agentleooc | test drive 01

Entry tags:

!modpost,
!tdm

test drive 01

'Cause I have these new fears I carry with me
So you can feel stronger, you can know peace

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GOOD MORNING, DRAEGA
The psychic summons comes with the first light of dawn, waking you from a dream of home. It takes you a minute to remember where you are (a warm, comfortable room in Queen Fayura's residence) and then a moment longer to parse the words.

*Your presence is requested in the training field behind the Queen's Residence. You have ten minutes to get your ass out of bed on your own, or ten minutes to decide you want to be up to your neck in ice-cold mountain water. Your choice.* Gray power flavors the voice. Ah, you recognize that psychic touch. Allairavar, the Master of the Guard.

You remember, too, that he warned the household at last night's supper: if you live in the Queen's Residence, you practice with the Queen's court. You…

i. Drag yourself out of bed with an aching groan, dress with the bleary-eyed confusion of one too suddenly forced awake, and amble onto the training field to avoid the promise of a much more shocking wake up call. Or maybe you make your way quickly with a skip in your step and a twinkle in your eye. You haven't realized yet that Allairavar does not like morning people. Even so, you don't want to get dunked in ice water in the middle of winter.

ii. Roll over and go back to sleep. The Master of the Guard isn't really going to carry through with his threat. In your defense, he doesn't. But one of the First Circle does. You're not sure how you got from your room to a large barrel full of water that could freeze open flame, but here you are, soaked and shivering and very much awake.

Regardless of how you get to the training field, Allairavar pairs you with another Stranger and puts you through your paces. It's barely above freezing, but you're going to need a shower when you're done.

BUILD BETTER BOMBS
There are three rows of four tables set up in the Tinker Guild Hall's auditorium, all heavy laden with materials. Bits of wires, buttons both small and large, ticking clocks. A tank full of goldfish. Sand, canisters of gasses, a strange viscous liquid in a bowl of lead.

"Handle that with gloves," Master Tinker Mari warns you with a wink and a grin. "The bowl, I mean. Don't handle the liquid or you'll lose your hand." She waves her hands at you.

This is supposed to be a crash course in bomb making, and in a way it is. Master Tinker Mari crashes into person after person, pushing them into pairs. She shoves someone up to you. "Blow my mind!" she whispers dramatically, and then she vaults the table, making something in a vial smoke, bubble, and pop.

Around the edge of the auditorium are four chalkboards, each with several diagrams on them. Presumably, these are schematics for you to follow. Smoke bombs, flour bombs. Fireworks and sparklers. Water bombs—maybe she means water balloons? One schematic requires a hamster wheel.

You might as well give it a go.

Note: Master Tinker Mari won't let anyone blow themselves up (or blow up the building). In the event Strangers make something truly dangerous and not just inconvenient, she will hurry over with a much more serious demeanor and disarm the bomb they've created with a suggestion that they take her advanced course.

CHARITY IS AS CHARITY DOES
You were sent here to help, so help you have: by letting the Ebon Council auction off three hours of your time and the power in your Jewels to help with local troubles. Maybe someone's cold box has lost its cooling spell—that's basic Craft and you can help with that—or maybe someone needs you to fetch their cat down from a tree. Whatever it is, you're here to take care of it.

The stage you stand on creaks beneath your feet as a polite older witch bids on you and your partner (the Ebon Council would never let you work alone, no, the landens are too dangerous for you to be out on your own!) with three jars of pear preserves. No money exchanges hands here, just items like non-perishable foods and handmade clothing or blankets.

You'll help the little old witch who needs some rocks moved from the fields just outside Draega's walls, but it occurs to you that only the Blood were at this auction, and only they will reap the rewards. That's hardly charity… but that's also not your problem, is it? Maybe it is. You could always ask that landen couple hovering just to the side of the stage what they need (their roof is leaking, and the man's right hand is crippled, twisted into a rigid claw). Or maybe you won't. They don't have anything to offer, and everything has a price, even your time.

HIT AND RUN
Chill winter air doesn't keep anyone inside in Draega. Stalls line the streets of the Old Town Bazaar, and vendors hawk their curious wares. Blood and landen mingle here, each a little wary of the other but with the affect of those who have accepted they must live alongside their enemy. Expressions are shuttered, but marks are marks no matter who hands them over. No shopkeeper denies a customer just because the money comes from someone they don't like, not in times like these.

