hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Death Comes

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Intro Log: Death Comes

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for July.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: July 10th-15th
Warnings: Deathclaws. That's all you really need to know.

As usual, the new arrivals in Hadriel will be waking up on the dirt ground of the colosseum, and as usual, they won't be waking up alone. This month brings coat hangers of all shapes and, uh, sizes strewn about the colloseum floor around all of the new arrivals.

Get up, get out, meet and greet, find some new exciting interior decorating options, but don't forget about the more prominent threat: the (newly) local deathclaws roaming about in the inner halls of the arena. These deathclaws are vicious bipedal creatures with long arms ending in curved talons, horns ripe for goring and, of course, teeth as long as fingers. These animals have been engineered to be as deadly as they can possibly be, so you might want to buddy up before taking one on.

Have you escaped from the deathclaws? Made a few friends? Not died horribly? 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 July 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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( preferring to stay as far away from the monsters that come through the door is not something that he would have been able to find fault in. given the circumstances, if he'd woken up any other place than the colosseum, he would have stayed there. but no, as fate would have it – or whatever sort of entity employs its motives in this place – not only are there reptilian-looking monstrosities hell-bent on relieving him of a few of his much-needed appendages, they are all over the place, and while he's had enough time to peruse the shops and ultimately end up in what is likely to become one of his most favorite haunts, he's no worse for the wear, but coming into a new place and promptly being bombarded by strange-looking hangers and deathclaws is enough to shake anyone up.

so. it wouldn't have mattered even if it weren't late enough in the afternoon for a drink or seven. don't judge him, hermann. ) It's got to be five o'clock somewhere, doesn't it? ( he muses aloud, turning to face the other with both brows lightly raised, the softest sort of contemplative gaze that he can muster without giving up his air of aloofness that he so desperately clings to. )

Besides, I could have died at least a handful of times since I woke up. I think I've earned the right to take the edge off.

( that's his story, and he's sticking to it. )

~~[just for that, what i keep hearing while tagging this . . . sounds like bar ok]~~

[ Yes, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, this guy is famously not judgmental. Not a bit. Not a single judgmental molecule. Not even an electron. It wouldn't even occur to him. (It doesn't have to, because he opens his mouth and it just comes out.)

The retort's a trite saying, but for all that it is a tired cliche... it is also true. With time so much on the mind as of late, Hermann's struck by it, and looks unduly startled. He then begins frowning. ]

Not here as much, or by our man made system given how we divvied it, but certainly if we go by the angle of the sun. Yes.

[ For all that there's no proper sun in the sky. In the roof, to be more accurate. There should be a star in the sky above that, shouldn't there? In any case, he's about to get too complicated. As they've only got his small attempt here, somewhere now encompasses every world and universe from which the Door could take, and -- so much for his quip.

Five o'clock is so arbitrary, anyway, and it isn't that here. S

Completely, if briefly lost in the thought, he has to shake himself out of it when the young man goes on. And now he's gone and gotten a bit discombobulated, too, so he peers somewhat owlishly, died a handful of times, processes, and --

Oh. ]

My word, but you're new. Cheers on surviving.

[ If he'd woken early, he may've had time enough for shops and housing before this. Fine, then. ]

( oh … oh no … now it's going to be stuck in my head forever and a day. )

( now, why would he ever have a reason to be judgmental in the first place? certainly, not here, in the underground cave city in which both new arrivals and monsters of all shapes, sizes and … breed? species? whatever. all come together to form some ridiculous sort of population that all falls sacrifice to the whims of the gods that see themselves in control. there is nothing at all to be judged about any of that.

and if you believe that? we've got a time share to sell you in barbados.

henry catches that frown, and turns fully on his seat at the bar to face the newcomer, chin just slightly tilted upward. ) Consider that a rhetorical question. Especially if you're going to get all sciency on me.

( not that he doesn't care for science, because he's all too aware of how important it is in everyday life. ( see: the science behind a good cup of coffee. or the perfect temperature in his daily showers. that is science, my friend. )

the next exclamation that he gets isn't precisely one that he'd been expecting – though he does appreciate the congratulations, and gives a slight bow of his head to indicate as much, simultaneously accepting the drink set before him that could, upon closer inspection, be of questionable origin, but considering his near-run-ins with the deathclaws and finding himself quite not where he should be, he isn't about to start questioning.

not about alcohol, anyway. never about that. ) New. You say it like it's a rite of passage – but it might be, hell if I know. I'm new. ( he smirks behind his glass as he takes a sip of his drink, gives a small sound of approval. )

But I'll take your congratulations. Care to join me in a drink?

