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hadriel_logs2016-10-10 10:42 am
hadrielmods) wrote in hadriel_logs2016-10-10 10:42 am
Entry tags:
Intro Log: HOLY F*^K THAT'S A F*&KI%G DRAGON
Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for October
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: October 10th-13th
Warnings: New faces, new greeting posts, and dragons. What's more to want?
What: The intro log for October
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: October 10th-13th
Warnings: New faces, new greeting posts, and dragons. What's more to want?
If your first thought upon waking up on the cold, hard ground of Hadriel's very own Colosseum is 'maybe I partied too hard last night', one, Delight would love you and two, you're wrong. Or- maybe you did, but that's not why you're here. Instead, you wake up with the same clothes you were wearing when you were last home, but surrounded by very different people. So, make some friends! Might as well voice your confusion and concern and show the technologically unsavvy of you how to operate these fancy new phones, right? Just be sure not to trip over these odd bags of chips on your way to greet your fellow man.
Don't spend too much time out in the open, though. There are monsters about, and not quite the usual ones. This month, Hadriel is bringing in four dragons, each with their own unique abilities and raidboss-esque stamina. They'll be terrorizing the city until someone puts them down- maybe that someone is you! Maybe you should, uh, actually hide. They're hungry and territorial and mean and they're definitely out for a good meal. Check out our OOC post for more information, as well as who will be eventually killing the beasts!
But hey, once you escape from the dragons, feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies.
New, as of October's intro log is a Newcomer's guide that installs itself by default on every activated phone. Thanks, Mello!
Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!► This log covers October 10th-13th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication and the newbie guide installed.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
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So as it is, she doesn't so much trip over him as climb up on him, assuming for a moment that he's just a dead body or other similar obstacle. She's wandering across his chest area when she sees his face.
"Oh! Oh! I remember you! Dreamed about you? Now doesn't that sound cheesy."
He's just kind of...passed out, or maybe dead, right in the middle of the street. She sits up on her hind legs and looks around, still perched on his chest. No one else seems to be nearby. The blue dragon passes overhead with a roar.
Once the roar fades out, Camille can hear him snoring gently.
"Ah, well, that answers that, then. Zayid could sleep through anything, too."
If he were a total stranger, she would have moved on by now. As it is, he's only slightly a stranger, and she did sort of dream about him. There are certain mystical bylaws about what you're supposed to do when you dream about someone, and abandoning them to be dragon food or get run over by a car isn't among them.
She sighs a little to herself, climbs off him and changes shape, turning into an oversized kangaroo. Albeit a kangaroo with long, flowing red locks. She then picks him up and stuffs him into her pouch, like someone would stuff a quarter they found on the street into a purse.
"Powers above, Bluebird, are your bones made of lead?"
Ah, well. She can at least get him into an empty building and then just...leave him there in a corner or something. Maybe with a blanket and the remainder of her chips, if she's feeling generous.
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When he comes back to himself, he is somewhere. Soft. And furry. And he does not like it. He flounders for a moment with a hideous lack of control over the dexterity of his limbs, tries to blip on out in the open air, fails to do so, tries again, fails again, and winds up jabbing his bony elbows a few times into Camille's midsection.
He tries a third time, and, hey! Third time is really the goddamn charm, because he's outta there. He's also, uh, on a roof now. Lookin' down at a kangaroo-shaped person of some sort, without much of a conception as to how or what or why.
He blinks.
"'Sup?"
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"Ow! Hey now, none of that--"
The guy is flailing as much as he can, which is a pretty weird feeling when you have a kangaroo pouch. And then, abruptly, he is gone, and the sudden lack of weight makes Camille almost trip over herself.
She stops, blinks, checks her pouch and then the immediate vicinity. Then she hears his voice and looks up. Oh, okay, he is just. Hanging out on a roof now. Alright.
She shifts to a more humanoid form, and after a moment decides to just give herself a Sans-themed hoodie.
"Well that was a neat trick! Didn't know skeletons could blink step! Hi there, Bluebird, whatcha doin' up there? Do you remember me? I had a dream about you!"
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"Hey," he says, you. But he doesn't say that last part, 'cause...this last month has kinda been hell on his nonexistent nerves, and he's a bit on the frazzled side, not really in the position to make any snap judgments on how he felt about her at the time, or how much of her he really remembers.
"You, uh...remember this place, yeah?"
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"Camille." It seems he forgot, maybe. "We told baking puns!"
Her hands and feet turn into gecko feet and she promptly starts climbing up the side of the building to join him.
