen.

Paolo, son of Hebe, might have gotten his arm cut off again and Will certainly wasn’t going to let him bleed to death in the middle of the camp green. Want to lend him a hand or hold down the screaming teenager, who clearly needed to learn how to dodge? Maybe yell at the 7 year old son of Hephestus who probably engineered the chainsaw frisbee that took it clean off? There were other injured too. Broken bones, blown ear drums. Someone probably got stabbed or cursed. The important question was who won Capture the Flag? And who lost dessert privileges for maiming?

camp time.... because we still!!! have to thread!!!

[proselytise]

Go figure, you zone out while walking for a moment, bump into the wrong fellow clinic worker, and suddenly you're at summer camp. Isn't that how things go?

...no, actually, not usually.

It's bright outside, which is the first thing he notices. The second thing is that there are a bunch of kids around here. (All he can hope is that this doesn't mean he's a camp counselor.)

When someone does approach, it's someone around his age. (Are you lost? Yes, probably.) "Ah...I guess I am. It's that obvious?"

Oscar | OTA | Will Match Format

[onlyanautomaton]

Hadriel ♫

Oscar is walking at a calm but steady pace when he begins to slow down, the internal gear systems responsible for his ambulatory movement clicking and locking in place once he has come to a complete halt. Someone who listens carefully will sense continuous movement within his chassis, his mechanisms ticking along perfectly. By all appearances, he seems functional and alert.

It is starting to rain. Water droplets ping against his steel face, trickling over his metalwork and steadily soaking his clothes.

He stares ahead at nothing.

Journey ♫

Crisp, clean air is the first thing to greet you. Above you is a blue sky, the remnants of a cold, morning mist clouding it only slightly. Towering at each side of the wide, dirt path on which you walk, as far as the eye can see, are snow-covered pines.

The Youkol caravan is on the move again. Riding atop one of the 'snow ostriches' in the herd is a slender young woman. On closer inspection, you will see she is expressing a feeling of contentment, her mouth curving with a smile and her brown eyes shining as she gazes at her seemingly endless surroundings. By Oscar's own approximation, he would guess that she is entranced by the environmental splendors of their trek.

At last, a leg of their journey that is as he would have liked the previous one to be: beautiful, without interruptions to hinder their progress or obstacles to be faced in overcoming them.

Walking alongside her and the creature on which she is comfortably seated is none other than Oscar himself. He turns his head by a fraction to glance in the woman's direction at occasional intervals, the movement so slight and fleeting that it is almost imperceptible.

Olympia (Олимпия) ♫

Light snowfall drifts past your vision. An enormous bonfire rages before you. If you would care to look up, the moon in the night sky is full and golden red in hue. Around the perimeter of the great fire are several pitched tents, stacks of firewood and kindling, sacks filled to the brim with vegetables and other assorted edibles, barrels containing other provisions, and a wooden workbench for smithing, among other things.

The occupants of the camp--save for two--are members of the nomadic Youkol tribe. They are a small and friendly folk. Most of them speak a limited amount of English, though the youngest of the group--the one with a metallic, prosthetic leg--is remarkably fluent in it, capable of carrying extended conversation. The shaman is normally the easiest to locate among the Youkols, Oscar finds. Where she is now, Oscar cannot say. (He wouldn't say anyway, unless he were asked; he is beginning to grow accustomed to her eccentricities, but it will be a while yet before he can say he feels entirely at ease in her presence.)

Not too far off in the distance, past the Youkols that are milling around, you might notice the exterior of a run-down concrete complex dappled in graffiti; exploration within the building would quickly uncover that it was once a stadium for sporting events. Even further away are structures relating to the stadium's original function. A cluster of them appear to be multi-storey residences that were probably vacated a long time ago.

A large paddock separates a number of tall creatures from the encampment. Smaller animals somewhat resembling canines are scattered across the camp; some sleep rather soundly inside open tents, others wander the area, stopping occasionally to sniff the air if they detect the aroma of unattended food being carried by it. One in particular might have planted itself right in front of Oscar, giving all of its attention to him for reasons that can't be accurately determined by the automaton. It hasn't attempted to come any closer to him... ruling out the case of it wanting to act on its territorial instincts for the moment. Fortunately, Oscar wasn't planning on doing much exploration of his own tonight.

Wildcard

[ooc: Have a particular idea for plotting that isn't covered here? Hit up his plotting comment or shoot me a PM @ onthelam/onthelam#1730/this account. ♥]

Olympia

[magician_king]

Quentin stands with the hands of the small of his back, bending his spine, trying to get the kinks out of his back. He closes his eyes and feels the snowflakes landing delicately on his face.

"That smells good."

He observes to Oscar, quietly.

"If they've got a little more to spare I can bring you a bowl?"

Something about the scene fills him with a warm sense of camraderie.

Abigail Hobbs | Open to All, warnings - may contain violence, murder, cannibalism.

[am_i_a_monster]

Abigail's on the West island, outside near spire four.  When someone touches Abigail,they'll be transported to her old life, either in Minnesota, or while she was institutionalized, or when she was in hiding. 

1.  Construction Site in Minnesota.

Your character is a on a busy construction site.   Abigail drives up and gets out of her car, giving her father a wave.  She looks very out of place, the only one on the site not dressed for manual labour and the only teenager.   She stands near the car, texting and playing games on her phone.   Her father continues to work, but occasionally glances over as if making sure she's still there. 

Eventually, Abigail notices you.   "Oh hey, I haven't see you here before.  You must be new."   Because she's there every day after school.  "I'm allowed to be here.  I'm Abigail Hobbs."   She points to her father.  "That's my dad."

2. (note - for this scenario only - your character would appear as a female in her late teens, looking similar to Abigail.)

Your character is seated on a train travelling through Minnesota.  Abigail approaches her nervously at first.   As she gets closer, she gives a friendly smile.  "Hi."   She says. "Is it okay if I take the empty seat next to you?   I don't like traveling alone."   She appears innocent and friendly.   If your character is very observant, they may notice a middle aged man near the back of the train, watching them discreetly.

3.  The Port Haven Psychiatric facility in Baltimore

Your character is sitting in a chair with others.  The chairs are arranged in a circle.  It's a support group made up of several patients and a doctor. "Hey, Abigail, you never answered my question.  Did you keep your bloody clothes after your dad tried to kill you?"   A young woman taunts.  "You could make a lot of money selling them.  Especially if he got some of your mom's blood on them too."

Abigail simply ignores the teasing, staring ahead as if she doesn't hear it all.

The doctor taps her clipboard.  "That's enough."   She turns to look at your character.   "Are you ready to share your story with us today?"

4.  Hannibal's home.

Your character is in a house in Baltimore.   It's beautifully decorated and it appears as if all the occupants are out for the day.   Your character can explore.  There are many luxuries, including a gourmet kitchen, though the meat in the freezer may be hard to identify - it's human meat.   

When your character climbs down the stairs into the basement, they'll see if it's very different.  Plastic drapes hang down from the ceiling as well as chains, almost what one might see in a slaughter house.  It appears to be empty, but they can hear someone else breathing.   If they follow the sound, they'll find Abigail hiding in a corner.

3

[magician_king]

Quentin looks up at the question, as though he's taken aback to find himself here. He clears his throat, pulls himself up out of his slouch, and tries to form his thoughts into a logical string.

"Not- as such. But only cause I don't really, uh, have a story? I don't have overt trauma like Abigail, or a raging fucking personality disorder that makes me take out my own inadequacy on other people like Michelle."

"Just garden variety depression," Quentin continues, but a little more loudly over the sound of Michelle going off at him.

Group kind of devolves after that.

Trafalgar Law - OPEN

[hot_mes]

[ooc: please to tap me here if you would like Law to view your character as Not Belonging Here (and thus open to attack or argument). This goes for viewing them as an antagonist (Marine, Caesar's henchmen) as well. Otherwise default response will be accepting them as belonging.]

