agentleooc | test drive 02

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!tdm

test drive 02

I know dust grows even when there is a breeze
Can't move, can't grow When you've fallen on your knees

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HOT UNDER THE COLLARD GREENS
The relationship between the Blood and the landens has never been easy anywhere, least of all Draega, and even less so now that the Strangers have arrived. Between Blood and landen, opinions on the Strangers vary wildly. Some Blood believe the Strangers were landen in their original worlds and thus cannot possibly have anything to offer, but some landens think this means that the Strangers will be more sympathetic to them—or that landens could gain the power of the Blood one day, too. Then there are the landens who think the Strangers have sold their souls to Queen Fayura to gain the Jewels and the Blood who think the Strangers have embraced what it truly means to be Blood. Whatever that means.

Tensions are high, and they're highest on the main street of the Old Town Bazaar, where two restaurants have an on-going feud. The Last Meal is owned by a Blood family, none of whom wear a Jewel darker than Yellow. Across the street from them stands the mockingly named Blood and Breakfast, owned by a landen family.

To say these two hate each other would be something of an understatement.

On this particular morning, Lord Harle, the Yellow Jeweled owner and chef at The Last Meal, comes storming out of his front door. "You've done it now, Laney Cook! Soured all my milk!"

Simultaneously, Laney Cook, who is the owner and chef at Blood and Breakfast, comes stomping out the front door of her establishment, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. "Aye, and you've replaced all my sugar with salt, you ripe old bastard!"

Without missing a beat, both turn to you and the Stranger at your side. Wrong place, wrong time, friend. The two chefs decide the two of you can be trusted to help them prove the other party guilty of sabotage because neither of you has a stake in this. And, well, if the Queen brought you here, you should be an independent party. Both Harle and Cook seem to think the Queen is pretty okay.

Truthfully, they're both equally guilty. Lord Harle and Ms Cook have been trying to ruin each other for years, but who knows what you'll find when you go searching for evidence. And even if you find evidence that decides one way or the other, perhaps you'll simply lie and manufacture a solution that suits you—or the Queen who brought you here.

TERRIBLE TWO(HUNDRED)S
You're not entirely sure how this happened, but you're starting to understand why Blood females constantly grumble about the caste of males they call Warlord Princes. Prince Loren has, somehow, managed to maneuver you to the place you're at now: the head of a classroom full of Blood children who all look like they're somewhere between the ages of eight and ten. It's hard to tell, and you're pretty sure one bossy little boy declared he was 203-years-old, so everyone else has to listen to him, thanks.

Regardless of how Loren managed to get you there, there you stand. Fifteen energetic elementary school children all wearing Jewels shriek and shout, using Craft to amplify already shrill voices. One girl floats near the ceiling, her face screwed up in concentration as she clutches a Rose Jewel. Two little boys are taking turns passing their hands through their desks, which strikes you as distinctly unsafe for eight-year-olds to be doing. (You're not wrong.)

At least there are two of you, and you only need to babysit these children for the morning. "They're here for Craft lessons. Surely, you can manage until Lady Sheera arrives," Loren had said before abandoning you to a battlefield full of powerful, pint-sized children.

There's a lesson plan on the teacher's desk, but maybe you should lead with the snacks.

REVENGE, SERVED STINKY
The air is crisp and cool; it's still winter, but it's not as chilly as it has been, and so you're out for a walk. You've made your way north through Old Town and now find yourself meandering down the roads in front of the landen Guild Halls. Even though they're all made of red brick, each building is entirely unique. The Hunter and Crafter Hall, the largest of all the buildings, has more in common with a hunting lodge than the university building it once was. The Elektriline Hall might be the smallest building, but it's covered in neon lights and impossible to ignore.

Equally impossible to ignore is Master Tinker Mari and her collection of landen young adults. They're clustered around a storm drain. When Mari sees you, she detaches herself from the group of landen students and bounds over to you. "Ahhah! Stranger! You have been brought here against your will and are surely sympathetic to our cause!" she exclaims.