"Sure do! Gods, weird buildings, talking skeletons, the works! And now scary dragons, for some reason?" She makes it over the edge of the roof and stands up again. "Awful weird, that last part. I'm used to dragons being quite a lot more reserved and composed. Not usually the type to nosh on hapless citizens, you know?"
She tugs the remainder of her bag of gas station sushi-flavored chips out of some pocket, unrolls the bag and starts munching. Then she holds the bag out to him.
"Why'd you skedaddle up here, anyway? I was going to carry you to safety! Like a friendly neighborhood hero or something. Did you know that you'd passed out in the street? Not sick, are you?"
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Well, he wasn't as tired as he is now. Somethin' about his friendly little edge seems to have been dulled by increments. Good luck on guessin' the what and why.
"Well, that's a pretty long story," he says, with the artless upward lift of a supraorbital ridge and an easy grin that don't lend itself to plumbing the depths of his psyche. "Most of it starts with everyone decidin' it was a real good idea to choose Confusion for Hadriel's Next Top God."
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That "yep" didn't do much to convince her that he actually remembers her, but oh well. Introductions are fun, even when you do them multiple times.
At the mention of Confusion, her face scrunches up and she crams a whole fistful of chips in her mouth. Then she holds out the bag to him again. It just doesn't occur to her that maybe he can't eat. There are a whole lot of Folk back home who can eat despite not having anything in the way of a digestive system. She's just kind of assuming he's the same way.
"Eewwwwww. Why would anyone ever. Confusion isn't even an emotion! It's like a...state of being, or something. How annoying! Were you confusing street corners for beds?"
It sounds like a joke, but she says it quite seriously. What a terrible situation!
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(But, heh, he shouldn't flatter Confusion so. Things were well on their way to hell before she came along, weren't they?
Yeah. Pretty much.)
"I voted for Tranquility but, y'know, no one ever listens to me," he adds with the air of long-suffering resignation. "I'm just sayin', dragons probably add to the whole Confusion thing pretty nicely."
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"Powers going haywire, eh? Yikes! So with your blink step thing, I'd imagine you were just zipping all over this damn place, yes? You do seem tired. I know I would be!"
She tries to imagine it. If powers and abilities were out of control, then she'd probably be flickering between shapes even faster than usual. Yeah, that would get exhausting really quickly. At least it wouldn't be particularly dangerous, except for anyone who happened on her while she was, say, poisonous or made of sharp ends or something.
"Well that'll about do it, then!" There's a roar in the distance, and she looks up as the black dragon lances through the air toward the cavern ceiling. It attacks a few stalactites, as if trying to claw its way up through the solid rock.
"You know, I'm used to dragons being...philosopher types. Odd to see them like this." She looks at Sans again. "Can you blink yourself somewhere safe? Must not be on the fritz anymore if you can blink yourself onto a roof, hu hu! But I could walk you somewhere, 'f need be. My kind are great at providing distractions! And, well, I've got nowhere in particular to be right now."
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"Not used to seein' dragons at all, honestly." He waves off her concern with a shrug of his bony shoulders. "But, nah. I'm good. Just keepin' an eyesocket out for some friends of mine."
If she can go on believing that his power issue has...fixed itself, that's fine by him. It'll be a few days until it stops calibratin', he's pretty sure, but he can last until then. He's more resilient than he really gives himself credit for.
Unfortunately.
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It's the type of precision magic that usually only Sidhe can manage, or certain Insubstantials. It's easier to just be able to move at the speed of light and claim you blinked yourself somewhere. It might as well be the same thing, anyway.
She squints at him at that second thing.
"Keeping an eyesocket out? Did you miss the part where I said you'd totally passed out in the middle of the street? Just right in the middle! Thought you were dead for a second there, but you were snoring."
She gives herself a couple extra pairs of eyes and looks him over. She's known dozens of people who are the type to claim that they're fine and not sick at all when really they're on the verge of passing out. And sure, he looks tired, but beyond that it's just...hard to tell. Bone just isn't as expressive as flesh, or magic pretending to be flesh.
"Hmmmmmm. Well, maybe I should wait with you. Wouldn't want you falling asleep and falling off the roof or something."
There's another roar in the distance.
"Or! We could get off the roof, since I am fairly sure that being up this high makes us a bit of a target."
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"I was tired," he says, in mock offense. "Don't tell me you've never you've never been struck with the urge to just up and take a nap mid-step. It really takes a load off, y'know."
Tired don't even really begin to cover it. Also she is, uh...scrutinizin' him pretty thoroughly there. Like, sproutin' whole new pairs of eyes and everything. But, eh, she's got a good point. He shrugs, movin' forward to take a step right off the roof.
