hadriel_logs | Intro Log: HOLY F*^K THAT'S A F*&KI%G DRAGON

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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?

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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[at which point he's going to use that grip on Sans's shoulders to tug him into a tentative hug. Because that's just what Newt does in times like these. He never has the appropriate words; he's traditionally pretty bad at that whole "reading social cues" thing in general so, like...this is what he has. He can't say it's okay or that it's alright, because the idea that there's a strong chance they've nearly killed him on accident before is awful and it sits heavy in Newt's chest--it's upsetting, okay??? And Newt doesn't have a solution to it. Except this.

So

yeah.]

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sans.exe has stopped working and needs to close.]

[So he's being - he's being yelled at. He's getting a thing of carrots shaken at him. He's being told he's an idiot and now he's, uh...

He's being hugged??

Is it just him, or are all these things extremely disparate? He's been yelled at. He's been called an idiot. He's been told he's reckless, dishonest, moronic. He's been hugged.

But not all at the same time.

What is happening here.]

So, uh. Just to clarify here.

[Sans's voice emerges as a weak little straggling thing as he looks between the guy hugging him and the guy who's just shaken a bag of carrots at him with something approaching beseeching bafflement.]

Are you, uh...mad at me, or upset, or, uh...what? 'Cause I'm gettin' real mixed messages here.

[ As Newton kneels, Hermann ducks down with a frustrated grunt to grab at his cane. Indeed, grab at, as his equally disturbed fingers need a few attempts before he gets hold of it, turning it upright. Once he's straightened, his chin jutting in irate defiance, Newton's hugging Mr. Sans.

Hermann hangs back, as he does, his scowl still a heavy weight that droops in his lips, makes crooked his jaw -- but his eyes lack the ferocity. They are softer. It presents itself in the easing of the creases on his forehead.

When Mr. Sans finally speaks, looking and sounding wholly -- well, mixed -- Hernmann snaps, without leaving a milisecond of room for Newton, ]

Yes.

[ Drawing himself straighter too, he fumbles, and fumbles, and fumbles still, with getting the bag of carrots under his elbow, so he can tug at his sweater vest (...the one imprinted with skulls...), at his blazer, fussing with a singed thread. ]

Because I am often angered by abominable, inconsiderate stupidity.

[ And, really, Hermann angry -- water is wet. ]

Besides, [ the kicking gravel in his tone smoothing, somewhat, ] with your experience, you shouldn't have any problem with mixed messages.

[alright, that's enough of a hug, and Sans sounds bewildered enough. So Newt's gonna release him, glancing over his shoulder at Hermann, before pushing to his feet. He snorts at the end of that, standing so he can see the both of them at once.]

Don't worry, it just means he cares.

[:> flippantly, but of course with that shit-eating grin aimed in Hermann's direction]

[It's at times like these that Sans really wishes he had an esophagus or a set of lungs or something, 'cause it'd be real handy to cough or clear his throat or do something to fill the expectant silence. Hermann is...mad, but not really at him? Maybe? It just means he cares?

Maybe that means he really is more like Papyrus than Sans gave him credit for, huh?

Fortunately, something that draws his eyesocket very handily solves that minor conundrum of what the hell he's supposed to say next for him.

So he goes for it without shame.]

Woah. You have a skull-print sweater?

[ At Newton's qualifying comment, that deliberately antagonizing grin, the incongruity of Hermann's jaw furthers, deepened by the severity of his scowl. His eyes roll hard enough to hurt, a long show of the whites.

Yet, though he mutters, Please, he dos not otherwise dispute it.

It seems to do so

would be dishonest.

He does not appreciate it being laid so bare, however, and frowns further at and only at the bag -- until of all things -- Hermann's chin whips up, his jaw, mouth setting petulant. ]

One of Mr. Hope's gifts when he sought Hadriel beautified. It is a sweater. It is clothing. What. of. it.?

Yeah, it's like...the only marginally cool thing he's ever owned in his life. I think he's kept it because Hope gave it to him. [suck up.]

[What of it? Nothing! Nothing of it! Sans grins, a little unevenly. A little - just not really sure of how to communicate relief that he's not actually about to burn the bridge that is this, this...ex-roommate situation.

Not sure how to communicate much of anything, to be honest. But he grins, and shrugs, limply.]

It's nice. I like it. [And then, barely missing a beat, tacking the words on like they're a natural and fluid part of that sentence, he adds:] Sorry 'bout all that. Didn't mean for it to down that way. Or, uh, at all, really.