That doesn't make you feel too great since, you know, you're aware that the Hunter Guild tried to kill all the Strangers maybe two or three weeks ago. They may have mellowed out, or they may just be biding their time. Thankfully, none of Mari's students bear the markings of a Hunter.

She pulls you to the group. Already, canisters have been lowered into the sewers. A handful of students have clambered down after the canisters. "The Blood wouldn't help us repair the damage in Old Town," she says, rubbing her hands together. "Our people's homes were unlivable. So we're going to make their workplace unbearable." She points at the canisters. "Stink bombs."

There's another Stranger in the group, and you make eye contact over the top of the storm drain. Are you of the same mind as each other? As Mari? The choice is yours: agree to Mari's plan and fill the buildings of the Ebon Council with untenable stench or try to convince them there's a better way.

AIR TIME
Whether you catch the news on a Far-caster in the city or you're spinning the dial on your own device, you'll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren
[Evandra's voice is a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] Today we're talking about everyone's favorite subject.

[Aren's voice is chipper and bright. He sounds more like an eager boy than the full-grown man he is.] Food?

[A laugh from Evandra.] No, Lord Aren. Sex and flirting. Culturally, the Blood don't consider it rude to flirt quite blatantly with each other, even when one or both of the parties is married. Isn't that right?

[Aren:] That's exactly it, Evandra. Older males allow young witches to flirt because it's understood that the male isn't interested or available. He becomes a safe partner for her to practice on, and his approval lets her know what is and isn't acceptable.

[Evandra:] What does it mean if a married male or witch flirts with you?

[Aren:] Casual flirting means that witch or male thinks you're safe. It's their way of telling you they feel comfortable around you. Of course, it's always acceptable to ask them to step back! [He laughs.] As we all know, just because you can flirt with a Warlord Prince's lady doesn't mean you should!

[Evandra:] Let's take a look at casual flirtation between different Blood castes…

the weather
[A soft-spoken man's voice rumbles out of the Far-caster. He's pleasant to listen to, with a soothing cadence to his voice.] Warmer temperatures will see melting snow over the next week. Be careful around the Heartsblood River, as the heavy snows will result in flooding along the banks. Need flood insurance? The Transport Guild is looking to expand into…

the news
…amusing to hear that Grand Master Niall blames the Blood for the fires in Old Town. It is my understanding that members of the Blood, these so-called Strangers, went out of their way to rescue both Blood and landen during the fires set by the Grand Master's Hunter Guild. [The man speaking has a slow, clipped cadence to his voice. It's very posh and polished.]

[Another voice, presumably an interviewer:] The Council counts the Strangers as Blood, Lord Grejor?

[Grejor:] What else can they be? They wear the Jewels, therefore they are among our number. [He laughs, and the sound is cold.] The Council is pleased to welcome our new brothers and sisters.

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[Being handled gently, even for a moment, is still a faintly confusing thing. His mother had been gentle with him, Horatio half-remembers, but that had been the lifetime before what felt like a lifetime ago already.

Even this has the tips of his ears beginning to heat slightly. Happily, it feels appropriate to reach up once she's done and attempt to fuss the curls back into place--and, hopefully, a few of the loose ones more haphazardly over his ears.

His reserve ten-pound note had been in his pocket when he fell asleep in the attic of Mrs Mason's, and it had been there still when he woke up here. Horatio pulls it out now, fingering the useless bill for a moment before letting out a breath and vanishing the scrap.

Calling the note back takes a beat, but it does fizzle back after a moment. It doesn't quite come to his hand, floating fretfully in the air before him, but he's quick enough to catch it again.]

--just practice.

Well, you make me look like an oaf. Look how neatly you did that. I don't think you concentrated as much as I did, either.