[ Rather, and sod Barbados, anyhow. Too much sun, too much sand, too much humidity. It would of course surprise absolutely everybody, whether they have met him or not, to learn that Dr. Hermann Gottlieb is not a beach person. (Please do take a moment to attempt the mental image, however.)

Hermann, the not remotely judgmental avid fan of all things beach, does not yet stop frowning. Instead, the lines slightly deepen, furrowing for the word 'sciency'. ]

Technically, [ slowly, and a touch pedantic, because he is who he is (see above, as if it's remotely related), ] the connotations of sciency don't suggest actual science. However, I'll leave it.

[ Yes, it had caught him off guard, but he's not so out of touch that he's really about to stand there and get into the science behind It's got to be five o'clock somewhere.

Instead, Hermann notes the nod and drink, and wrinkles his nose at 'rite of passage'. ]

It may as well be, but what a hideous thought. That suggests further rites, and none of them here would be good.

[ The question surprises, though it may be natural -- he is standing there holding that coffee, after all, still talking to the young man. Though the bar offers it, he still feels a touch odd joining someone with coffee while they're drinking proper, but --

He's not so socially clueless, or at least the young man's agreeable enough that he's disinclined to be so rude as to decline then go sit somewhere obvious in the bar, alone, with his drink. And he's not going to walk back to the house with it. So he might as well. ]

All right, then.

[ Leaning his cane against the underside of the bar, he sets down the mug and slides onto a stool. ]

Dr. Gottlieb, I should say.

( sod barbados? what kind of person says that? ( a person that is not a beach person, henry. not everyone wants to go parasailing and sunbathe so close to the equator that they would risk getting a third degree burn in an hour or so if left unattended.

wait. is barbados near the equator? it's like somewhere in the middle of it, isn't it? bah, geography has never been his thing. whatever.

we will appreciate that mental image, though. thanks for that. )

hermann, if you let those frown lines deepen any further, not only are they going to stay that way, but you're going to end up looking like that guy from grumpy old men before you're old enough to pass as such. you know, this one. do you really want that going for you? ) Are you really gonna sit there and argue semantics over the word sciency? Dude. Loosen up a little. You really need that drink.

( and not coffee. you sit here long enough, good sir, and he'll see you properly drunk – even if it takes the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening. he doesn't have anything else going for him, and to be perfectly honest? you're interesting. minus all the mumbo-jumbo that you're trying to argue over whether or not there is an actual science regarding the existence of a certain time period in any other part of the world.

reality.

whatever plane of existence they happen to currently be occupying. ) Henry Cheng. New arrival, high school graduate, lover of all things either alcoholic or caffeinated – sometimes both at once. ( a beat, and he's flashing that brilliant smile again with another pull from his drink. )

Doctor, you say. The turn-your-head-and-cough type, or something a little less invasive?

[ In fact, Hermann does not know precisely where Barbados is. He could tell you a great deal about any island or location in the Pacific, thanks to the war.

They can have that much, at least, in common: Hermann has never prioritized Geography.

And let's be real, let's not give sourpuss scientists any delusions, any futile hopes, anything like that -- it's far too late for him when t comes to deepening lines and resembling grumpy old men at the considerably more ripe age of thirty-six. It is not a matter of whether he wants it going for him. It is going. It is gone.

Unsurprisingly, then, his face pinches when told to loosen up, i.e. does the precise opposite thing. ]

Pardon me? I said I'd leave it, thus I wouldn't sit and argue it. I don't!

[ Need a drink. Other than coffee. -11.4% agreeableness from Mr. Cheng.

Which earns Mr. Cheng a half-skeptical look during that introduction. Alcoholic and caffeinated. Well, he's left high school, anyway. Whether 16 or 18 for spirits, he's clear. Not really the sort of thing one should lead with right after their name.

He'd detract from agreeableness for it, except for that smile. It balances. ]

I hope you like a few other things, too. The less invasive sort.

Edited 2016-07-18 16:24 (UTC)

( well, at least you have that going for you, doktor. not so great about the war part, but hey, at least you have a one-up on him in that geographical respect.

and it's nice to have something so mundane in common. geography should never be anyone's priority, in this one's mind. those empty slots have left room for much more interesting things to have in common – or to make new strides in the unknown, the unfamiliar, the new. friends and all, this is going to be one hell of an adventure.