I kept it because you splattered my other sweater vest with paint.

[ ACIDITY LEVELS RISING.

But, stiffly, he would continue with a doubting thank you -- only Mr. Sans keeps speaking.

There, the apology.

That which had not quite materialized earlier.

Hermann hadn't expected it. Had thought it finished. He blinks, the hostility, the tension, everything slipping from his face, jolted from place, scattering. ]

Oh. Well. Yes, fine.

[ His fingers spider, and spider, and flex on his cane's handle. ]

I hope you are more upfront wherever you are staying -- I assume your brother? though he must know to be careful -- it would be too ridiculous to be hurt by such omission.

[Newt huffs a bit at that] You'd think. [hey speaking of--Newt glances at Sans] Bee-tee-dubs, how is your brother's cooking, actually? Because he seemed pretty enthusiastic about pasta but like...had some interesting ideas about how to cook it.

Yeah. Nah. He knows. We just, uh, don't really talk about it much.

[Just one of those things. It's an awkward conversation piece, he knows that much pretty damn well. You don't just walk into the club like "what up, I'm the monster equivalent of terminally ill and have been my entire life" and expect that to be a real good method of breakin' the ice. Papyrus has always known. Long as either of 'em have been alive, they've always known how Sans is -

"Fragile."

Sans's grin immediately grows more relaxed, because Newt's question is a question he's way more equipped to answer.]

Best spaghetti I ever had.

[That is not, technically, a lie. He hasn't tasted any other kind of spaghetti, so Papyrus's is just kinda the metric.]

[ By Jove, but at least the brother knows. Hermann thinks he can believe it. He thinks Mr. Sans lies more by omission. He is not certain of it. He cannot be certain of it.

Frankly, he as much expects Mr. Sans to lie to his face, to their faces, if he felt the occasion called for it. Hermann doubts that question did. It wouldn't be one Hermann would push, either; it isn't his business.

Hermann's conversation with Mr. Papyrus had taken a rather different turn from Newton's, by the sound of it. They had not reached pasta. Hermann glances between Newton and Mr. Sans, gauging. ]

That may mean, [ dryly, ] we should avoid it.

[ Does Mr. San even have taste buds? He sweats, but... ]

Yeaaaaaah, I'm getting that vibe. Just how many different people's spaghetti have you had, dude? [because yeah. Anyway, Newt's going to start stepping towards the chips he dropped on the floor, stooping to retrieve them]

Also...bets on how long that dragon's gonna hang around outside?

[He could try blippin' them all out, but he wasn't really lyin' about not having any real access to his shortcuts. Not like he really wants to exert himself anymore than he has already, frankly. But this is also gonna get to be a bit more unsustainable the longer it goes on, and he don't wanna wait for the dragon to decide to -

...

Uh, so that's when the shop's roof comes off.

The black dragon rears overhead with a menacing hiss, lookin' for all the world ready to make this encounter into somethin' bound to be real painful.

Sans cocks his skull, grinning up at the thing out of simple reflex.]

Heya.

[ uhhhhhhhhh

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ]

D'ya mind? We're kinda in the middle of something here.

[ Ah.

The sound of it is loud, rather. Rather loud. The sound of the roof going, torn almost neatly, though a sprinkling of dust, of pebbles, of things rent. Hermann's head jerks up, his hands going white and fisted on his cane's head, on that bag.

There, the black dragon. A dragon. An actual dragon. It had been as disarming before, but he and Newton had not stopped to stare (or he had dragged at Newton, forbidding that impulse). Hermann gapes, his face drained of all but terror, terror not blood, terror not ire, terror -- and once spent, the snapping into swift, calculating thought.

(A hysterical, illogical impulse, if he stands still, no, Hermann, this is not Jurassic Park's t-rex, and why of all things, would his mind go to that, how many blasted years, years with kaiju, the study of, the defense and offense prepared against, the very obvious fact that such logic had not implied--)

more practically, if it had gotten the roof off, trying to hide behind a shelf or tip something over for those purposes would be futile. There isn't time.

more practically, he is not fast. Isn't there a terrible joke about bears, not outrunning the bear, but one's companion? The numbers are so clear -- if they were to run, even if there was a chance of outrunning a dragon on any person's part, it wouldn't be his chance. ]

Mr. Sans, [ his voice oddly measured, though it is low, scraping gravel, ] have you got anything left? Enough to take yourself, or one? Enough to run? Take Newton --

[ Oh, he won't like that, but it's practical. It makes sense. ]