As you make your way through the Bazaar, perhaps in search of something or someone or a place to eat (the scent of meat pies is thick in the air), you hear a shout and a cry of pain. People peel back as one, revealing a group of young landen men carrying clubs and wearing cruel sneers. At their feet, a young boy sprawls across a puppy in the muddy slush that covers the road.

You catch the flavor of his psychic scent: he's half-Blood, one of those pitiable creatures accepted by neither the Blood or the landens.

"Y-you can't hurt him!" the little boy cries, curling around the puppy. "P-Prince Verim will stop you!"

The young men laugh. "Prince Verim isn't here," one spits, raising his club.

You could step back. After all, this isn't your problem. You could just alert the First Circle and call it done; they patrol the area, one of those males will surely be here soon. Or you could step in. Everything has a price, and the price of attacking a helpless child and a puppy is a tussle with you.

WALKIE-TALKIE
Catch up with a new acquaintance you met at the Queen's Residence or simply pause to listen to the news playing in a store you're passing through. Far-casters come in all shapes and sizes, from the held-held device that's a bit clunky to the radios that stand at a man's height in some restaurants. If you're spinning the dial and listening to some radio programs, you'll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren.
[A woman's voice leads. It's a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] …just as well. Since you don't want to die for offending a Warlord Prince's lady, what do you do, Lord Aren?

[A man's voice, chipper and bright. He sounds more like an eager boy than the full-grown man he is.] Apologize immediately to her, but meet his gaze so he knows the apology is for him as well. Remember, dear listeners: a Warlord Prince's lady may be all that stands between you and a violent end. Make sure she likes you!

[The woman laughs.] Or at least doesn't think killing you is worth the trouble. If we all learn a little more about each other, we can learn to live together. As always, I'm Evandra.

[With great gusto, Lord Aren says:] I'm Aren, and you've been listening to…

[Together:] Etiquette with Evandra and Aren! [Jaunty outro music plays, a complete tonal dissonance with the fact that the two were just educating landens on how to avoid murder.]

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.] …rain tomorrow with overcast skies through the morning and afternoon. Landen weather devices indicate a decrease in sky-pressure, so those of you who suffer from migraines may want to talk to your Healers or Medicos now.

There's possibility of snow later in the week from the northwest. Questions about snow removal? Reach out to your local Transport Guild rep or your Ebon Council chairperson.

the news
…Blood family of four found murdered in their homes. The Queen's Court assures Draega that no payment for the murders is being asked for at this time. [The man speaks at a brisk pace, hurried and harried as though he has too much to say and not enough time to say it.]

That's right, Garret. [Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn't sound rushed so much as put upon.] Preliminary investigations do indicate the Hunter Guild may be responsible for the deaths.

[Garret:] Indeed they do, Wilt. Evidence at the scene supports the use of Breakers on the family. Turning now from the grisly murder to the surprising way the Queen's Winsol gift to the city is being used to benefit both Blood and landens.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ he's starting to fall into the rhythm of the fight now.

quill kicks -- with real skill, something that looks like it'd hurt -- and he drops, rolling to the side and coming up kneeling. he uses his momentum to push himself back to his feet, moving to try to get under her arm and slash at her torso. ]

( she's hard to impress but combat is one of the ways to do it -- dodging her blows, hitting back with skill and precision. she doesn't keep still, making light movements, keeping herself ready to quickly respond if she needs to.

and she needs to. the sword comes back up causing her to duck backwards, arm high. it's close and she doesn't want to see if that blade really will cause her some damage.

quill doesn't give him room to breathe though. she turns as she moves, swinging her other arm towards him, hitting with the full side of her arm )

[ he'd half-expected her to strike back without pause -- or, at least, he's not surprised when she does -- but she's quicker about it than he'd thought. he can see her arm coming, but all his momentum is currently pointed in her direction. putting on the brakes is harder, a slower process than he has time for.

which means, she connects. hits his shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and gets him stumbling, off-balance. he's already moving to catch himself, but there's a brief opening for quill in the meantime. ]

( an opening that she takes. with space between them now, his stumble taking him back some steps, she turns again, kicking as she moves, aiming to keep him on the defensive )

You can quit.

( they've only just gotten started and whilst she might be enjoying the fight because after all this time it feels good, she isn't going to go too far with it. not to do serious damage, anyway.

plus, there's always that strategic position of knowing when you can't win. no shame there )

In your dreams.