Polar Tang

[Welcome to the Heart Pirates' submarine, visitor! Ordinarily, Law would know that anyone not one of his 20 crewmates is an intruder, but he has so many guests aboard right now that one extra person can get overlooked. In addition to his polar bear navigator and others in jumpsuits, there are two oddly-dressed samurai, a noisy ninja, and four members of the Straw Hat Pirates around: Zoro, Usopp, Franky, and Robin.

Law is as content as can be, because this is home. Not just the ocean or the planet, this ship is his home, his country, his crew are his people. Below-decks, the metal corridors are free for exploring except for his operating room, where sensitive medical equipment is off-limits except to fellow physicians. When surfaced, the Polar Tang is like any sloop with a big main deck to explore, except for the bright fucking yellow color.

Law will give visitors a tour so long as they don't ping as an intruder. Inspect his ship, enjoy the unpredictable Grand Line weather, or take this chance to meet several characters who've never been to Hadriel, including an archaeologist and a cyborg! It's a noisy, raucous time.]

Punk Hazard

[want a taste of what Sorrow's ice planet would have been like? Visit Law on this island, where he's alone and undercover. The laboratory is on the ice side of the island, so even while indoors he strolls around in his fuzzy black winter coat. It's a high-tech lab, though, with all kinds of technology and machinery to explore or play with. One may stumble into Caesar, called "Master" by his henchmen, or Monet, the harpy-woman serving as his secretary. The henchmen themselves are an odd mix of burly humans and centaurs or satyrs, the latter of which were created by Law himself.

What Law is doing is a secret to everyone but himself, so while he isn't openly hostile, he is clearly reserved, particularly around henchmen he doesn't think are very smart. Sneak up and watch him perform his animal-human hybrid surgeries - or visit as a paralyzed prisoner and receive some awesome new animal legs! Conversely, catch him sniffing around locked labs and suffer the consequences of prying into his business.]

New Marineford

[as dreams go this isn't quite a memory, but has elements of Law's memories of his last visit to Marine headquarters on the New World side of the Red Line. The ship is docked below in the harbor as he strides through like he owns the place, potentially accompanied by crewmates, passing scores of low-ranked Marine soldiers who eye him with suspicion but can't do anything to him.

Law isn't saying why he's here - maybe even he doesn't know - but his business isn't with peons, rather with the Vice-Admirals and Admirals higher up. Fujitora isn't allowed here, thanks to Law himself, but Garp and Tsuru are around. Reverie is happening soon so many of the Vice-Admirals are at sea escorting the royals. In fact, as Law and his entourage pass through the courtyards and arcades, one can hear the chatter: who's gone where, which kingdoms might not show, whether any pirates or Revolutionaries might make trouble. There's a lot going on, and that's why no one is particularly happy to see Trafalgar Law. If any Marines get in his face, he has the right as a warlord to put the smack down on them - but if the fight gets too heated, an Admiral might show up. Nobody wants the Admirals to show up.]

Dream 1: New Marineford

[abyssalarcana]

[There is a very jarring moment that happens in Caedra's mind when she goes from nuzzling up against Law in his little home to them both getting pulled into his dream simultaneously. There's a second where her entire mindset shifts, and she goes from being at the closest thing she gets to peace in this city, to suddenly being quite certain that she's a Vice-Admiral in some sort of hierarchy that - well, it's all coming naturally, once she settles into it.

Law, you remember Vice-Admiral Nisariel, don't you? She's watching as you approach. And she's now, after that odd second of adjustment, quite confident in her role here. She's playing a very dangerous sort of game, she knows, in being willing to assist a Warlord more than she is probably supposed to. But he does have a history with them - or, well, his guardian did - and his raw ambition is backed up with incredible power. Whatever the future holds, he'll be involved in it, and she wants to make sure she has a part in it too.

She nods to him in greeting, but keeps her face neutral. Cautious.]

Trafalgar Law. You requested a meeting?

Jeyne Westerling | OTA | Warning: Talk of war, injuries and death

[widow_of_the_crag]

Jeyne spends most of her time at the beach, enjoying the sounds of the waves rolling against the shore and the sting of the salt against her eyes. It's a glimpse of home without taint and without interruption. Perhaps that's why the images come, the moments where she seems to blink and be back in her world.

For anyone walking past, she is stock still and staring into the distance, a frail girl against the harsh winds and rain, noticing neither. She's lost in something, a waking dream. Shake her and see Westeros, home for all that means.

I. The Crag

The keep is in a decrepit state. Years of harsh weather and disrepair have the walls and roof near crumbling. It's an ancient castle, one that has stood for generations, but it is in these recent ones that the penniless nobles are no longer to care for it as it needs. It now stands as a testament for what the Westerlings are, a shadow, a name without foundation or strength.

Inside, there is at least activity to combat the emptiness along the cliffs. Servants move about quickly, some tasked with quick repairs of beams meant to hold part of the ceiling up. Others remove old pots where water drips to the floor and replace them with new ones. There are a group ordered about by an intimidating woman with dark features and hair. When she speaks, others are quick to respond.

Her husband is more passive and gentle looking, though he is entirely occupied with troop movements and the number of soldiers at their disposal. He mentions something about "The Young Wolf" and "Lannisters", but it's muttered and drowned out by the sound of something clattering in the distance.

A young girl runs to the courtyard where two boys are playing together, both wielding wooden swords. The older boy was knocked into a weapons rack, unharmed and laughing loudly. He congratulates his brother for a good hit, but offers him instructions in how to hold the sword better. The girl watches from a distance until her mother tugs her by the arm, leading her up into a small room filled with plants, salves and potions. She's made to sit on a stool and work on her embroidery while her mother mixes a potion together.

"Don't let her see you standing around," Jeyne will whisper at you. "She doesn't like idle people."

II. The Young Wolf's Camp

Robb Stark's camp is large with several tents camped close together. It's easy to be overpowered by the smell of manure, sick and blood. These soldiers are not ornaments, they have been to battle and carry the muck on their armor. Banners depicting a Direwolf flap against the wind in every direction, the sound drowned out by activity, shouting and horses.

Among them, Jeyne wanders through the crowd. She pauses among the sick and wounded, tending to them carefully as well as offering words of comfort. Some are respectful with their smiles and responses, but others push her away. It isn't something she seems to linger on, almost expecting it. When one turns from her, she only goes to another bed.

When her work is finished, she runs to meet a young man at a larger tent, the entrance manned by two guards. The man is taller than her with red curls and crown of steel on his head. He seems exasperated by her presence, though is gentle in his words, even offering her a kiss and a whispered promise to see her later. She murmurs his name, pleading to stay with him, but he turns and follows his generals into the tent. The guards close the flaps and watch her steadily, waiting for her to try and insist on following.

When Jeyne turns, she will notice you and smile sadly. "It's not a woman's place to be in war councils."

II

[roseofthetyrells]

[Margaery blinks in surprise at where she's at, in the war camp of Robb Stark, but at least she recognizes Jeyne. Margaery approaches her with a warm smile only for it to falter a bit at Jeyne's words. but she recovers and continues smiling]

Renly was much the same. Never let me sit in his precious war councils. It's so very frustrating, isn't it?

Ravine. | OTA

[whip_poor_will]

I. Hadriel;

What a lovely day it is today. Or, well, it's no more brimming with sunshine and daisies as it was the other day, but for Ravine it's all the same. No warmth, no cold, no trickle of water on her face or the breeze sweeping her hair. She can enjoy the scenery of the park all the same. Take in the sights and pretend that she can experience it like any living person would, sitting on a bench with her gloved hands folded over her lap, wind blowing but neither the fabric of her clothes nor threads of hair show any sign of movement. She doesn't even appear dampen from the light rainfall that day.

There is an air of calm about her, but also a sense that she isn't... quite... there. Almost as though she's see-through, a hint of the other side shown right through her. If not for that, it would almost appear as though she was asleep.