He ends up on the ground and on his feet without any mishap, somehow, though he certainly didn't fall and his shortcuts ain't in top shape to zap himself down there. But, eh, y'know. Rule of comedy and all that. Don't think too hard on it.
"Thinkin' of maybe holin' up somewhere?" he asks her, idly.
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She absolutely has a problem, but it's a problem that involves sugar, so oh well.
He goes to walk off the roof, and for a split second she thinks maybe he's just gonna fall and probably just--shatter on the pavement, like an expensive vase. Only then he's on the ground. She's not sure if that was a blink step or something else. Hell, she's not even sure if what he's doing could be described as a blink step, but ehhhh. She has never really cared much about the ins and outs of other people's magic.
For her part, she turns partway into a grasshopper, just enough to give herself jumping power. Then she leaps, and lands rather gracelessly on the street.
"That's the idea!" She sheds the grasshopper bits and turns into something approximating a borzoi. Canine, speedy, and pretty weird looking. "Fortunately, someone like me can camp out just about anywhere, though if I'm here for the long run this time, I'd much prefer a house. Ooh, an actual house! The suburban dream! Always did want to move out of my dinky little apartment. Do you live nearby? I could crash on your couch, mayhap? I can be a very quiet houseguest."
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As far as nonsense goes, she's somethin' after his own heart. A bit like a Temmie in her casual reality-breaking camaraderie, but about ten times more, uh..."articulate" ain't really the word.
Ten times less Temmie, maybe.
It's all comin' back to him with a bit more speed now that he's rememberin' their first meeting properly. Their first, dreamlike meaning. Thanks for that, Door, you're a real stand-up fella, a real pal.
"I live with my bro," he says easily, as if his living situation ain't in a constant state of hellish, perpetual re-evaluation. "We all just more or less pick the housin' that suits us. We got spires, which are just about exactly what they sound like. And we got proper houses courtesy of Delight."
An earsplitting roar rattles the cave's foundations off somewhere in the distance, followed by the distinct sound of some large structure toppling.
"Assumin' they survive," he adds, offhand.
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She sits down for a moment to scratch behind her ear, then shakes herself out in an appropriately dog-like manner. Then she's back up and trotting down the street.
"Pick our own houses! If only it were that easy in the real world. Don't have to fill anything out, take out a loan from Hadriel National, eh? How lovely! You know, I like how the word spire sounds, but given we've got this whole lizard pest problem, I'm thinking something more, hu hu, down to earth might be a bit better suited."
House implies more space too, which potentially means better kitchens.
"Your brother, right! Papyrus! The other one! Charming fellow. Where do you two live?"
She pauses, one paw raised at the roar and the distant collapse of a building. Yikes, this is certainly a situation, isn't it?
"...Hopefully not in that direction? Well, if I have to spend the night holed up in an actual hole, I don't really mind. You can sleep anywhere if you're the right size!"
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Yeah, him neither.
"Sure. You take a loan out from the gods, only it's for life, and instead of money, it's an agreement to put up with their glorified turf war." He sounds pretty dang cheerful about it, all things considered. He sounds pretty dang cheerful about most things, though, up to and including his own imminent death. Perspective. Gotta love it.
"Do I feel that," he says with a rueful chuckle. "First few days here, I was mostly crashin' in shops and things."
In fact, he's pretty sure Tina's been doin' exactly that. Someone's really gotta get that kid a real house to live in, only he's a bit concerned she might end blowin' it up for kicks.
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"Powers, almost think I'd rather put up with the banks! Even with the economy in the tank. 'S hard enough to get a loan when you're the wrong sort of Folk. In any case! I still plan on punching at least one of these gods. Or at the very least, doodling their faces on a paper and punching that!"
She'll probably live longer if she keeps it simple.
At the mention of shops and such she pauses and looks up and down the street, actually looking at the buildings proper for once. This one is a clothing shop--she doesn't understand the language on the sign, but there are coats displayed in the window. That one is some kind of convenience store, ot at least she assumes.
"Shops, eh? And no workers! Regular ghost town, this is. Well, at least if you sleep in a convenience store, most things you need are right there at your convenience! Hu hu!"
That might make opening a cafe a bit easier than she thought it would be. If people can just claim whatever house they want, what's to stop her from just claiming one of the unmanned cafes or restaurants?
Her thoughts are interrupted by the approach of heavy wingbeats. She trots back over toward Sans.
"Dragon incoming. Methinks we should duck."
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"Duck? Where?" he says, innocently. "I was thinkin' we should drag-on by."