[ he says, but he's grinning.

here's the thing: demigods play capture the flag in full battle armor, with real weapons. they play war games with monsters out to kill them. chariot-racing is as much about fending off fellow campers' swords, spears, and greek fire, as keeping their horses moving. even the rock climbing walls at camp half-blood clash together and spew lava. the thrill of the fight flows through their veins like blood.

the fact that quill's this strong doesn't scare him; it galvanizes him. he's been hurt worse playing capture the flag.

he ducks, just barely avoiding her kick, and swings riptide at her leg with the idea of unbalancing her -- getting her to stumble or fall herself, trying to dodge. ]

( this time he catches her. it's just a brief moment, the smallest of touches but the blade makes contact, a small cut as she pulls away.

and it's this that unbalances her. as her leg comes back down, mind already steps ahead for what she's doing next, her step is less steady than it should be.

it's strange. quill's felt the cut of a blade before, felt stronger injuries than this in war. for how minute the cut is the pain shouldn't feel like it's ripping through her as it does.

it doesn't stop her. small wobble aside, and a moment of pained expression, she's back to hitting out at him, punching low. she'll work now to disarm him, work in a series of strikes )

[ something registers before anything else: his blade did not pass through her harmlessly. there was a cut, and she felt pain.

he'd suspected she might not be a regular mortal from her questions, from her reactions. but this confirms it. and there's something else, too -- she doesn't turn to dust, like a monster. she's something else, maybe something like he is.

but percy's distracted with this line of thought, and she isn't. so her first strike hits, the next doesn't, and the last knocks riptide out of his hands. the blade will return to his pocket in pen form -- but not for a couple of minutes, which can be a long time in a spar. his hands are empty now, but he tries sweeping a leg out, aiming for her newly injured one again, hoping to knock her legs out from under her. ]

Edited 2019-01-06 19:14 (UTC)

( she doesn't reach for the blade. someone more foolish or at least less confident would. but quill doesn't need the blade, particularly when she can't even use it.

his leg makes contact. normally she'd shrug it off, be able to hold her ground against his swipe. this isn't normal. it's her injured leg that he hits and it sends the pain richocheting back through her.

quill falls, a heavier landing than usual. normally she'd get back up and fight, she still can, but she has a question instead-- )

What is it supposed to do?

( kill is the obvious outcome but she'd like to know how )

[ the question makes him pause, confused, but then he looks sideways towards his dropped blade and gets it. normally, he'd offer a hand to help her up; but since she's hurt he chooses to kneel next to her instead. if she'll let him, he'll move to try to get a better look at her wound. ]

Celestial bronze is hateful to monsters. Mortal weapons don't do anything to them, but stuff like celestial bronze can destroy them, dissolve their essence and send them back to Tartarus to re-form. [ there's a flicker, when he says tartarus, like a shadow in his eyes; there and gone. ] But it's dangerous to gods, too, and just as deadly to half-bloods, like me.

[ pauses, then. ]

And to you, I guess. I'm sorry about that. But if the cut isn't too bad, it should heal like normal.

Edited 2019-01-06 21:05 (UTC)

( quill might get the point that he's making but there's still something of confusion in her expression. monsters, tartarus, re-forming. concepts that she is very unfamiliar with but, possibly surprisingly, not something she rejects. earth was weird and she still had a lot to learn.

when his hands come close she keeps deadly still, rather than flinching away. she'd rather not be examined, she'd have checked herself out later, but this wasn't a normal weapon and he knew about it. so, in a silent mental battle, she lets him look )

I'm not-- any of what you said.

( the only things she really knows what they are out of his options are humans and gods. sort of. but a half-blood? what even is that )

[ he moves carefully, trying to push back fabric just to get a good look at her wound more than anything else. see how bad it looks, or how deep it goes, though he hadn't gotten the sense it was very deep when he'd....you know, inflicted it. healing is really the skill of apollo cabin -- god of medicine, among other things -- but every camper's learned some basic field first aid.

her response is a little strange; because, clearly, she's something. most half-bloods don't start out thinking they are, don't know about their godly parent, but -- quill's far on the old side to be one. it's not a shot at her age. percy's on the old side for a demigod at seventeen; most don't make it past twenty. the exceptions are mainly those who live in the guarded city at camp jupiter, the only safe place on earth for half-bloods to settle down. ]

This is a weird question, but did you know both of your parents when you were growing up?

[ an easy test. gods may fall in love with mortals, may have children with them, but never actually stick around. ]

Edited 2019-01-06 21:31 (UTC)

No, but--

( she pauses, assuming she thinks she knows what he's getting at. he's right, it's a very weird question and coincidentally her answer just happens to fall in line with whatever he's thinking of. quill mothers die giving birth to their litters.

at least, assuming she's following what he's thinking, she can set him straight about something )

Oh, god. ( she can do this ) I'm not actually from Earth.

