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

► All TDM threads may be considered canon provided both parties agree and are accepted into the game.

► Canon threads may be redeemed for influence and reputation, depending on how you solve the issue at hand or how you engage with the prompt.

► Feel free to switch up your character's Jewel from thread to thread. Get a feel for how a Birthright Jewel may limit or enchance your character's abilities.

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

GOOD MORNING, DRAEGA (ii)

[Hahaha... It's really cute that someone thinks Mollymauk Tealeaf is going to roll over and behave like a soldier. He signed up for something (due to not having much of a choice with the way things were going), but it wasn't this. So, naturally, he just pulls the covers over his head and grumbles.

Twenty minutes later, there is a drenched, shivering purple tiefling marching into the field and pulling two fancy scimitars out of their respective sheathes on his side. One is a very pretty gold color, while the other has a gaudy hilt bedecked with gems. He faces his opponent and gives a kind of manic grin.

He really didn't think this was gonna be conscription, so much as it was trying to do right by some universe in the hopes that he can do better for his own. That's sort of on him. He's still going to be irritated.]

Good morning. I'd like to apologize ahead of time for however this goes, because today has not started off quite the way I thought it would. No hard feelings?

[He's kind of a cheating little fucker in a fight most days, and he tends to get kinda violent when pressed. It's fine.]

CHARITY IS AS CHARITY DOES

[Here's the thing- Molly doesn't like privilege. In fact, he kind of despises it. The political situation here is kind of beyond him, but while he wants doesn't necessarily disagree with the Blood mentality, there's a lot he doesn't agree with- specifically the fact that this auction seems to cater to people who are capable of doing their own shit. They've got magic, even if it's of a lower tier.

At first, he's willing to joke about it, waiting for his turn on the stage with the rest of the pairs to be auctioned off.]

You know, if they're going to pay for something, you'd think they'd be more creative than this. It's uninspired and a bit lazy, if I'm honest.

[Only to become a little more contrary when he's actually onstage, not even considering the opinions of his partner as he kneels down on the edge of the stage, ignoring the bidding war in favor of the two hovering alongside.]

'Scuse me! Yes, you, good sir. What's your bid? [He looks back at his partner like he fully expects them to either assist or try and stop him. Choose wisely, friend.]

HIT AND RUN

[You go for a walk and you find puppy kickers. It's just like Wildemount. It's enough to make Molly sigh, foisting his meat pie on the nearest person- ideally you, fair stranger, who is minding your own business.] Hold this, please.

[And in Molly wades, hip and shoulder checking people out of the way until he's right in the thick of things in all his flamboyant, colorful glory.] Gentlepersons, is there some kind of a problem? Because while I'm absolutely certain the dog is more charming to your lovers than any of you will ever be, that's absolutely no reason to beat anything to death in the bloody street.

[He scans the crowd, looking for anyone who agrees and might step up. If not, he's gonna do this on his own. And it'll be a good show.]

MR FORTUNE TELLER

[In a little tavern tucked away, Molly has found himself a table and is presently laying out his Tarot cards in a spread, trying to suss out if he's made the right choice. If it was between a chance to help the rest of the Nein and dying in the snow, then of course it has to be right, but it's... officially complicated. Way more complicated than it should be. He fiddles with his jewel as he studies the cards he's laid out. Opal. His favorite, actually, which is nice- opals are for clarity, and yet nothing really seems clear.

He heaves a melodramatic sigh and shuffles them all back. Well, nothing more to be done about that, then. Time to see what he's working with here. He snaps his fingers to get the attention of someone passing by.] You there! You look like someone in dire need of a fresh perspective.

[ nureyev is hard-pressed to find any pleasantries in his mood, drenched and trying to shake off the chill as he's made to face off against someone he can't quite catch sight of until he adjusts his glasses just so. of course. he has two... swords? sure. he likes an unfair fight, odds like this give him a little thrill. thankfully, the unceremonious dumping into chilled water is enough to give nureyev all the edge he really needs, confidence to take on these odds. practice or no. ]

Why, none at all. It appears you and I have found ourselves in unfortunately similar circumstances. Wet. Cold -

[ he flicks his wrist softly and from his sleeve comes an oblong object, and out of that oblong object, the lean, black shape of a blade. ]

- I'll be pleased to make your acquaintance after all of this is settled.

I. Charity

Stone is not exactly familiar with building things, but he is exceptionally strong. And big. So, taking to his fifteen-foot-tall winged form, he clears the old groundling's field in an hour or two, and then his intention is to fly his way across the city to where the groundling with the bad hand is waiting, spending the rest of his time holding things and hammering things where he's told to hammer them.

