hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Eight Legs No Heart

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Intro Log: Eight Legs No Heart

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for June.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: June 10th-15th
Warnings: Spiders. Soooo many spiders. New people. Probably swearing.

For once, the new arrivals to Hadriel will not be waking up on the cold hard ground of the colosseum. Oh, sure, you'll still awaken in the arena - but this time the Door has been kind enough to ensure that you wake up comfortably arranged in a very nice chair. Or maybe not so comfortably. Some of those look pretty awkward - hopefully you didn't wake up with a crick in your neck! And hey, feel free to try to drag some of these super cool chairs to your new homes. They're probably not cursed or anything.

As you make your way out of the arena, be careful getting to close to the walls - well, except that's the only way out, so good luck! Chilling up on there waiting to get the drop on you are Skulltulas. These funky-looking spiders have squishy underbellies, but their upper exoskeletons are hard and very difficult to break through. They really just want to nibble you a few times, and maybe suck out all of your blood. No big deal, right? Have fun!

Have you conquered your arachnophobia and managed to escape? Great! Feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers June 10th-15th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

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[The smell getting stronger despite his valiant attempt at coughing up his own stomach is as good an indication as any that there's more coming up, but when he turns to look he doesn't expect that many.]

Ah, shit...

[He straightens up, and takes a step back. On the plus side, they're all coming from (mostly) one direction, which leaves them with an exit.]

How fast can you run? I know a place we can hole up.

Run?

[Sans looks at his rescuer as if he's just suggested they go somewhere that involves a dress code, god forbid, a weird mixture of disbelief and mild horror.]

Where's your place at? I'll get us there.

[If it means he's going to be calculating distance plus time plus the folds in space wide enough to allow him to slip through with another person in tow...well, it's better than standing here and letting these things get a bite out of him.]

[There's a strong sense of deja-vu here. He gives Sans a look that's probably a bit too long given their circumstances of "very narrowly about to be spider chow", before he decides.]

Just take us to the nearest tower. They've all got empty rooms, we can hole up inside 'til the spiders clear out.

[Literally anything is more defensible than this. Jumping into the goddamn lake would be an improvement. But the chance to get to a spire unharmed? He'll take it with both hands.]

[One of those things lurches nearer, and Sans makes the unilateral decision that, yep, they've dawdled enough. It's time to go. Tower implies height, so he's gotta index values to account for that and these calculations are not coming up well on the fly.]

You sure we haven't done this before?

[But before he gives Bigby the chance to answer, he grasps Bigby's forearm in one of his skeletal hands and reaches out and blips them both right out. They end up...well, it's certainly a room in a tower, but he's got no idea if it's the right one.]

I'm gettin' the strangest feeling here.

[If that nagging feeling of recognition hadn't been bothering him enough before, that strange constricted sensation as they teleported certainly helps cinch it. And now that the smell of spider guts is out of his nose, he can pick up on (as well as the musty odour of an unused bedroom) the weird smell of skeleton sweat.]

No, I'm pretty sure we have. [But his mind isn't being forward with names, just 'puns'. And so:] You smell familiar, I 'nose' that much.

[Sans's grin, if it's even possible, widens. Now it's coming back to him.]

Hey, yeah, now I remember. You really saved my skin.

[Or, you know, the skeleton equivalent of skin. Whatever that is. Cartilage, maybe?

Ah, he won't bother twisting his mind around that.]

Nice to meet ya. Again, I guess.

It's turning into a habit by this point.

[Two for two skeleton backside saved from monsters. He ought to start charging the guy.

For now he'll wander to the window to see how high up Sans got them. He's impressed: none of the towers are exactly a short distance away.]

Good to see you're still in one piece. [...he says to the skeleton.] Or, y’know. As is.

[He'd say something like, "i owe ya," but it's a little early on to start making promises or hocking himself in deep to anyone, even if he's proven himself to be a good sort. Sans doesn't even make promises to people he likes, with one notable exception.

He glances down, making a regular show of inspecting his fingerbones, wiggling them illustratively, and shrugging.]

Eh, close enough. Thanks for gettin' those things off my back.

[Bigby wouldn't want his owing anyway. This is his job, he already gets paid to help people.]

No problem. [And with no small amount of sarcasm.] Welcome back to Hadriel.

[He opens the window with some difficulty (who the fuck designed these) and looks down: he's impressed all over again, he can see at least four more windows below them.]

Home away from home and personalised hell-hole, from what I've heard.

Hadriel, huh?

[Never caught the place's name while he was here last, if he was here at all. Something in the ballpark of a spatial desync, he's guessing, at least for now. He can bounce hypotheses around in his skull later, but if that one's correct and even if it isn't, ugh. That's never a pleasant time for anyone. Felt a little like home, if home happened to be a desolate, crumbling place and not a thriving if overcrowded chain of underground cities.]

So I'm guessing I managed to get us pretty far up, huh?

Looks like. We're about four stories up, maybe. Hard to tell, the building's a spiral.

[And at its base, he can see a spider crawling around, and another one a short distance further. He's just gonna lean back inside and close the window again.]

But we're safe in here. They'll probably go away in a few days, the fireflies that showed up when I arrived did. Then... we'll see what the gods throw at us from there.

[Wow. That's quite the range. If Sans had it in him to be impressed at his own cowardice, he would be, but he's not one to toot his own horn unless it's a trombone, aimed in the direction of someone's latest minor misfortune.]

Gods. People keep bringing that up.

[Not that Sans has any authority to be a skeptic. Colloquialisms like oh ye gods have been around for, presumably, ever, but people end up talking like they've got a say here. Maybe they do.]

I'm guessing it's not just a figure of speech.

Not here. I don't know how many people've met them personally, but currently there's four. Hope and Fear are the big ones, from what I've heard, and then there's Rage, who made the armory, and Delight owns the bar. Delight also ran a poll for which god Hope should bring back next. [And there's no small amount of very dry disbelief in that sentence.]

Someone should write a sitcom.

[He'd watch it. He'd watch the hell out of it.]

So. Underground town run by gods. Occasional visits from bugs of many sorts. Sounds like a real vacation.

[He ticks each item off on a bony finger.]

Am I missing anything?

The people who get sucked in here in the first place. Not all of them are human- [but don't a lot of them look it] -but a lot more don't have any powers in the first place. There's a lot of smaller groups, especially if someone's not the only person from their world, but we're all banded together in survival and hatred of the gods fucking us over.

That about covers it, though.

[Sans nods contemplatively. So he's gonna maintain his earlier statement: someone should write a sitcom. A wacky bunch of humans-and-not-humans trying to get by. Yeah, the whole thing sounds like a pretty great way to get killed in fascinating and creative ways. Which is not something Sans is eager to do, having just come out of being killed himself. All in all, not a pleasant experience. 0/10 stars.]

Presumably they've only got human food here, right?

[Not great for someone like him. That stuff falls right through him. Literally.]

From what I can tell, yeah. But it's all slim pickings, mostly we have to loot those beat-up shops for it.

[But specifically human food?]

Maybe you can ask one of the gods for, uh, monster food. As long as you've got a sample of it they can make it for you. Works with cigarettes at least.

[He's got a couple packets of ketchup stowed away in his jacket, he thinks. Maybe that'll be enough? Maybe. He's long since given up on pretending that hope has anything for him, literal or otherwise.]

Yeah, most stuff just goes right through me.

[He gestures in the vague direction of his ribcage.]

Not bein' metaphorical, either.

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Intro Log: Eight Legs No Heart

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