But it's never quite that simple, as something like unseen hands pulls you towards her, and to somewhere else...

II. Point Blank;

At a glance, this messy display of a two-story seedy bar is placed in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. La Mitad, a town that could barely be called a town, is more of a road between borders of what had once been California and Mexico.

Much like its namesake, La Mitad was a halfway point. It seems that at one point, the Ratón Borracho bar was inhabited by living people. Now, all you can hear are the off-key tunes playing from an old silver jukebox and inaudible conversation. Though the lights are dimmed, you can still make out movements of shadows shifting around the room like clockwork. A scent of cigarette smoke and burning fire.

Though she sits alone, just as she had at the Hadriel park bench, Ravine waits at a two-person table in the corner of the musty bar of bustling shadows. Despite the empty glass before her and her rather bored disposition, none of the shapes stop to refill what appears to be her drink. In fact, the glass is clean, devoid of any evidence that liquor had been filled and consumed.

While the shadows move about, it seems that no one else but you pays notice to the woman in that redwood bar chair, sitting idly with an elbow on the table and a finger tapping the surface. The unusual black coat over a corset of red belts further stands her out in that sweltering room, the air so hot your lungs almost burn. And yet Ravine sits, one red-gloved hand rested under her chin. A flash of gold in her eyes turn towards you before they shift to a soft brown.

It would seem she is not the only one who notices, as a couple shadows from the bar swivel their heads towards the dream's intruder. Their eyes aglow, their presence almost hostile.

[zen_en_vert]

Bruce glances around at the shadows, taking in the room, taking in Ravine and her blet and her gloves, bright in the dingy space. He steps in, carried by the momentum of the dream towards the bar, where he finds a second chair with an absent reach and pulls it out to take a seat.

It takes a second to shrug off the sense of scrutiny, and to clear his throat and ask her;

"Is- there a bartender around?"

Mewtwo Y | ota

[madebyhumans]

[Mewtwo stops right outside the Colosseum, frozen in place before she can get any closer.]

[The lab]

[Mewtwo's "home" is far from pleasant. The lab is a dark place, filled with strange machinery and other lab equipment used for analyzing and testing Pokemon. There's a huge test tube, filled with clear liquid and containing Mewtwo, curled up inside of it. The machine next to the tube shows the image of a Pokemon on the screen.

Mewtwo opens her eyes, and whether you've been cast into the role of another scientist or just someone who's found themselves in a strange laboratory, you're the first person she sees.]

[Mountains]

[After fleeing from the lab, there's no where for Mewtwo to go other than the forest and mountains that populate the area. She doesn't really know where to go, only that she needs to get as far away from the lab as possible. She doesn't have a home, but... she can't go back to that place.

She stops to rest near some trees, wincing from the injuries inflicted on her from previous science experiments. It hurts, her breathing is heavy... but she can still hear the sound of rustling nearby.]

Who's there...?

[Whoever's sharing this dream with Mewtwo, just might find themselves turned into a Pokemon themselves. And if they haven't... they just might find themselves with a set of Pokeballs as soon as they enter the dream.]

[zen_en_vert]

[Bruce is a scientist, but he's not a dick. He's standing outside her screen, frowning at a piece of paper, thinking very clearly;]

This cannot possibly be legal. It certainly isn't ethical.

[He glances up at hte screen to read the creature inside for an expression.]

Seel har Parasiel | OTA

[dreamsallotted]

Home: We Dwell in Forever

Seel was inside what looked to be an old plantation house, maybe Missouri or Kansas by the looks if you glance out a window. He was in the conservatory, sitting on a couch, Seel on one side, Swift on the other, several different piles of papers between them. Two glasses of something that looked vaguely alcoholic sat on a table in front of them. One or two servants milled unobtrusively around.

He reached to grab a piece of paper off Swift's pile and read it aloud.

"Profit and growth assessments of cabbage and other agricultural foodstuffs for the second quarter. Fascinating. I'm sure the Hegemony will love this. It's positively scandalous. I’ll be sure to include it in my report."

His consort handed Swift the report on cabbage. "You probably need to read this one too." Seel made a face, pre-empting what he knew was probably going to be a protest. “I know, it feels like we’re doing double work. You need to read it because you’re actually in charge, and I need to read it to make sure the Hegemony and my well meaning but nosy tribe stays where they are and understands that you actually know what you’re doing. Honestly, it’s like Pell and the others don’t trust us.”

Wonder why. It wasn’t as if Swift’s tribe had engaged in atrocities for years. Oh wait.

He was about to divest in a diversionary game of footsie, much better than reading and writing reports honestly, when he spotted someone. “I don’t suppose you want to read it?”

(Please indicate if you want Seel, Swift, or both!)

Immanion: Hegemony

Seel was pacing outside in a hallway. If it could be even called a hallway. The entire palace was marble and shining, the ceiling and roof covered in gold leaf. The hallway alone was grand. Seel sat outside, waiting for the Hegemony to decide they were ready to talk to him. He knew he could go back to his quarters in the palace and they’d summon him when ready, but dammit he didn’t want them to feel comfortable about what they were doing. Which was most certainly talking about himself and Swift and the Parsic tribe. They’d call him in when they wanted to hear his side, his report or simply to answer questions.

Seel, like Swift, knew that when he got in there, it would be a struggle to remind them Swift’s tribe, the continent of Megalithica, was their ally, not their colony. They couldn't swoop in and strong arm because they had the magic and technology and resources to make it happen. And Seel was not likely to do that alone. He wasn’t even sure whose side he was on some days. He tapped his foot while he was waiting and leaned in to who ever was next to him.

“They certainly enjoy keeping us waiting, don’t they? Throwing their power around.” He wished he’d had it. The seat on the Hegemony like he thought he had deserved.

Hegemony

[bythewaves]

The white walls and gold is... almost familiar. A faint echo of a carefully tucked away memory. Maglor's not sure what he's doing here, but Seel he knows.

"Those in power often do." He murmurs. "I suppose it must give them some comfort. What are we waiting for?"

Maglor | OTA cw for depression/suicidal ideation in last option

[bythewaves]

It might not be even truly noticable, at first - Maglor does rather like to sit and stare out to sea. But even then, he's not usually quite this still - and very rarely is he silent.

Second Age

Home is unreachable, or simply a cave by the sea, but the winter winds are cold this year, and Maglor is not that fond of self-flagellation to enjoy living rough all winter. Men and Hobbits pay well enough for his songs, and even the Dwarves he can charm a little, but the trading caravans are all home, by now. Home this winter is a inn in the Shire of the Hobbits, where there's a minstrel singing with a voice elven fair.

Maglor smiles in gratefulness at the Hobbit matron who bustles over with a warm mug of mulled wine and a fresh plate of dinner.

"Thank you Mistress! You are far too kind, as ever!"

She ruffles his hair - has to reach up, and up, although he ducks for her - as if she were the elder and clucks at him.

"You need more meat on your bones, Etyangol. Such skin and bones you elves are!"

He only laughs, smiling abashedly.

It is warm here - in more ways than one. Just for a little while...

Third Age

Home is West, unreachable except by ship, and then only with those ships who know how to find the Straight Road. And not open, to one who is Cursed and Doomed.

Home is a lady, tall and fair, dressed in white with gold-and-silver hair, and the somber elflord with sea grey eyes.

Maglor cannot return with them, but he can sing them home, and does, standing on the cliffs edge and watching as the white ship's sails fill and she turns towards the horizon.

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nail elyë hiryva. Namárië!

First Age

Home is crumbling into the sea in front of him, and burning to nothing but component molecules behind him, and Maglor kneels numbly on the cliff edge, watching a star drown in the ocean.

(Makalaure, his mother named him, for a golden voice and a harpskill none have bested, but his hands are burnt too badly to play, and his voice is hoarse with screaming)

There's a wave coming. He should get up.

(Drowning... would be rather painful, wouldn't it. And... Nelyo wouldn't like it. But...