… hermann. really, sir. we're going to have to do something about those frown lines – get you a nice moisturizing regimen going on, or something – because the ripe old age of thirty-six? it's way too young to have that look going. can you imagine what your face is going to have going for it when you're forty-five? fifty? you let that shit go now and you're going to have the jowls of a bulldog before you know it. and that … that is not an attractive thing. ~~what would your boyfriend think of that?~~

forgive him, though. because at the very opposite of loosening up, henry is all but close to being in stitches on his stool, the curve of his mouth threatening to split the latter half of his face clear in two. ) Okay, okay. Drink your – coffee? Tea? Whatever that is, and then get something stronger. ( you're really going to need it if you're going to keep hanging around with this one. )

You do.

( there's a brief pause, a stretch of silence in which he drains nearly half of the drink he'd ordered and already contemplates what he's going to ask for next; he isn't an alcoholic, really, he isn't. his liver is as fresh as a daisy in the morning and he's got the metabolism of an athlete on steroids, naturally, so he rarely even gets hangovers. just headaches, mostly, nothing that either hair of the dog or a gallon of water and some tylenol won't whisk under the carpet. )

I'm a fan of many things, really. Sit there long enough and I might just share some of them. What sort, then?

( all these questions! he's a curious little shit, you've got to give him that. )

[ A touch premature to make something of an iota of commonality. Broadly, all sorts of people may have some small thing in common. They might both dislike Brussels spouts and that's hardly a basis for anything.

(Hermann has no strong feeling for Brussels sprouts, positive or negative, which only cements the point.)

The point of such clarification, really, that the referred to 'friends' best be those already here or known, because that would be so premature as to be stillborn. (Bad taste. Sorry.)

Forty-five may be beyond him, but an approximation of forty-one (if bewigged and costumed) may be handily provided. Less jowls, more lines, lines, lines. ~~His colleague does not continue associating with him for his looks.~~

And speaking of lines and faces and pinching, and all that which is not loose, confronted so directly by a young man's obvious mirth, like in the act of looking at him, simply looking at him, there was something so funny -- well, it only makes it worse.

Detract 17.06%, even if it's by all accounts, even his, which don't remotely attend to one's physical appearance outside of appropriate attire and presentation (that is, ugly, handsome, kind, nice smile, better eyes; he doesn't care, barely notices), a nice grin. It's easy enough to imagine Mr. Cheng, with all his youthful vibrancy, in the uniform of the independent school Hermann had attended for the relevant period, years younger and heads shorter, but when the older boys (and they were all older) showed their teeth, it was never nice. It's foolish enough to be a subconscious discomfort, given how long ago it was, but he is uncomfortable with being so nearly laughed at.

He does get a bit jowly as he frowns, staring at Mr. Cheng, both as he insists that Hermann will drink something stiff, and as he tips much of his own back. (And if he drinks like that, it's highly improbable his liver's daisy fresh.)

Hermann's just thinking he might have to be rude and walk away, flabbergasted by the rapid pace of all this, and so says, bluntly, ]

That's all right. Keep them to yourself, I don't want to know.

[ He won't sit there long enough.

To that end, he takes a big sip of his coffee. ]

Numbers, mostly. Engineering.

[ He catches himself before asking what Mr. Cheng thinks he'll study in university. That would not be conducive to taking a sharp turn out of this conversation. More conducive: another big sip. ]

( no one should have strong feelings about brussels sprouts, hermann. you're a good man for that much. strong feelings about fruits, vegetables, legumes … any of that? that's just strange.

although it could possibly go on record that henry doesn't care much for tomatoes. or rutabagas. the latter of which, he is convinced, no one should like. there is nothing good about them. but that's neither here nor there.

~~look at that wig, tho. it suits you, sir. very bold.~~

if there's ever been anything that henry has been good at – outside his myriad of actual talents, the nature of which he has a tendency to keep to himself, if only by dint of the knowledge that some secrets must be kept, for posterity's sake, and there is a novelty to the mystery – it's reading into people enough to know when the conversation is in danger of coming to an end. politics might have already ruined him, blackened him from the inside out, but there are a few things that he's been able to take away from listening in on the dealings of both his father and mother, their respective quests. he needs a hook, needs something that might keep hermann around for at least the rest of his warm beverage, and that isn't going to last very long at all, if the deep pulls he's taking from his cup are any indication.

he clears his throat, catches the tip of his tongue between his teeth, tilts his head to the side. ) I thought scientists were curious by nature. How else are you to learn about your peers, if you don't inquire? ( he's taking liberties, making assumptions, and that may be his inevitable downfall – but at least his questions are harmless enough, minimally invasive, and overall just an attempt on his own part to learn more about hermann himself.

when, really, he should be asking about this place. learning more about his surroundings and the things he can find within the city itself than anything else.

but … he's always been more interested in people. what makes them tick. what brings them around. )

Fancy that. My father manufactures robotic insects. You two could probably have some interesting conversations.