But he draws himself sideways, knockin' open the door of the nearest building with a slippershod foot so it swings inward. Looks to be a nondescript warehouse of some sort, which suits his purposes just fine. He ducks inside, as requested, and beckons for his new shapeshifter friend to follow.
"As far as the gods go," says Sans with a resigned shrug of his shoulders, "good luck gettin' to 'em. I don't think anyone's ever seen any one of 'em in person. Too high and mighty for us mere mortals, I'd think."
Pretty largely the impression he'd got from 'em, in any case. Descending from their manifold ivory towers to make Hadriel's life hell for kicks and giggles, or possibly to inspire whatever thrills of emotions they're meant to represent.
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"Pfft! This really is quite a drag, isn't it? Talk about tipping the scales out of our favor!"
She follows him on in, sniffing around at the floor and checking out whatever this store sells. Might as well start trying to find a good location for her new cafe now.
"Oh, of course. Maybe I really will be relegated to punching papers."
Makes sense, sadly. Kiba back home is kind of the same way, even if he's not technically a god. Not at all.
The wingbeats draw closer and there's a thunderous sound as one of the dragons passes overhead, followed by a roar. The building shakes and plaster dust trickles down from the ceiling.
"They really are quite feisty, aren't they? Hmmmmmmm, someone's got to kill them eventually, I wonder if they're edible..."
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He glances in her direction, but don't dispense much other commentary. She's certainly free to find out - he ain't gonna stop her. Nor do much in the way of encouragement but, well, the cookie crumbles in the way it does.
"Place is pretty full of hero types," he says, nonchalant, dusting the powder of plaster and dust from the crown of his skull with a neat, cursory sorta motion. "I imagine someone'll take 'em all down in short order."
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"They're alive, so they're probably made of meat. Which might mean edible! Edible for me, certainly, though I wonder if other people could eat them too? I'm thinking dragon meat pies! If I could get my hands on some dragonfruit too, ooh, double dragon pies! I've never had dragon before. One would never even consider it back home."
For one thing, it's generally frowned upon to eat sentient creatures when they haven't even done anything bad to you yet. And for another, a dragon would absolutely destroy her utterly if she ever tried.
But talk of food has reminded her that she's hungry. She produces the bag of chips from...somewhere and sticks her whole head in the bag to munch a few more.
"I imagine hero types are quite useful in a place like this." She withdraws from the bag and sneezes to get chip crumbs out of her dog nose. "Bluebird, do you want any chips? Can you eat chips? Or in general? I'm thinking, if I really am here for the long run, I'd better take it upon myself to feed all these pour souls. Four dragons, that'll make a lot of dragon pies! At least one for everyone here. Could be my opening sale!"
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Well, he don't have much hope for that succeeding. At all, really. Too many people with swords and things and the means to make those dragons' lives hell, and he ain't really sure what it would count for to let 'em just kinda run free. Or fly free. Whichever. They seem pretty damned destructive.
"Are they magic chips?" he says, debating whether he's got the requisite strength to vault himself onto the countertop and sprawl there for a quick nap, until and unless they get rudely awakened with a tearing off of the roof or some such nonsense. "Food's gotta be magic for me to eat it. Otherwise it goes right on through."
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"Go right th...ohohohoho! Oh, that must be a fun surprise! Good way to prank people, probably. Hmm...hm hm hm!"
Magic food. That is something she can't do. There's ways to imbue spells and good luck charms into food, things like that. But that's kitchen magic, specific to mages and certain Folk. Camille just bakes stuff. Amorphs have no real way of externalizing their magic.
"This is a dilemma." She sits back on her haunches. "Hmmmm, must find a way to bake magic into my food, yes..."
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"Mostly I been makin' my own stuff. Addin' a little magic, stirring, and poof." He opens a hand and wiggles his phalanges with a wry, completely unenthusiastic approximation of a jazz hand. "Well, maybe not poof but at least not a splat, y'know?"
At this point he decides he won't bother to lever himself up onto the counter, and instead elects to slide on down with his hands shoved in his pockets, stubby legs splayed out ungracefully in front of him, spine braced against the counter for support. Good enough.
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"That seems like too much effort!" She shakes her head. "That would be like if I had to form a digestive system every time I wanted to eat something! I imagine your brother is the same way, yes? No, no, this won't do. How would I live it down if I had two whole friends who I couldn't even feed properly? Let alone customers!"
She sighs and watches him slide down the counter. That doesn't look comfortable--not with bones, at least. Though they do say a hard surface is good for one's spine, whatever the hell that means.
"I will need to think about this! I will solve this dilemma, and then--! Skeleton-themed cupcakes to celebrate, is what I'm thinking. Are you going to just sleep here? Would you like a blanket at least?"
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