Nelyo's gone.

Would it be so bad?)

There's a wave coming, and Beleriand is drowning, crumbling into the sea, the land rent beyond repair. Home is lost, and Maglor does not know where to go.

First Age

[roseofthetyrells]

[Margaery finds herself in what can only be described as chaos. there's burning on one side, a very angry sea on the other. she races along the shore, trying to search for high ground or something that isn't burning when she almost trips over him.

even with burned hands and an expression of agony, she'd know him anywhere]

Maglor!

Kelson Haldane | OTA

[kingforboth]

Rhemuth Castle Library

Kelson strolled with a purpose down one of the many stone hallways in Rhemuth Castle, stopping in front of a door. He tried the latch, swore and then crouched down in front of the door, both hands covering the keyhole. After a few moments, crimson light glittered beneath his hands and the door opened slightly as it unlocked.

He noticed someone come up to him, maybe watching curiously.

Kelson felt the need to explain why he was crouched, magically unlocking a door in his own castle. “Father Nivard keeps the key and then if I asked him for it, I’d have to explain to him why I wanted access. Which would lead to why am I keeping a secret magical library hidden in the library garderobe and why he and everyone else can’t have unfettered access. So yes. I am skulking around my own castle.”

He pushed the door open the rest of the way and ushered his companion inside before closing the door, hopefully before anyone else was the wiser. The inside looked like a regular library, shelves willed with bound books and scrolls and a small table, no doubt where the aforementioned Father Nivard usually worked. On one wall, with a black curtain draping across it, was an ordinary looking garderobe.

“Come on, I’ll take you through.” Kelson made his way to the garderobe, pulling the curtain aside and ignoring the lovely smell, he drew a hand across his companions neck, the other touching a roughly cut stone. Triggering the magic and allowing his own shields to envelop his companions, he stepped them both forward and through the wall. Inside was a room smaller than the one they just left, with bookshelves lining the walls, scrolls and books on magical topics, a reading desk and chairs, and for the magically sensitive, a portal, perhaps a little similar in feeling to the Door in Hadriel, off in a corner.

Castle Gardens

The gardens were gorgeous this time of year. It was summer, the flowers were blooming, people were milling around or caught up in their own work, a contingent of ladies were off in some shade, stitching embroidery. Kelson, however, was not enjoying the view. He had ducked out for some momentary peace and quiet and had instead found his mother, which could only end in one way, an argument.

“If you wish to continue to be welcome in this court, you will curb your tongue, madame. I believe the state of my soul is my own business and of my confessor, not yours. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have duties elsewhere. Enjoy the gardens, Mother.”

Kelson walked furiously away, ducking behind a hedge to clasp his hands over his face in annoyance and sigh. Why was it never easy?

Court

Kelson was decked out in his court regalia, seated upon his throne. His expression was one of neutrality, listening as lords and ladies or monks or farmers brought petitions, complaints or requests. He periodically shifted his sword, which he held in his arm like a scepter, and made the appropriate remarks about taking such things under advisement. Have a petition? Or perhaps you just wish to save him from this monotony?

Castle Gardens

[abyssalarcana]

Messing with Kelson is all fun and games until someone gets sucked into a bizarre dream world in which they have no control.

Caedra finds herself in a lovely gown, at least, so that's already a step up from Hadriel and most of the clothing it has on offer. The saffron hue of the fabric isn't what she would have chosen for herself, but at least it's not a hot pink synthetic nightmare like what the gods sometimes attempt to provide.

She nearly collides with Kelson as he comes around the hedge while she's thinking about fashion, and only just catches herself due to her own quick reflexes. Right - right. Kelson, that's why she's here.

"Is everything all right?" she asks, seeing his expression, noting his hurry, and having just heard some mildly raised voices a moment ago. She doesn't actually care if he's all right, of course - but maybe he'll talk about what just happened, so she can know for her own use later on.

alphys | ota | will match format

[sciencelizard]

[ooc: Her plotting comment is here, lmk if you have questions!]

[Alphys can be found, standing and staring, at most of her usual haunts- in the Lab, behind her desk with her hands on top of papers and research; around Love's house, stepping outside after checking in for supplies; or even heading to see a friend on the other island. Still, she stands motionless with her eyes unfocused behind her glasses, looking at something else entirely...]

i. [waterfall] summer sighed and summoned up hail; dirty in dish rack drips the holy grail

[For those who remember Hadriel before the Null, Waterfall looks much like the city used to- a great stone cavern marks the ceiling of this dull and swampy place, water filling in and through along rivers and-- well, waterfalls-- to great depths below. Most of the light stems from bioluminescent mushrooms and flowers that glow a cyan blue along the grassy path, and in places the rotted wood just gives way to ankle-deep water, the current gentle but insistent. In one place, the water falls heavier, and in others, a castle can be seen far in the distance.

If you choose to keep moving, the water will slope into a large pit, affectionately known as the Garbage Dump. There, the largest waterfall of all flows vertically to the horizontal path, and at the edge, a familiar lizard monster in a white coat can be seen looking over into the nothingness. Her coat is being pulled lightly by the current, tail lying behind her as the water flows. She doesn't seem to be moving, just... looking, down into the abyss.

But at what, you'd have to ask.]

ii. [hotland labs] recognize the lies from my poker tongue (is it true, they say)

[This area is incredibly, incredibly warm upon entering; likely due to the lava flowing far beneath the stone path you find yourself on. This, the appropriately named Hotland, catches the steam and humidity as the molten rock moves sluggishly below and the light throws shadows onto the large cave walls. Still, the red dirt and stone underfoot leads to two paths; one behind in a long unknown stretch, one above to a broken elevator, and another ahead to the door of a laboratory. It's quiet outside, the doors locked, but there is a buzzer for a bell just outside the imposing looking building.

Do you approach? Start making a ruckus outside and hope for the best? Either way, who knows what could be waiting inside...]

Waterfall

[abyssalarcana]

[Having quickly realized that the people falling into trances provide glimpses of their home worlds - something Caedra is endlessly interested in, for the potential help it gives in future incursions to the wide variety of material planes these people come from - she just goes around touching everyone who looks like they're not going anywhere fast.

Like this tiny dragonborn!

The world Caedra suddenly finds herself in is breathtaking. She might be all violence and rage most of the time, but she knows beauty when she sees it. Striding forward in awe, she admires the surrounding scenery for all of a few seconds before she realizes she's not actually walking the way she's accustomed to. But there is water everywhere, and on many little feet, she makes her way to a shallow stream and spies her own reflection.

And then gasps in shock and nearly stumbles into the water, before hurriedly backing up and glancing about to see if anyone here has seen her. What is this place, that it's able to transform her like this?]

Nathan Drake // OTA

[nonscriptum]

[NOTE: If you want to play out a particular scenario in any of the prompts, hmu at uncalendula and we can come up with something! You don't have to be limited by what's provided.]



Prison, South America

[It is not a warm place, unless one counts the oppressive heat.

The near-drunken scrum of bodies in the far corner of the yard - all dirt, all sand, a small desert surrounded by four thick walls with bars and locks - howls for blood in Spanish and English, goading the two men in the center who circle each other with their fists up. One of them (the older, taller Santino, his arms a wasteland of tattoos) spits an insult at the man across from him, a Nathan Drake much rounder in the face who seems to be luxuriating in the thrill of the fight, even as a feigned step from his opponent results in four knuckles that crack into his jaw and split his lip.

They planned this. A diversion for Sam, to get what he needs.]

¿Es todo lo que tienes?

[Nate snaps, grinning through the red. He spits a mouthful of blood into the dust at his feet and launches himself across the circle, tackling the offender into the earth with an elbow in his solar plexus, crushing his fist against a cheekbone repeatedly as a guard's whistle breaks through the shouting.