"You coming too?" he asks his partner-for-the-day, dusting off his now-groundling hands, before he shifts back up. "I'll carry you, if you don't want to walk." Considering this partner just spent the last span of time working beside what amounts to a big, black dragon with a blurry face and claws, that might or might not appeal to them.

II. Hit and Run

The muddy slush vibrates with the sound of a growl more felt than heard, as Stone's hand comes to block the club-- to catch it, in fact. Even in his groundling form, he's stronger than he looks, and though he looks like an old man with gray skin and hair and a bad eye, there's also something... predatory to him.

"No hurting children," he grates out, before shoving the club (and probably its wielder) back a pace.

I. CHARITY IS

[ Back home, an English upper class lady's idea of charity is attending a benefit garden party or helping to run a bake sale. Here, apparently, it involves being auctioned off like cattle to the person who has the most figs. Mary tries not too look too annoyed by the whole proceedings. They are here to help.

After the older witch gives instructions about moving rocks and wanders off back into her house, Mary huffs and looks at the stack around she and her partner. ] She could not do this herself? [ The woman is indeed old, but she has magic. As if Mary is about to stoop down and pick up all of these rocks when she herself has magic now. ]

Surely we can figure out a spell that will levitate these rocks. Hopefully we can make quick work of it.

II. HIT AND RUN

[ Exploring the market leaves Mary feeling a bit depressed. There are so many fine goods available, and, having newly arrived, Mary hasn't got much money to spend. She purchases a meat pie at least and is about to eat it when she hears the commotion in the street.

The young boy manages to tug at her heartstrings. Perhaps it is because she has her own much younger son at home who often plays with the puppy that her family had given to her father. Whatever it is, Mary finds herself drawn in, used to using her influence back home, even though she has none here. ]

Is there a problem here, gentlemen?

[ Mary notices that someone else from the crowd has stepped up next to her. She hopes that it's to help and not to make matters worse. ]

III. WALKIE TALKIE

[ The wireless is a curious thing here. Mary hopes to be able to invest in her own personal one soon, but for now she will have to make do when she's out in public. She's in a small cafe, having some tea and listening to Etiquette with Evandra and Aren. She huffs a little laugh as the program ends on such a cheery note after speaking of such grave matters. Mary turns to the person at the table next to her's, who appears to also have been listening. ]

If only the wireless programs at home were so blunt.

[ Not that any Duke or Earl back home would probably have someone killed over an offense, but people probably did need such practical knowledge about how to react in certain situations. Better to be told than to learn the hard way. ]

IV. WILDCARD

[ Interested in something else? Send a PM and we can discuss! ]

good morning, draega

[ It's rare that demons were actually called to fight. At least, in the cities where the humans lived; overt physical conflict just wasn't a viable option. There were too many chances for civilian casualties and a breach of the code. But here... well. There's no risk of that in a world where magic is acknowledged as native, but Sen has an additional problem. She's never fought with a sword before.

She doesn't look very prepared either; a woman in her late twenties with no weapons in her hands. Sharp brown eyes survey the field, observing what the other Strangers were carrying.

At least, she regards you with mustered enthusiasm: ]

So, how do you want to do this thing?

tinker, tinker

[ Even with her magic, Sen feels more at home when she's making things instead of breaking them. She lacks the bewilderment of some of the Strangers, instead hovering over the materials given with a thinly veiled semblance of curiosity. Some of these are familiar chemicals that she's worked with, while others are alien.

That means it's time to study and see how her Authority would help in accomplishing their task. This isn't that bad at all. ]

Any ideas?

hit and run

[ Sen responds faster than anyone else when the club is raised. It's too familiar, the stench of premonition mingled with memories of a time so very long ago. But she hasn't changed since then - those years in the mountains, broken only by the arrival of the conscripting army. Of people who don't mind their business - and as a demon, she can't simply let this pass.

Yea, it be a crime if the child be hurt and the tyranny of the majority have their way. ]

If you lay a finger on them, I'll burn you to ash.

[ The expression on her face hardens, though it is the burst of flame on her right hand that draws the most attention. Some of the landen passersby quickly back away from her, almost fearful of the heat. ]

wildcard

[ hit me with something and I'll roll with it! ]

I. Better Bombs

This is Rocket's element. Take a bunch of random shit and make something cool out of it. Something dangerous. The only problem is a lack of tools, though thankfully he did bring some of his tools with him for this shit-show.

So even before he's partnered up, he's happily sitting on the floor surrounded by bits and pieces of things, humming to himself as he welds things together with a tiny, portable welder from his tool belt.

II. Walkie-Talkie

"How does this thing even work?" Rocket is prodding at the hand-held radio he's gotten-- fliched, probably, to be honest-- like he wants to take it apart, while the news drones on and he mostly ignores it. "Where's the power source? This place is pretty backward, but it's not that backward, is it?"