[ They may need to cede to the unfortunate, nonsensical reality that human beings have strong feelings about much that hardly warrants it. Food, colors, sports teams. (Hermann might be himself more susceptible than he'd like to admit to the latter.)

It may be a talent of Mr. Cheng's, or something honed, to perceive the impending death of this, but Hermann's not particularly discreet. It isn't an intention to be rude so much as a willingness to accept it as a casualty of necessity. Nothing good or useful can come of this conversation. He's already assumed Mr. Cheng has been given the needed exposition, so all that's left for Hermann, it seems, is to be laughed at by a boy half his age. Who may or may not be an alcoholic. Are all teenage boys alcoholic? They'd had a knack for getting it at his institution. Even if Hermann hadn't been so young, even if he'd been invited, he wouldn't have --

Hermann finishes his coffee in the next too large swallow. Over the brim, wry and dry, still risking rudeness. ]

For some of us, our curiosity is specific to our field. I am uninterested in my peers -- in people.

[ With that, he sets down the cup, a pointed clink. He's just reaching for his cane, beginning to turn away, shaping a goodbye on his tongue, when --

Robotic insects.

His hand falls, resting on the bartop. His body stops twisting. Hermann looks at Mr. Cheng, his eyebrows raising. ]

Robotic insects. Why? Do you know much about the process? I suppose it's a trade secret, but a gist?

[ Small enough for medical uses or perhaps intended for observation? Reconnaissance? He can think of thirteen purposes in the moment, more coming, and damn, but Mr. Cheng has his attention. ]

( but who are they, who is anyone to judge what another human being puts stock in, has feelings for? food, colors, sports teams – apparel that bears the flamboyant colors of a musical artist at her peak in the eighties – it's all relative when it all comes down to it, as human beings are flighty, flippant things, and they find solace in the smallest, simplest things.

it could be a fault in humanity as a whole, but without something beside it for comparison, what else can be said if not a rebuttal against the implication that there's any other way to be?

now, henry has always been rather adept at smalltalk. in keeping the other party interested in what comes out of his mouth, even if it has a tendency to make less sense out loud than it does when it's still in his head. ( thought comes naturally, and speech may as well be a second language, but he's never had too much trouble getting his point across when it really matters. ) there's a note in the air that hermann doesn't quite seem intent on sticking around much longer, and though throwing out a hook has never been his thing, mentioning the production of his father's company had been little more than a shot in the dark in order to keep the conversation flowing.

but apparently, it had been enough. and if the other catches him grinning just a little wider, just a little more brilliantly? well, surely, it's just a figment of his imagination.

( and we don't talk about whether or not all teenage boys are alcoholics. at litchfield house, it's a wonder any of them can get up and go to class the day after one of his house parties; the booze is always in abundance, the conversation full of whimsy, and plans for the future full of dreams of traveling anywhere that requires a passport. )

his fingers drum against the bartop briefly. ) A hermit, then. All of you scientific sorts have that proclivity, don't you? ( a rhetorical question, nothing more. hermann the hermit, you have a new nickname.

and here is where robobee makes its first appearance, seemingly without so much as the pretense of introduction, hovering just above henry's shoulder as he quirks a brow in the other man's direction. that hook, it might have been the best idea he's had since he'd woken up in the dirt, and he gives a slow roll of his shoulders that equates a shrug. )

See this guy? Think along those lines. Drones, maybe. Can't give away the family secrets. ( he looks positively mischievous, here. and it may not be his natural state, but it looks pretty good on him. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Intro Log: Death Comes

cr i never knew i wanted, you are a glorious creature.

bless you my child, what an unexpectedly swell reaction

i adore hermann, and anyone that plays him tbh. c:

/// i now feel terrible i don't know henry, but I DID READ HIS APP, conclusion: adorable

oh no don't feel terrible! though if you ever do read the raven cycle .. i will be very pleased.

there is a very good chance i cave and do so soon...

and by now you already have, and i've done my job~

28 chapters in...

welcome ... to hell ... enjoy your stay.

please feel free to ignore my slow ass (AND I REACHED HENRY!!!!)

excuse you no i will tag you back FOREVER AND YES GOOD VERY GOOD!!