hadriel_logs | Event Log: Soulmates

Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for Soulmates event
Where: All over the city
When: February 14th-February 22nd
Warnings: None

Oh shit, what even happened last night? You're pretty sure you had a normal night, no crazy drunk antics (unless that is your normal night). But this morning you woke up with a brand new tattoo, and it's... a name?

Maybe it's a name you recognize, one of your good friends. Maybe it's a stranger. Maybe it's someone you can barely stand. No matter who it is, you kind of feel like you should look for them and figure out what's going on with this weird tattoo. And when you find them - well, they've got one too, except this one is your name. It would seem weird, except as soon as you see each other you kind of understand. Of course you'd have a tattoo with the name of the person you've found such an amazing connection with. You were meant to be together.

So enjoy your time with your newfound soulmate. Who knows, you might wake up tomorrow with a whole new name on your arm, a new connection, a new love. Make the most of it!

► This log covers February 14th-February 22nd
► 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 try to pull off a stupid stunt to impress your soulmate and fail so miserably you die, please let us know here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[That overbearing sense of discomfort that had driven Carlisle to make his way toward his old home of Spire Two dissipates as he nears the figure in the distance, only to realize as he gets closer it's the construct that had terrified him on principle alone. The lifelessness of constructs has always disturbed him, especially those that, despite their artificial nature, seem almost alive -- this one certainly had when he'd been missing his hands. Carlisle hadn't been able to speak to him then, his own comprehension of languages lost to the gods' machinations; that does not seem to be the case now.

He finds a response escapes him before he can stop himself.]

G- good day.

[But despite his natural fear, there is also... curiosity. A fondness of some sort he didn't feel before. A desire to be near this automaton and, perhaps, learn something about him. He hasn't seen the name on his own wrist, his arms covered by a long glove on one side and an ink-stained bandage on the other. This isn't due to the gods, he reassures himself. It's a chance meeting, one he feels better about simply because he is better, his hair redder, skin bearing more color than it has in some time. He has been given a second chance, and... perhaps he should give others a second chance, as well.

He feels more confident in that prospect with every passing second, a smile creeping onto him.]

I- I failed to- I mean, I was unable to introduce myself last time, and ah. It's been some time, and I should have come by and said something, and here you are anyway. No, er. Time like the present, I suppose. Carlisle Longinmouth.

[He doesn't offer his hand to shake; even the gods' schemes are unable to fully break his usual habits.]

[The gentleman speaks a language they can both understand now. He looked unwell during their last encounter; Oscar is glad to see that that appears to no longer be the case, save for the arm bound in bandages. He will inquire as to the cause of that later.

He gives a nod.]

Oscar. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Longinmouth.

As you know, my dwelling is not far from here. I'm going there now to take shelter. Were you heading for the spire?

I...

[He trails off, his eyes casting themselves on the spire only a short distance away.]

I suppose I was, though I cannot recall exactly why. I merely felt as though I needed to be here.

[He offers Oscar a sheepish smile.]

And- and I am sure that sounds strange. I- I don't normally speak with constructs. Or know any constructs. I- I mean, I am aware there are constructs within the city, and they are, ah.

[He stops, picking at the bandage on his arm as he reddens, realizing that there is no polite way to express that he has never been comfortable with even the concept of constructs like the one before him, parading around with clothing as though it were alive.]

[It is a strange thing to say, but Oscar doesn't linger on it. He considers himself an automaton of patience, but the repetition of the term 'construct' wears on it.

He interjects, though not impolitely, once the man stops talking.]

I prefer to be called an automaton, actually.

Automa— oh. Oh.

[Carlisle burns even brighter, his face wrinkling; though vaguely familiar with the term, there is not much of a distinction in his world between the broader category of constructs and the more specific automaton, and he certainly never expected to be corrected on which of the two one preferred to be called. Then again, most constructs in his world don't have the sapience required for a conversation, and even if they did, he would have likely never spoken to one willingly for fear of what it, with all its lifelessness, could do to him.

But for some reason, that fear isn't quite as prevalent with Oscar before him. Maybe it's the clothes, making him seem almost human. It must be, surely.]

Automaton, right. Right right right. Sorry about that, ah, Oscar. I suppose there is, um. A difference in enchanting, perhaps? In what brings you to life rather than- than like other constructs?

Within my body is a complex network of gear systems. Just as the inner workings of a mechanical clock operate in tandem to regulate time, my wheelwork ensures that I remain functional.

Might we continue this conversation somewhere warmer? The weather looks foreboding.

[Even a machine of ingenious design like himself is vulnerable to extremely cold conditions. He would also like it if his companion were made more comfortable.]

[Feeling his anxiety rise at the thought of a man controlled entirely by clockwork, Carlisle is about to comment on how that all sounds frightfully complicated and excuse himself from the conversation; however, Oscar invites him to continue said conversation somewhere out of the cold, and he instead finds himself nodding complacently, eager to hear more on a topic he knows he finds unnerving. He should go home, he tells himself. This isn't right.

But the second he leans back as though considering turning, he feels that yearning to be closer once more. It's not necessarily romantic, but it is certainly out-of-place and frustratingly strong, curbing his desire to leave almost entirely. He feigns that he was simply stepping back to look at the weather.]

It- it is a bit foreboding, isn't it? Perhaps we could, ah. You still live near here, right? I don't mean to invite myself in, but it would be convenient for you to simply be home, I suppose. And then I could just leave once we've... conversed.

[Good save.]

Of course, you are welcome to stay the night as well if you wish, Mr. Longinmouth.

[Oscar hopes he has made it plain enough that he doesn't take issue with accommodating the man. (What does bother him slightly is the misuse of the term 'home' just now; however, he understands Mr. Longinmouth's meaning.)

He turns toward the spire, giving it a short glance before something occurs to him which makes him look to his companion again.]

Have you eaten supper? I'm afraid I have nothing but tea to offer you...

Edited 2019-03-10 13:05 (UTC)

[Carlisle wrings his hands nervously, not sure why his mood picked up so suddenly just now at Oscar's invitation.]

Tea is fine, I assure you. I suppose you wouldn't eat, being, ah. An automaton.

[He says the term slowly, still hammering out its proper usage in his head. His stomach speaks for him in the silence that follows, its grumble arguing that no, tea is not fine. He laughs sheepishly.]

I will survive a brief visit, I assure you.

Event Log: Soulmates

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