With a fresh cut over his eye from a zealous C.O. he sits sourly in the clinic waiting for (frankly, unnecessary) treatment not long after, and is later released back to the yard with a 'clean' bill of health, seeking the lanky frame of his older brother.]

Jungle Ruins, Central America

Crap crap crap-

[Ducking from a hail of bullets that pock a crumbling, ancient wall, Nate plasters himself against the relative safety of the stone, waiting for a break. After a moment he turns, peeking up over the edge to blind-fire and immediately taking cover as another volley follows. Around him the dense foliage provides little shielding, but not quite enough to save him from the grenade that sails over his only barrier and lands at his feet.]

Crap!

[He scrambles to another stone, hitting the dirt behind it as the wall explodes in a shower of tabby and mortar. As the dust settles he fumbles for another magazine, slamming it into his gun as the men in matching Kevlar vests close in through the lull, identifiable through their irritated where did he go?s and spread out, find Drake!s. Nate takes a breath, counting the seconds before whipping back around to claim three head shots. The men crumple immediately and he gets to his feet, glancing around for their backup before stooping to pry a rifle from one of their lifeless hands.

Nate examines it for a moment, slings it over his shoulder, and resumes his exploration.

The next hour sees him climbing up to precarious heights without equipment, clambering into decrepit buildings and pausing, on occasion, to take notes or draw something in a journal. He feels his way through the foreign environment with a confidence that is probably unearned but nonetheless impressive.]

Mississippi River, New Orleans

[A salvage vessel sits in the Mississippi at high tide, cables stretched overhead on a metal sling as a man in a diving suit perches comfortably a couple dozen feet off the ground. As the sling lowers, cargo attached, to the deck of the boat, Nate peels his face mask off for a breath of fresh, muggy air and his BCD follows suit. The vest - tank and all - is tossed to a waiting figure in a hi-vis vest below.]

You keep pushin' it, Drake, [the crewman says, hefting the gear.] Your tank's light every time you come up. Shit- you had three minutes left on this one?

[The sling gets close enough that Nate can jump off, nearly landing on his previously discarded flippers, with a short laugh.]

More than enough time. But hey- do me a favor and check the o-ring on that one, will you? I think it's cracking.

[He bee-lines for the boss, giving Jameson a short wave from a distance before noticing a crew member he hasn't met yet, pausing.]

...oh. Hey. You the new temp hire?

PRISON BOYO!!!

[abyssalarcana]

[You bet Caedra touched Nate when she saw him motionless.

You bet.

Anyway now she's in jail so that's what happens when you touch Nate. A lesson well-learned. What a woman is doing in a men's prison is something the others are likely wondering, but should any of them question her too hard, they'll probably find out why. She's been thrown in with them, is dressed in a shirt much too large as a result, and the blood on her knuckles isn't hers.]

Nate.

[She calls out as he approaches, both a greeting and a taunt simultaneously with the way she says his name. Look, how young he is! She's doing her best not to laugh.]

What happened, did he insult your mother? Steal your favorite shiv?

taako | ota | will match format

[pocketspa]

[ooc: His plotting comment is here! Feel free to hit me up for any plotting/discussion beforehand!]

[Thankfully for Taako, the slip back home doesn't come at the most inopportune times. Perhaps housemates will catch him standing in the kitchen, staring at the stove like he's about to start something but not. Maybe others will find him on the coastlines of the islands, sitting on the shore with his board staring out into the ocean. He could even be found in the shops or the orchard, mid-reach for an item before he's simply not there. But perhaps, if you follow his line of sight, you'll get to see something else instead...]

i. [starblaster] we’re on our own planet / we’ve got the world standing on their feet

[And very suddenly, wherever you were, you're now in the air.

The Starblaster is a... well, bigger than you would expect for a yacht, smaller than you'd expect for an entire spaceship. The smooth exterior gives way to floorboards that look like they've been replaced a half dozen times, the outside permeated by a soft hum coming from two concurrently spinning disks affixed to the back. Inside, a light pulses in time with the hum of the ship, and somehow the whole thing stays hovering without much effort. They're above the clouds of wherever they are right now (inexplicably a baby blue), stretching into a sky of multiple reds, yellows, and tinges of green from an unseen sun. It bounces off the white of the ship, illuminating a hinged door inside that looks more like a seafaring ship than something that should go in space.

Inside, it's small and cluttered from the deck, stairs and ceilings seven feet by necessity and every space taken. But it's not hard to find the person who owns this space, as Taako is sitting sideways in an armchair, knees bent over one side as a book rests in his lap. He looks about the same, but he's wearing a floor length red robe with a patch emblazened with "IPRE", and a matching hat with a large peacock feather stays perched off a top corner. He's got a quill between his teeth, looking carefully down at this book with his head propped up by a bent arm, tilting the object up and down with his tongue. But it's still the same elf, expression bored despite the fact that he's on a flying boat.

Maybe you're a crewmate here to yell at him for slacking on a duty he should have done. Maybe you're a guest picked up from a planet for a joyride. Whoever you are, Taako won't snitch- but he could probably use a distraction, by the fact that it looks like he's about to doze off.]

ii. [bureau of balance] are we the clouds above us? / shape-shifting in an endless sleep

[Once more, you suddenly seem to find yourself not on the ground. Huh. Guess it makes sense Taako's head was always so in the clouds.

When the scene opens, you find yourself on the grassy quad of the Bureau of Balance, a floating base of a secret organization pretending to be the moon in the sky. All around you stretches fake lawn, out to a series of different domes holding other sections of this organization. All sorts of people bustle back and forth, humans to dragonborn to drow, members of nearly every species in Faerun working to move papers and get their job done. The one thing they have in common is that each of them appear to have a bracer on their non-dominant arm with the same sigil displayed, a dull silver cutting through the differences in this crowd. In the distance, a retailer labelled only as "Fantasy Costco" seems to be playing a far off jingle and the sun shines overhead from a plain ol' blue sky.

It's about then that Taako himself passes by, familiar umbrella on his hip, familiar too-big hat still shielding his eyes, and smacks your shoulder as you go. It causes him to turn, raise an eyebrow, and not quiiite break stride.]

Do you need something, I hope you don't, you have like ffffive seconds before I moonwalk outta here.

[zen_en_vert]

What are you reading?

[Asks Bruce, with the extremely tart tone of voice of someone who is absolutely a superior officer and here to snap him back on track. Good job, Taako. He rests his hands on his hips and doesn't quite arch an eyebrow at him.]

Is it more interesting than the report I had asked you to turn in as soon as you could?

Rey. | OTA

[circumitus]

I. Hadriel;

Maybe you came for a drink. The Speakeasy is stocked more so since Rey had nothing better to do with her hands for some time. But rather than pouring you whatever drink you desire, the Speakeasy proprietor does not budge from her spot behind the bar counter. Her hands remain clutching a glass of cloth in her hands, as though she were in the middle of cleaning before her thousand yard stare.

One good shake is all it would do, right? This is temporary, right?

Hand touch is all it takes, before the Speakeasy and its music transforms into tall buildings and teeming crowds...

I. Chicago (2153AD);

One minute you're alone, and the next you find yourself standing in the middle of Millennium Park. Pathways are bustling with people either cutting through the park itself or are taking in the myriad displays of art erected throughout the area, eccentric in design and purpose. The most notable is the Cloud Gate, which has withstood the test of time for well over one hundred years, and still maintains its shine.

While not exactly the hovercrafts one would expect this far into the future, the vehicles tearing down the streets are nevertheless slick in color and design (and maybe going much faster than they probably should be going).

Upon further exploration, the streets are riddled with food cart vendors, selling a variety of meals and snacks that people experience throughout the day. Rather than paying with cash, most utilize cards or objects on their wrist to complete the transaction. There are many things to be found here to sate your hunger, from taco trucks to the famous city pizza and hot dogs.

In fact, a possibly familiar scar-faced woman can be seen walking away from a cart, hugging bags of food in her arms with a cheesy breadstick crammed in her mouth. Even if you look as though you belong, Rey doesn't seem to pay you much mind as she deviates towards the park with her delicious bounty.