( don't let her appearance fool you. she didn't always look like this )

[ well, that's -- that's definitely enough to give him pause. literally, he stills, and then slowly looks over at her face. ]

You couldn't have mentioned that earlier? [ he says, like he isn't also keeping secrets about himself. or at least holding back on some facts. ] Where are you from?

[ he's not. actually. thinking aliens yet. blow his mind, quill. ]

Another planet, obviously.

( if only she were more forthcoming. it's a beautiful planet, though quill has as many bitter memories as she does pleasant ones. unfortunately, the most recent of her memories are the tragic ones -- anger, bitterness. just one of the reasons why she's keeping secrets )

You didn't exactly start this telling everything.

( and she's glad he didn't. she might have hit him to shut him up )

[ percy frowns. he looks more dismayed than shocked, or in denial or anything. his life is strange enough that it'd be kind of ridiculous for him to just dismiss someone else's story off the bat. but, still. ]

Wait, seriously? You mean like Signs?

Like what?

( very confused. not from earth, remember? though quill has done not awfully at blending in, mostly thanks to her current human appearance, she hasn't been on earth for all that long. plus move human television she really doesn't see the point in. or most things that humans do )

Like, uh -- oh yeah, never mind.

[ does she even know what a movie is?? better keep it simple. he's at least somewhat used to this, since plenty of immortals are behind on the times too. ]

So you're an alien? But you look, you know, normal.

It'd be a little obvious if I didn't.

( she's also not sure whether or not 'looking normal' is supposed to be a compliment. humans generally disgust her )

It's called blending in.

Good point, I guess.

[ can she manipulate the mist, or something else? his brother tyson, a cyclops, can pass as human because of the magical stuff blocking mortals' perceptions, convincing them that all the magical things they see is just normal stuff. tyson just looks like a tall, big-built kid. grover, with some help from a disguise (hat and pants, mostly, plus special shoes), can pass human instead of satyr. plenty of monsters can make themselves look human, even fooling half-bloods. ]

Geez. There aren't any aliens where I come from. [ then he pauses to think that over, shudders. ] At least, I hope not. No offense.

[ he might've just got done sparring with one, but gods he doesn't want to have to fight aliens...every single creature from greek and roman mythology is more than enough for him. ]

Yeah, where I come from people think that too. On Earth.

( because obviously on her own planet they'd known that they weren't human )

Doesn't make it non-existent.

( proof sitting right in front of him. and because this is tiring )

That doesn't matter. ( the brief pause is the only warning that she's changing the subject ) Where did you learn to fight?

( because most humans weren't so skilled )

Ugh.

[ again, no offense. but he diverts his attention back to her injury -- talk about getting distracted -- long enough to conclude that it isn't too bad. he'd feel really bad if it were; though at least here, there might be some kind of magical healing option, what with the magic stones so many people seem to have. satisfied, he sits back.

where did you learn to fight? she asks, and he considers an answer, if he really wants to bring up camp to a stranger. a strange....alien? geez. ]

A lot of experience. Those monsters I mentioned? Like nothing better than seeking out people like me and trying to kill us. They're friendly like that.

( he goes with why instead. an interesting misdirection, obviously a secret hiding there )

So you're at war.

( very interesting. even if it wasn't war it was a constant and continuous battle. something he fought well )

[ she's right on both counts. it's been war since he was twelve years old, one and then the other. constant battle in the meantime, even now, up to just before the queen of this place had called him. half-bloods have to fight to survive every day of their lives. children with a strong aura, like those of zeus, or poseidon, or hades, attract monsters even more than others.

he pauses at that assessment, jaw clenching. he wants to say no, they aren't. he wants to say that the war -- the war with gaea, at least -- ended half a year ago. he was done with quests and wars, ready to leave them to others. but some of the things apollo recently found out about aren't exactly promising for the future, and -- well, he sees how he gave quill that impression. ]

Something like that.

( something like that. it means there's more to the story and that has her curious. battles and wars are the only things that make her interested in human's lives. luckily for him, as interested as she is she's not a prier. not so obviously )

You fight well. ( rarest of compliments but he'd managed to topple her, even if she'll claim that was more the sword than her.

she tests her leg, pushing herself back up. it hurts, still more than it should but she's not going to die from it. she's had far worse than that )

But you're slow.

( she'd had too many open opportunities )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

test drive 01

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