( Sansa frowns a bit and concentrates on vanishing her earrings from one palm and calling them back into the other. She manages to bring one back properly and the other clatters on the desk behind her. Oh. )

[They have a plan. That plan makes best use of the resources they have and anticipates the likeliest breakdowns in the initial stages. This is good. This isn't, say, anything worthy of an actual smile, but it's better than where Horatio had thought they would be.

There are a handful of children to cluck at softly, with the odd reassuring touch of a shoulder or comforting mutter as their classroom's ecosystem begins to shift and change around them. That has most of Horatio's attention when Daylight speaks again.]

...as you like, Mr Daylight.

[That's sorted, then, surely. It will be a bit of a struggle against his instincts to keep 'sir' off his tongue, but that's an infinitely survivable struggle.

And his own name isn't terribly important, so they can just skip straight over that the way Horatio has skipped straight over 'all-around sensors' and 'upgrade.']

Hey, it's way more than a toy!

[ or at least it has the potential to be so — right now, yeah, it definitely looks like it's a toy and nothing else.

as if to demonstrate, the valdez-o-copter does a flip in mid-air, before spouting out something that vaguely looks like smoke but smells like a weird mixture of motor oil and tacos, neatly obscuring it from sight.

one of the kids shouts, hey, where did it go, and a few others start floating up to see if they can't find it. leo silently congratulates himself on a distraction well executed. ]

And don't worry, man, most people don't. I'm a sparkling unicorn of specialty.

[ Piper shrugs. She's pretty sure people drink here, but she hasn't exactly gone looking for it. ]

Pubs, then. [ She tilts her head a little and then - decides not to ask. ] Good luck finding them, I guess.

Terrible Two Hundreds

He peers around the room, folding his arms. It is obvious he's not entirely pleased.

"Craft lessons? Craft lessons? All this and you want to build Turkeys out of popsicle sticks? Nah. There's a whole world to explore." He grins.

"Come on! Everyone in a line... Close enough. And let's see what's out there." He glances at his companion. "Ready?"

---
---
Revenge Served Stinky

He's not one to judge by markings, or people trying to kill him. It's a bit difficult to take it personally since it happens so often. People trying to kill others has a different ring to it, but since he's still getting used to the politics and ideals at this place, he's not ready to jump the gun too quickly.

The Doctor joins the group readily enough. Seeing another stranger has also been lured in and makes his way over to them, hands folded behind him.

"What d'you think? Anyone could use a good revolution. Even if it is a bit revolting."

Jonathan is slightly more sceptical considering he still quite vividly recalls the first night he'd arrived and the carnage that had followed, and he's not certain that this particular plan is going to benefit anyone.

"Revolution is one thing," he says, looking at the other man with a faint frown. "But I don't think that this will help the already strained tension. Surely it would be better to try and organise help for these people instead of lashing out."

"Mm." He supposes it is the more rational reaction to all this. And he is here to help. He likes to help. He needs to help for the benefit of so many. He knows the best solution is to help them rebuild their homes and a more peaceful one besides.
...
But the injustice of it galls him. Sure, they can find help to repair the homes.

"And what about the next time? Or if something else happens? If people are ignored too long, something starts to break." It's also not right. "What harm could a little smell do?" It's actually almost a question. He's still too new and doesn't know because it could be anything. Politics were fragile and prickly and he didn't want them further hurt on top of what was already happening.

[That is an entirely different word than far-caster. More than that, it's not a word that has any independent meaning in Horatio's mind. It's a bit like 'radius,' but for once Latin isn't giving him very much assistance.

Saying as much would be another admission of absolute failure at the most basic aspects of the world they've found themselves in. At the same time, not saying as much is surely nearly as damning as he continues to blink at the other young man.

Has he been silent too long? Almost certainly. Will it be made worse by abruptly saying 'no' with a vehement embarrassment?]

--no.

[Time to find out.]

[That's his ears entirely scarlet, then. There's simply no help for it--nor are there sufficient loose curls from his queue to sufficiently hide the flush.

The Justinian is time enough away, but there hasn't been much shaking the odd horror in his gut that comes of doing well at the simplest things.]