She is almost lost in the throng in a matter of seconds...

[zen_en_vert]

Bruce finds himself in the park, sitting on a bench with a bag of frozen peas in hand.

The quack of the ducks in front of him brings him up short. He reaches into the bag, and tosses the vegetables towards the animals.

He glances up at the sound of approaching footsteps crunching on the path.

Magnus | OTA

[nodogsonthemoon]

It isn't often that one finds Magnus staring into the distance, lost in thought. He's more about action, even when things are troubling him. He's much more likely to be found working on a complex carpentry project or working on his fighting moves when deep in thought. But during this time, he can be found in many places staring off into the distance, as if lost in his own thoughts. Whether its while out for a walk on the beach (shirtless of course, it is Island Time after all) or mid carve of a duck (long lost on the floor as it slips through his unfocused hands).

[Starblaster]
A large ship materializes around you and for a moment, it seems like any normal ship. Though it doesn't take long to realize this ship is not on water, but flying up high in the air. Below deck are various rooms, some belonging to the members of the crew of the ship and others more communal areas.

There doesn't seem to be anyone around until you decide to go above deck where you will find Magnus and what looks like a floating baby jellyfish. He's wearing a red uniform (no shirt on, but he is wearing the jacket of his uniform) that has the letters IPRE embroidered onto the breast. He's got a book in his lap and seems to be reading a story to the little jellyfish, who floats around Magnus' shoulders and looks as interested as a being without a face can look.

[Raven's Roost]
A door bell chimes as the door to the Hammer and Tongs opens by your hands, though perhaps you don't even remember going to open the door til this moment. If you glance behind you before closing the door, you would see the busy streets of Raven's Roost as its inhabitants go about their days.

Inside of the Hammer and Tongs you can see in back back a large man working near a furnace, doing some sort of smelting for a project he's working on. A tall woman emerges from a back room with various supplies and brings them to the older man in the back. She sets the box down and they begin to chat as he works.

In another part of the shop, one covered in a healthy later of wood chips and various carpentry tools, sits Magnus himself. He puts down the project he was working on, something that looks like it might become a beautiful rocking chair with time. He calls back to the others briefly (I'll get it Jules!") before turning fully toward you with a smile.

"Welcome to the Hammer and Tongs! What can I do you for?"

[Bureau of Balance]
The grounds around you begin to change and, at first, it doesn't seem like anything is too strange. The lush grounds of the Bureau of Balance are laid out before you with its dome like buildings scattered throughout the area. It's only when you look further, past the buildings, that you notice something strange. Strange as in you seem to be thousands of feet in the air on what appears to be a secret moon base orbiting a large planet.

Though it may be strange to you, it seems like it's a normal Thursday for the many people that seem to be on the base. People of all sorts of different races (orcs, humans, elves, dwarves, you name it and it's probably here) are scattered around, doing various tasks all while wearing a strange metal bracer with the same symbol engraved on it.

There are many places to walk around in, the Fantasy Costco, the training grounds, even the Chug and Squeeze if you're into making pottery while drinking heavily. If you were to do a lot of digging, even the chambers of the strange creature called the Voidfish can be found (singing it's song for anyone who cares to listen).

[ooc: Magnus can be in any of these locations, feel free to put your character wherever and I'll have Magnus pop up!]

Raven's Roost

[zen_en_vert]

"Hi," says Bruce, to Magnus, looking- well, a little nervous, not exactly woodworky, a bit out of his element, "great, thank you. I'm beginning a project and I thought I'd come and ask for some advice? Just- trying to build a windowframe, and finding it slow going."

This is not his strong suit, not in the slightest.

Hayden | OTA | cw: potential gore or other graphic themes

[demonsional]

HELL TOWER

[The only place in this building that isn't bustling with frantic worker-demons and souls going to and fro is the immaculate lobby, the cloven-hooved secretary clacking away at her keyboard. Everywhere else and you're caught in the hustle and bustle of papers being shuffled, chained souls being pushed through processing stations, phones ringing, the clank-clack of stamps on papers. People yell and shove and run, tension only heightening by the second. Whether you're a hapless new arrival, a hardened worker, or late for an appointment and lost in the shuffle, you'll soon notice a crack splitting through the fabric of reality. Nobody else seems particularly bothered as Hayden jumps out through it, hot coffee perched precariously in one hand, binder tucked under an arm, papers and letters spilling out from his pockets and gripped in his other fist. ]

'scuse me, 'scuse me, 'scuse me!

[He bounces from cubicle divider to cubicle divider, sloshing hot coffee on some poor office lackey, who swats at him--and then with a surprised yell, he loses his balance and is falling right toward you. You're either about to get an armful of exhausted, overworked child, or a face full of coffee if you don't think fast. He's sorry in advance.]

THE STREETS OF NOTHING

[Hayden's life doesn't involve breaks--Satan doesn't give breaks--but he does give frequent assignments that give him ample opportunity to get distracted and lose track of time. Fortunately, being such a non-presence, these absences tend to go largely unnoticed. He trots down a brimming metropolis devoid of color. Gray buildings, desolate sky, monotone people on monotone streets. All around you, people covered in chains and sporting varying states of fatal injury go about their daily afterlife. Here and there you might see someone chainless, but they're rare. There are demons behind counters of shops or lazing on streets, reading the current issue of the local paper, The Hellhound.

Whatever you're doing or whoever you are, Hayden comes to a stop, attracted by a chained soul standing on a soapbox. There's a small crowd gathered, listening, but most of the locals pass by.

Something is out there! Look to the sky! The Great Something will lead us all to salvation!

The odd passerby shouts that it's a bit late for that, there ain't ever gonna be Something in Nothing, and people laugh. But Hayden chews on his fingers, transfixed.]

Something...

THE GATED COMMUNITY OF HELL

[This place seems both where Hayden belongs and precisely where he shouldn't be. You find yourself in Hell--smoke and ash fill the air, the taste of brimstone on your tongue. The sky has a hazy glow of fire, and it seems that everywhere, somewhere, at all times, someone is always screaming. The ground is tinted with blood, but none of the demons who carry on seem to care. They walk about in cliques, gangs, laughing among each other up until the moment they're fighting or killing or who-knows-what. In the distance, HELL TOWER looms, balanced precariously between one realm and the next.

The whole place has the vibe of a run-down town, a slum, except for what you see before you: obsidian gates closed and guarded, and behind them, the promise of a Gothic paradise, dark mansions dotted. Here is where the royalty lives, away from the rest of the spawn and the rabble. Archdukes and Duchesses of Hell, separated from the squalor, lounging in the promise of sinful luxury.

A familiar rift opens, and down a ways, Hayden drops onto the top of a spike on the wall, coiled carefully around its point. He knows he can get inside without being seen, if only he's careful--if only his nerves don't dissuade him.]

hell tower

[zen_en_vert]

[He catches the child, misses the coffee, and spins them delicately away from the worst of the splash, brow furrowing in concern- but no one seems to be burnt.]

Well, that might have been a little overhasty, young man.

[Bruce is an oasis of calm in a sea of mayhem, unperturbed as he sets Hayden back down on his feet.]

Sansa Stark | Open

[stonebird]

She makes a funny picture sitting outside, her embroidery laying forgotten in her lap and her fingers holding fast to a single pin. The wind blows her auburn hair into lazy waves and curls, but her Tully blue eyes remain unfocused; empty. She is elsewhere. A touch will bring you along for the journey or you could simply be standing too close to her.

Winterfell (Snowy Keep)

The air is cold and crisp, yet there is a bite to it that suggests it will be much colder soon enough. Sansa can see her breath fogging the open air and she can feel the prickly, pin-like sensation on any skin that is exposed to the chill. Fat snowflakes are falling fast all around her and soon it's hard to tell the true color of her hair or her wardrobe. She comes back to herself with a small gasp of surprise and turns quickly, walking down the path that will take her to the Keep.