I. Good Morning

Food souls don't really sleep exactly, and B-52 no longer lets himself go into stasis. The cold air is quite enough to keep him feeling fresh, so he's one of the first out on the training field, looking alert, polite, and mildly curious. He looks moderately out of place, with his metal arm, his clockwork wings, and the gear-encrusted wand in one hand, but he's obviously game for trying anything.

"I am a Magic class Food Soul," he warns his partner, voice calm and even. "I am better with blasting power and attacking from a distance than I am at direct combat."

II. Hit and Run

Watching humans get hurt isn't something B-52 enjoys. So he steps in-- or rather, flaps his wings with a surge of soul power, crackling as blue flames around his wings, and flies in-- with a calm sort of implacability to his face. "I would rather you not hurt each other, please," he says, quite politely.

i;; but reach out your hand instead.

[ zita notices the couple. of course she does.

as the bidding continues and it looks like the older witch is determined to win the auction, zita's attention keeps flitting back to the couple hovering to the stage. she sees how tired they look, how the man is trying to hide his right hand from view...

not wanting to be too presumptuous, zita doesn't grab her partner's wrist. she reaches out and gently touches it to get their attention, keeping her concerned gaze steady as possible. ]

There's a couple over there. Side of the stage. We need to help them.

ii;; take no shit.

[ zita is a practical woman and, at the same time, an emotional woman.

it can lead to some pretty interesting results.

case in point: her calling the first circle and deciding to physically intervene all the same, her heart pumping at the sight of a child in danger.

she boldly makes her way through the crowd and, soon, shields the boy and the puppy from view (and the clubs, should things get dangerous) with her body. ]

Leave them alone. If you have an issue with them, you have an issue with me first.

[ it's... obvious, really, that zita is not equipped to physically take the man on. but she's clearly sticking to her guns, refusing to budge from the boy's side even as some of the men looked peeved by her intervention.

this could turn pretty ugly, if someone else doesn't intervene. ]

iii;; to (not) take a rain check.

[ someone didn't listen to the weather broadcast.

not long into her morning exploration of the old town bazaar, the rain makes its appearance and she's forced to take shelter under a vendor's stall. while the vendor is kind enough to let her stay there to avoid getting wet - perhaps noticing the jewel on her person - she knows she can't stay here forever. sigh... if she only brought a cloak-

oh! that person's cloak looks big enough for her and them. maybe she can flag them down for help. ]

Excuse me-! Excuse me! [ zita, unused to raising her voice, struggles a bit. ] Hello? Yes, yes- I'm sorry to bother you, but could you help me out in something?

iv;;; wildcard!!

[ want to do something else? feel free to do it here! also, you’re welcome to hit me up/plot with me via my plurk prognostic if there’s something specific you want. ]

[The pale-haired young man with clockwork wings and metal arm is one of the bewildered ones. At her question, he admits, voice polite and calm,]

I know how to maintain my own parts, but I do not know how to make anything new. And most of this does not look anything like my parts.

( good morning, draega )

( this is hell. quill had thought that she'd had a definition of her personal hell already but this place has somehow managed to top that. it should be perfect, getting to train and fight, to be a soldier again except there's one problem. she can't. it doesn't matter that the little prince is nowhere to be seen when she still has that damn creature in her head.

something that quill has repeatedly told the court and yet no one seems to be listening to her. her hands her up, her voice is loud and oh, she is making her protests known )

How many times do I have to say it? I can't use weapons.

( because she would absolutely love to fight. fighting in defence, in protection of the prince has all she's been able to do lately and it's never enough. actual combat-- that would be heaven. she's a quill without a fight and it's suffering )

I'm no use dead.

( build better bombs )

( she's studying all of the materials with a cautious curiosity before taking a seat. it isn't that quill doesn't know what she's doing, these wouldn't be the first bombs that she's ever made, but that she finds some of it-- basic. but this isn't rhodia, this isn't what she's used to working with -- nothing was anymore.

but still she sits, ignoring the instructions that are being attempted to be given to her. she knows exactly what she's doing and is incredibly focused on doing it.

they're supposed to be working in pairs though something that quill is blatantly not doing. can you also recognise that she's not following the instructions or is the one thing bad enough? or curious enough )

( wildcard )

( send me something else, lets get a little crazy )

[Stone surveys the field with what looks like mild impatience, hands on his hips.]

Or I could just pluck all the rocks up and throw them across the wall. It wouldn't take long.

[Wanna get your mind blown, Mary? Your partner might currently look like a tall, gangly old man with skin as gray as his hair and one blind eye, but give him an excuse, and he'll turn into something else entirely. Something much bigger. Clearing a field of rocks sounds like a good excuse, to him.]