Hm. [The note is tucked away again, safe and secure despite its current uselessness.] As I said, ma'am. Just-- practice.

[This was the easiest thing to force himself through over and over again while lying awake until the small hours of the morning, draining his own energy until his mind could be properly switched off. Everything else was still a shambles.]

Steady does.

[ 'mr daylight' is kind of an improvement. even if he feels like he's being interviewed for his position on the lornful light again, this is a definitely upgrade in his optics.

and don't think you can be sneaky with him...! upon noticing that a name hasn't been offered yet, daylight puffs out a cheek in disapproval but doesn't press on it.

there are desks and chairs to be stacked and kids to herd to the center of the quickly emptying room, so, hopefully, chances of a name being given will come up soon. he's not sure what to address his partner besides... er.... as 'partner' and 'mister' which doesn't seem fair to the guy.

but back to the stacking- ] There we go!

[ with a triumphant little 'off' under his breath, daylight gets the last of his chairs out of the way. he manages to keep his designated wards from running out of the room, so he thinks that's a success. ]

Are you okay, mister? Do you need any help?

Ah, well, I still applaud your efforts. You're coming along better than I am, my lord, and I think that's commendable.

( Sansa can see his ears are a bit pink, though, so she tries not to embarrass him further. He seems quite a modest person and it's refreshingl men in Westeros aren't normally this way but he does remind her a bit of Podrick and his persistent shyness. It's comforting to her.

The children seem to be in hand, so much as children can be when constantly vanishing and reappearing things, and Sansa tips her head a bit in invitation.
)

Could I treat you to a cup of tea later? You've been a help today.

Oh.

[Twist: this makes Emil feel like an idiot more than it makes him think the reverse. Well, this is new... doesn't know what a radio is...]

You must be from someplace really- [don't say "pitiful," Emil, for god's sake-] -simple?

[Surely, if they don't have radios, it must not be much of a place to be from! That's the logic here; what kind of place doesn't have radios besides one that's critically behind the times? Emil folds his arms and looks at the far-caster, considering.]

Well, hmm, this is pretty much it? I don't know what else to tell you about them.

[It's a near thing, really. The bustle of movement is a wonderful opportunity for the tenuous control they've achieved over the room to snap, particularly with the promise of something akin to freedom close at hand.

Horatio has a fairly tight grip on the back of one of the rowdier boy's shirts when his fellow babysitter turns back again, a certain tightness in his features that he can't quite exhale away.]

Would you start us off, perhaps?

[One of them ought be able to get away with playing--and clearly the children would enjoy it.]

['Simple' isn't the end of the world, but it twists Horatio's gut all the same. 'Simple,' after all, is exactly how many of his brother officers would describe the quiet streets of Hythe and his father's little clinic.

Still, a quick roll of his shoulders helps shake things back toward what truly matters (at least, now that they aren't being ridden out of town by the general population).]

How do--? [The machine is still making fretful little noises, but Horatio risks poking at it again gently.] How does it-- get in there?

[What the right questions are to ask about this witchcraft?]

Hm. [Turning his attention to flit back over the students doesn't actually help with the continued twisting in his gut. There's nothing quite as discombobulating as brief praise, after all.

Except for social invitations.

It's too soon to clear his throat again. It's too impolite to reply in the most natural way, with the brusque inattention he might have had for a fellow officer. This has to be gentler. This has to be something more like speaking to Mrs Mason's daughter after a particularly trying day.] I'm-- certain I am at your disposal, ma'am.

[There. That's well done, surely?]

Well, that's settled then. I'd be happy to have tea with you. Of course, we're at the mercy of whatever hospitality the Queen sets out for us but the company, at least, will make up for any dearth in quality.

( Sansa softens her expression just a bit, a smile playing at her lips. )

I really do appreciate the help.

[How... does it get in there.

Of all the questions he could have asked, Emil wasn't expecting that one. There's not knowing what a radio is, and not understanding basic concepts like communicating with technology. Here's the real problem, though: Emil has no earthly idea how radios actually work.