She pauses at the old, familiar doors, her pale hands shaking as she pries them open. She is home, but at the same time, she isn't. There is a cold lump in her stomach - composed of regret and guilt - and she can't quite bring herself to believe the vision before her eyes. The Keep is just as she remembers it. The building was built to withstand the strongest of Winter storms and within, the walls and floors are grey. However, a merry fire is crackling in the fireplace and the light calls to her; when you live in a place that constantly snows, you appreciate the warmth of a good fire. Stiffly, Sansa walks towards the bright flames, shedding her cloak and brushing out her snowflake laden hair with her fingers.

I'm home?

The words echo hauntingly in her mind and she can't even bring herself to respond when Jon asks her a question.

I don't know...anything.

Maybe she never did. She is exactly where she is supposed to be - for the first time in almost two years - and yet this isn't where she wants to be.

Winterfell (Hot Springs)

The ache in her stomach doesn't subside and she is finding it difficult to eat, to drink, to think and so she takes herself to the hot springs. She hasn't visited them since she was a child and now she is looking at them with new approval. Perhaps the heat can do what all other methods have failed to do. She glances around warily and then slips into one of the pools wearing only her shift.

While the heat does relax her body, her mind is still wandering, unhappy and conflicted. She should be grateful to be home; she should be thankful that she has made it back in one piece! Yet her experience hadn't been all bad and there were - are - parts of it that she wishes she didn't have to let go.

"I had another family...for a time." she whispers to no one, "They were very like the Starks." she extends a leg under the water, glancing down at it, eyes unfocused, "But I lost them too."

All around her, the snow falls softly and the trees of the godswood watch silently.

Winterfell (Library)

The smell of parchment, ink and books fills the room. All things considered - such as the rarity of bound volumes and the price of them - there is an impressive amount of books in the Winterfell collection. Though, once, there had been more. A fire had claimed some of them, but, thankfully, not all of them. Sansa is seated in a nook with a pile of said volumes at her side. She flips through one, smiling faintly - almost sardonically - to herself. Once, these books had been her picture of the outside world. She had thought that knights were always true and that maidens were always rescued. Reality has been - and continues to be - a bitter reminder that no one can be trusted. At least not...fully. Utterly.

Even those she loves could turn on her and, in some cases, she might let them do as they pleased. Yet, at her core, Sansa realizes that she wants to survive. As close as she has come to death, each time she has been grateful that it hasn't come to pass. However...

That doesn't mean she isn't prepared to see to the deaths of others. In her tale, the maiden, the lady or the princess will have justice without any pesky knights interfering. Then she will know, without a doubt, that Westeros - and the world - have been freed of a handful of monsters. Oh others will rise and take their place, but they won't hurt her or her family as much as the current ones did.

Closing the book in her lap, Sansa looks out one of the windows, watching the grey sky beyond. How close are the Lannisters? How close are the White Walkers? She shivers and draws a blanket around her shoulders.

[magician_king]

Quentin is in the library with her, moving quietly among the shelves, putting a book back here, pulling another down there.

He rounds a corner and sees her, and jumps a little, adding quickly;

"I'm sorry, my lady."

Staff technically shouldn't intrude.

Fingon | OTA

[utulien_aure]

Fingon stills over a half-finished fishing net, his features going slack and his eyes blank. It’s not hard to move over him, to pull the net from his hands.

Of course, this is Hadriel. By now, everyone should really know better than to try something like that- but as not, welcome to Arda! Enjoy your stay...

The Land of Mist and Shadow

You find yourself on a great grey warhorse, riding across the plain with a company of mounted elves. The plains of Ard-galen unfold before you, green and lush under rain-heavy skies. Or, at least, they mostly are- because today, something is very wrong in these fair lands.

You already knew this, from the testament of survivors, but the burnt village coming into sight drives the point home: there is a monster in Ard-galen, something that breathes fire and trails poison in its wake. It’s work is on full display here, in the crisp corpses on the ground and the scorched shells of the houses.

Fingon, the captain of the company, turns to you as you reach the village center.

“I need you to take ten men, look for any survivors. Don’t let them complain about low work either, these are our people and we owe them the attempt.”

The Fortress of the Well

The towers of Barad Eithel, the great stronghold of the High King, rise above the heads of its inhabitants to match the mountains in which it nestles. The fortress is high and stern, martial function given perfect form by the skill and dedication of its builders. Inside though, the severity gives way to warmth and color and light- for this citadel is also the home of a people who love beauty, and despite the centuries of war they have endured that aspect of their nature has not changed.

The youngest inhabitant of Barad Eithel knows only that warmth, sheltered as he is by everyone around him, and it has made him fearless. As the ancient adults of the fortress go about their duties, the dark-haired little boy barrels about on chubby, stubborn legs in search of something more interesting than his nursery.

It’s not surprising that, sooner or later, he slams into someone. Considering it’s you the child has bounced off of, that might not be taken with much equanimity.

Luckily, there’s someone else racing up to take him off your hands.

“Gil!” Prince Fingon exclaims, marching over in his full court dress to snatch the boy up. “What are you doing here? Where’s your nurse?”

Gil giggles and reaches out to pull at one of Fingon’s long gold-twined braids. The older elf gives him a tolerant sigh and turns to you. “I am sorry about this, he’s not supposed to be in the public areas without someone to look after him. You’re not hurt, are you?”


The City Upon A Hill

This dream lasts only moments, but oh, what moments.

You find yourself in a city of white marble and diamond dust, a city gleaming as it reflects the silver-and-gold light which fills the sky. This is Tirion-Upon-Tuna, the oldest city in the world- and the fairest as well, if you ask it’s proud, clever, prickly people.

There are plenty of people around to ask, if you are a Vanya or Teler new-come from their own towns. For it is festival day in Tirion, and all about the Great Square the craftsmen and artists of the Noldor have brought out their wares for show. Music, laughter, and argument fill the square just as much as statues, pottery, and metalwork.

Findekano leans on the edge of a baker’s stall, debating which of the many flaky pastries he should try. “The cheese would be good... though maybe the raspberry? They’re in season now...”

He turns to you. “What do you think. Cheese? Jam? Or should we just take the lot and figure it out later?”

lets do baby, as this is something that might actually have happened

[bythewaves]

"Whoa, youngling!"

Maglor bends automatically, swinging the elfling up into his arms and passing him back.

"I'm fine." He laughs, and dismisses the small niggle that says something is wrong.

"It will take more than this little one to injure me, although are you getting taller, Gil?"

Bruce Banner: OTA

[zen_en_vert]

1. Alaska

The arctic wind is punishing. It tears against the exposed skin, would cause frostbite in a matter of seconds. Bruce crunches his way across the pristine snow, with flat shoes strapped to his boots to help him from sinking into the banks up to his neck. He has a bag slung over his shoulder, and goggles on his face- but he turns back over his shoulder now and again to check his companion is still with him.

A few hundred meters more ahead of them is a tiny cabin. It's a fight up the hill to it, to a trodden down place out front where he sits, and negotiates the snowshoes off, propping them up next to the door before heading inside. He drags his scarf away from his face, pull the glasses up, and announces;

"Brisk out."

Before going to get a fire lit in the little stove. They won't want to get out of their suits until the flames are roaring.


2. Avengers tower

A different night, a world away, there's a party over the New York skyline. The faces are indistinct, the chatter and music are at pleasant volumes. Bruce finds himself standing there, holding a black and red cocktail, sipping it and wondering how on earth he ended up with it. He doesn't drink.

A waiter is there with a tray more of the things, offering them to everyone in passing.

"Nice party," comments Bruce, inanely.


3. Alien ring

The audience in the colosseum roars. The voices and figures are all mostly alien. A voice booms over the loadspeaker system, announcing the champion.

"What?"