[So, if there was something Newt expected out of this, it wasn't the dragon ripping off the roof. Experience tells him he should have expected this, but alas, such expectation did not happen. For a moment he's stunned, staring at the maw of the black dragon, having a very intense sense of deja-vu (for a moment, the muzzle staring down at them is not that of a black dragon, but that of a giant kaiju, her teeth tearing at concrete to get to him, eyes trained on him, wanting, roaring in that gutteral lizard-like snarl--)--

--except then Hermann says that, and it's enough to jolt his attention, briefly, for a snap second]

Don't you--[his voice goes higher, cracks--he wants to take a step back, or take a step towards Hermann, or something, but his feet won't seem to move, bolted to the ground in a mixture of fear and awe]--even think about it, Hermann--[his eyes haven't come off the dragon, though. He wants to run. He can't, really. (Oddly enough, the impulse is to run to Hermann, rather than out the door, away from the dragon ]

[And if he weren't backed into a corner before, he sure as hell is now. Bein' trapped in a room with two guys he kinda spontaneously attacked through no fault of his own was one thing, but bein' pinned in a store with no exits and a very angry dragon leering overhead is definitely just - it's a whole other beast. Literally.

What've they got here? They've got two humans, and the only weapons between 'em are the ones Sans has at his disposal. Which means he's gonna have to do a little work. Again.

God but he's startin' to dislike this place.]

Nope, [says Sans, tautly.] Sorry. We're gonna have to run.

[It's a sloppy job, but it might buy 'em some time. He sketches out the rough area of the space the dragon's occupying, and several square feet of blue bones shoot out from the ground, passing through the thing effortlessly as though incorporeal. The effects won't really start to show themselves until the thing tries to move.

And move it does, shifting on its scaly hind legs.

It makes an obvious sound of pain, and he holds every inch of his attack in place, even if he's technically not supposed to let these kinds of things stay in any sorta permanent sense. More of a ghosting in and out of existence type of deal. Still, though, it'll keep the thing in one place.

He can see its HP tickin' progressively lower, but holy god does this thing have a good deal more than 92. He might as well be droppin' water into a bucket.

Sans half-turns to the pair of them.]

Door. Now.

[ Well, Newton, he must be thinking about it, to have said it. Hermann continues to sweep over the shop, as if something would present itself as a viable shield or distraction, when again, the roof had been inadequate. When the dragon will not wait for their conversing or preparation, and has already stayed itself longer than they had any right to expect. In the next second, surely, and he is slower -- We're gonna have to run, Mr. Sans says, which all but confirms the dreaded conviction in his gut.

Then, however, bones. Hermann stares. This, apparently, he had been spared on that day. He stares at the bones, then stares at the dragon, eyes narrowing, seeking the results. Pain, it had some effect in that, but it does not move into swift attack. It shifts, but moves no further. Hermann thinks he understands, or as much as he can.

Mr. Sans does not need to say it twice. Though Hermann does not immediately obey, instead just about launching himself the few steps to Newton, to grab at his arm (dropping the carrots in the process), before running for the door, cane all uneven, hard falls.

Over his shoulder -- if less to say what he does, and more to confirm the skeleton follows. ]

How many tricks do you have up those sleeves?!

[Newt barely needs to be told once, muchless twice. As soon as Hermann is within range, he's reaching for him at the same time, and it's easy enough for them to get hands on each other, and Newt's automatically shifting to take some of Hermann's weight, to urge them along faster.]

Who cares right now?! [squawked because Hermann, seriously??? But he's looking around for some place to hide; another spot they could maybe take shelter in that wouldn't be so easy a target as the shop] We need to find some place to go!

[Newt has got the right idea. Uh, kinda. It's already really puttin' a significant drain on Sans's pool of energy, which was sorta in the negatives to begin with thanks to that hell of a conversation, to keep a blue attack out in the open for this long, and that dragon is not likin' it. He'd really love to warp everyone on outta here. That'd make things real easy.

Unfortunately, "easy" really just ain't the order of the day, it seems.

There's a lotta jokes he could make right now - what else could Hermann've expected, given the fact that Sans is, pretty obviously, a skeleton? 'Course he's got a couple dozen bone attacks prepped. Who doesn't?]

Temples? [he ventures, though he's got no real clue how close one of those might be. He's all turned about at the moment in terms of city location. Dragons'll do that to ya.]

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verinumeri - 2016-10-24 04:12 (UTC) - Expand

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Intro Log: HOLY F^K THAT'S A F&KI%G DRAGON

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1/?? aGAIN IM SO SORRY

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