So, uh.]

Uhhhhh... electricity? [He tapes on the top of the device, considering it. Yes, that seems totally correct.] Someone out there is talking into the other end of it, more or less.

[There's no becoming accustomed to being smiled at this much, Horatio is entirely certain. Still, exposure could make anything more bearable--and this, surely, would be somewhat easier to be accustomed to than the last few years had been.]

It's my-- [The thought is interrupted briefly, attention snapping to one of the boys whose attention seems to be wandering from his practice. A sharp noise in the back of his throat seems sufficient to draw the child back to attention for the moment.] --absolute pleasure.

[That sounds quite proper, once he's said it. Perhaps this won't go so terribly after all.]

Good. Then we have set a date. I shall have to see when our schedules are both free so we can have this cup of tea - I believe the Blood intend to keep us busy while we're among them.

( This particular favor included among them. Sansa's never taught before but it seems to have gone all right for a first time. A woman enters the room and introduces herself as Lady Sheera; that's who Prince Loren said the teacher was so Sansa turns to Horatio. )

It seems we have been relieved of our duty, my lord.

Huh? Oh! Sure!

[ standing up straight, careful of the decorations on the ceiling, daylight gives a quick whistle to make sure everyone's attention is on him.

the kids don't need much encouragement to gawk at daylight - many of them craning their necks to catch sight of the grinning giant before them. even the boy that horatio is holding by his shirt calms down a bit, twisting himself so he can face daylight proper. ]

Alright! Guys-! [ he claps his servos together, doing his best to be the chipper distraction until the actual teacher can come in. ] We're going to play a game of tag. I'm sure we know the rules: One person is 'it' and for them to not be 'it' anymore, they need to touch someone else and that person is now 'it' and so on.

How about we make it more challenging? [ a lot of kids look interested now. some lean forward to better hear his proposal. ] How about... No use of our Jewels?

[ the children are about to groan at the idea - with the boy horatio is holding going, 'really?' - when he adds: ] I mean- Think about it! Whoever doesn't use their powers prove they're the bestest tagger ever! Who wouldn't want that as bragging rights?

[ are the kids... are the kids seriously considering this... ]

[The answer to so many thing in this world has simply been 'magic.' While there's surely an internal rhyme and reason to Craft, Horatio hasn't begun to get his head around it. There's so much more hope for the mechanical--for the idea of mechanics applied beyond what he's accustomed to in something nonetheless explicable.

That said, thus far, this "electricity" business sounds a bit like a code word for "slightly different magic."

His first impulse is to look for a physical connection. His fingers twitch over the devices fretfully, trying to imagine what "the other end" might be--and how in the world the sound was traveling from "out there" to here as seamlessly as if from the other end of a room.]

Someone quite close by?

[The walls of the classroom were still standing. The children were all still present and accounted for (with, by Horatio's quick count, the right numbers of limbs and eyes). Perhaps nothing much had been learned, but a bit of practice had been achieved.

Certainly close enough to a success, Horatio allows himself, as his fingers lift to automatically knuckle in Lady Sheera's direction.]

So it would seem.

[Which only leaves the slightly inelegant scramble to catch the door open properly for Sansa. Duty, after all, is never truly done.]

( Horatio's manners are impeccable, actually, and Sansa cannot help but smile at him once again as she exits the door and waits for him on the other side. He's sort of quiet, yes, but he seems kind and worthy of friendship. )

Hopefully we won't get conscripted into teaching any time soon. I do not know if I have the mettle to teach children. It's been a long while since I've been around any.

[It's clearly science!! A thing Emil knows shit-all about, so functionally different magic, yes. Never mind that now.

Maybe he'll keep it simple, for the sake of his fellow social pariah. Simple, simple...]

Maybe? They could be in another country for all I know.

[Perfect. That's easy to digest.]

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test drive 02

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the Doctor || Doctor Who

sup!

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