Asks Bruce, rather petrified. It's a bit like those dreams you get where you learn you've been signed up for a class all semester and you've got to write the exam right now and you've never so much as cracked a textbook.

He's not fighting, he's just trying to pull this helmet off.

2.

[toiletseat_girl]

[this party is clearly not George's scene. everyone looks rich (or at least well dressed) and they all seem to be having a grand time. George does not look rich and she's not having a grand time. she's confused about how the fuck she got there in the first place.

at least the view is pretty. she's never been to New York before (which may seem like a leap in logic, but the Empire State Building is right over there, come on).

a waiter passes by, offering drinks. George takes two and downs them both in quick succession.

when Bruce comments on the party, she snorts and turns to face him]

Yeah, it's swell. Why are we at it?

Quentin Coldwater: OTA

[magician_king]

1. Brooklyn

Quentin's moves his knight to take his opponent's queen, and looks up from the chessboard to his companion. There are children screaming in the distance, and red and gold leaves on the trees around them.

It's a beautiful day out, but brisk enough that he clutches his coffee cup for warmth, and takes a brisk sip.

Around them, couples play- mostly elderly men, one or two other young people- a girl in a bright blue peacoat catches his attention for a moment, drawing his attention away from the board.

"Is that-?"

But a group of laughing children rush between the tables, cutting her off from view.


2. Brakebills

The grounds are idyllic, the kind of emerald green that seems unbelievable. The air is sticky and warm. There's a hedgemage, and sculpted animal topiary, and a few bronze statues dotting the steps and lawn.

Quentin lies on his back in the grass, head on a blanket, picnic basket not far from him. There's a bottle of wine out, a couple of coffee mugs to drink it out of, and Quentin is only slowly stirring, with a groan of complaint as he tries to sit up. Boats scull by on the nearby river.

"If Bixby tells me to loosen my wrists one more time I swear I'm going to turn him into pixie dust, and I don't care if he hears me say it."


3. Manhattan [cw hard drug use]

The scene is glamorous. It's the nighttime set, a glittering rooftop strung with fairy lights and dotted with a pleasant combination of artists and heiresses. Quentin is lying back into a couch, watching the crowd go by, looking lanky and relaxed. The warm breeze ruffles his hair. On the table in front of him is what would be euphemistically termed 'paraphinalia' in a police report, but he hasn't touched the stuff yet. Otherwise he wouldn't be this thoughtful and still.

"What would you think about just, escaping and finding a diner?" He wonders, quietly, "Or we're not farm from the park. I'll curse the shit out of anyone who tries to mug us?"


4. Fillory

Best still is the deck of the ship. The planks groan and creek as the deck rolls gently. Men work the rigging, deckhands swab, the captain is at the wheel. Quentin is a the railing, dressed in medieval style clothing like the rest of the crew, except slightly finer appointed- an embroidered vest, a fine white shirt. He squints at the horizon, skin tanned, white hair fluttering, a little crisp from salt spray.

when he hears steps behind him he turns, and smiles over his shoulder.

Manhattan (cw: hard drug use)

[myrealname]

[now this is more Jane's scene. it's a beautiful party in a beautiful place full of beautiful people. in this dream, she finds herself in her pink bob wig and a sexy dress. she's lounging in a chair across from Quentin, draped over it in fact with her head hanging over one arm and her legs over the other.

she can't help but notice the good time on the table between them, but waits for her host to go first]

I say the park. If only so I can watch you curse the shit outta people.

Goro Akechi | open

[doublecrowss]

i. School Life
[ At first glance, there's nothing that stands out too much about this particular vision of home life-- Akechi is a teenage boy, so it's only normal that he should attend high school, right?

Yes, this is all fine and dandy, except it looks like it's break time, and instead of enjoying his time with friends, Akechi is sitting on his desk in class and eating lunch all on his lonesome. In a corner of the room, a small group of girls seem to have gathered, and occasionally they send glances his way, before turning away in a flurry of giggling and sighing. On the opposite end? A handful of guys also send some looks his way, but they're considerably less interested than their female classmates, and a lot more judgmental-- the term "glaring daggers" comes to mind.

Does this make Akechi a popular kid in school? Maybe-- he does have a female following, at least. But what's the point, when nobody ever really approaches him...? ]

ii. Overtime
[ In a large and somewhat ostentatious office room, Akechi stands in front of a desk; before him, a bald man in shades sits cross-legged and cross faced, an intimidating aura about him.

"Are you sure this is absolutely necessary?" Akechi tries to reason with him, a placating tone that contrasts with visible tension all across his shoulders. "By killing Okumura-san, there is a chance the Phantom Thieves will only see a further boost in popularity, and that wouldn't be beneficial to your plans. Perhaps if we--"

"Are you questioning my orders?" The man raises his voice, not quite a yell, but overpowering nonetheless. "You do know what happens with people who cross me, right?"

"... yes, of course." His gaze drops to the floor, and he takes a half step back, out of instinct. "I will do as you say, Shido-san."

With that out of the way, he makes for the exit, his features hardened to match his body. Catch him on his way out? ]

ii.

[wantsnudes]

[Yusuke is lurking at the door, which is open enough that he can see and hear everything, but not enough that any attention can be drawn to himself. The man Akechi is speaking to is someone Yusuke recognises from the news, though he can't say he pays enough attention to current affairs to put a face to a name. But... Shido-san, who was threatening Akechi... The one behind the conspiracy to destroy the Phantom Thieves, who ordered Okumura's death...

It may have been many months since he arrived in Hadriel, but that doesn't take away the sting of all they'd endured as Phantom Thieves back home. He keeps lurking by the door until it opens, which is when he retreats, just enough that when Akechi leaves, he can grab him by the arm and tug him to one side, speaking in a hushed voice.]

What's going on? [They couldn't really be back home, could they? Akechi had to know this wasn't real.]

kate galloway / ota

[dedikated]

no i don't got religion;

( The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and the sounds of footsteps running back and forth across glossy floors. The rhythmic beeps of machinery echo against glistening white walls and the click of fingers against a keyboard threads a thousand sounds of busy doctors and recovering patients.

Kate's easy to pick out, but then, she always is - a bright pink crown of hair piled atop her head as she steps out of a room to the left, primrose yellow lab coat draped loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes drift over the contents of the clipboard in her hands before her attention shifts to the others busy working, and...

Well, to you, one presumes. )

Doesn't say what's wrong with you.

( But you've come here for a reason, right? Of course you have.

So follow her into the office with its leather chairs and the muted, flashing screen of world news, bright sunlight streaming through large, warehouse windows. She leans against the desk in the centre of the room rather than sit behind it, placing the clipboard down next to a silver framed photo of a group of young adults in fitted running gear and t-shirts proclaiming their participation in a marathon, drenched in either sweat or water, exhausted and joyful. )

So, what's the problem?

but i'll tip my hat to the dead;

( It's not warm here, despite the sunlight. The wind seems to sneak under layers of clothing and raise goosebumps with each gust that whistles through the trees, knocking reddening leaves off their branches, and that seems to be the only noise for miles. Maybe that's appropriate when you realise you're standing on a well-worn path between a myriad of gravestones.

You're not alone here, either. )

Wanna move?

( Kate in nothing but black is a rare sight indeed; loose layers of fabric offering her the appearance of some sort of spirit, her hair tucked out of sight by scarves and hands wrapped tight around several bouquets of flowers. The timeworn path isn't big enough for her to step around, unfortunately, and you're in the way of the route she needs to take

So move. Or walk with her. Your choice. )

2nd option

[myrealname]

[Jane is freezing. that's the first thing that comes to mind. the second thing is, what the hell is she doing in a graveyard? she wanders the path, looking for familiar names. she finds a Jane Jones. it's weirdly appropriate since she got Alice Ayres from a memorial to the dead.

she blinks and looks up when she hears the woman asking her to move. her first impulse is to say no, but she dismisses that instinct]

How about we both go the same way? My grandmother's over there. [a lie]