Why can't you?

[Rocket looks curious. He's much, much smaller than his so-called partner, and very furry. If she's from Earth, she might just recognize him as a raccoon-- one who talks, wears clothes, and carries a lot of tools on his belt, as well as a collapsed rifle sort of thing on his back.]

[The pale-haired young man pauses. He's not wearing a raincoat or carrying an umbrella, but he does pause, and then he spreads one of the clockwork wings on his back, holding it up and open at about head-height.]

Will this do, to keep the rain off of you?

[He sounds polite, diffident even. Apparently he doesn't mind that he is still getting soaked.]

( she squints down at him. her first assumption is that he's an alien -- she hasn't been on earth long enough to know every animal that exists (and honestly doesn't care about any that aren't cats). plus he talks. definitely alien )

If I try to use a weapon my brain will explode.

( as sarcastic as she sounds she's deadly serious. emphasis on the dead )

[His ears perk up with what is presumably interest.]

Really? How's that work? Somebody got an implant in there, or what?

I. GOOD MORNING DRAEGA

[ She's more than accustomed to earning her keep.

All things considered, it's a fair trade: food, shelter, clothing — all the tools for survival she would need in this strange world in exchange for bouts of training that will, in the end, benefit her. In a land without allies, without any familiarity with its environment and its people, it would be too reckless to throw it all away. For now, adapting and adjusting is the only way to continue onward, self-preserving.

Even then, the advantages can't keep her wariness at bay.

Still, despite the skepticism, she raises the moment she's roused, however begrudgingly. Better to get to work than to draw unnecessary attention, though there is something to be said for the freezing air, even without the sting of cold water on her skin. In the cold air, her skin prickles with gooseflesh, teeth gritting from it as she's paired off. ]

Come on. [ Her breath ghosts out of her, frosting in the air, a visible puff of air. Without waiting for an answer, she turns to the rack of weaponry stashed aside, watching — for a brief moment — those partners that have already begun clashing. Immediately, her hands gravitate toward a set of staves. ] It shouldn't be that difficult.

II. BUILD BETTER BOMBS

[ Working with her hands comes easily.

The schematics are hardly simple, but they're familiar — comfortable, in a way. Finding which parts fit together, discovering how they work, each purpose and value — it's what she's good at, what she's learned. Just as it had on Jakku, it brings with it an outlet, an easy distraction from her predicament.

Her partner, as it stands, hardly catches her attention — at first. To some extent, it's a frustration to be paired off once again — and it shows as she's pulled out of twisting wires and her narrow-eyed concentration by her partner's crackling liquid concoction, frowning as she snaps, impatient, ] Stop pouring. You're going to get both of us blown up.

III. CHARITY IS

[ As far as trades go, it's a ridiculous request.

They're being paid for it, all the same. She can't complain about the reward — three jars of food and decent blankets offered in a bid of desperation — even if the weeping woman who had come to them had wasted her resources on begging them to follow her alleged "cheating bastard of a husban, out at all times of the night, deep in his shady business" to soothe her curiosity.

So far, it's slow-going.

The only crime their target seems to be guilty of is a slimy charm and a tendency to be deep in his cups, inebriated within the hour they've been trailing him to the inn. She frowns, nudging her partner in the side with her elbow when their gaze lingers in that direction for too long. ]

Could you be less obvious about it? [ It's a fevered whisper that hardly qualifies as a whisper at all. ] He's drunk, not blind.

IV. WILDCARD

[ Feel free to bring me your scenarios! I'm very much open; PM me if you'd like to plot something out. ]

Zita seems unfazed by the fact she's working with someone who amounts to a big, black dragon with a blurry face and claws. Perhaps her world is just strange enough to have her used to these sort of interactions.

In fact, she reacts more to the offer than anything else - She seems relieved, if a little embarrassed.

"I am feeling a bit faint," she admits, not used to working this much in terms of hands on activities. "I would love to accept it, if you don't mind."

good morning draega i

[Lucky that Rhus is a Miqo'te with a Seeker of the Sun schedule-- mostly. He was already beginning to wake... then someone had to fucking talk.

Doesn't mean he appreciates hearing some arsehole's voice first thing in the morning, however. He really needs to get out of this place first thing he can, and find a private room of his own in the city. His Miqo'te sensibilities, his need to stay apart from the others when it comes to living conditions, is strong.

Strapping his greatsword across his back, Rhus allows himself a quick smoke before his ten minutes are up, which means he's shuffling into the training grounds with soft eyes and a lazy gait, his tail swaying softly behind him. He's not quite a perky morning person, but not quite a grouch either-- but he wont be taking this seriously until he actually gets some adrenaline pumping in him to burn out what little weed he's managed to smoke. Doesn't mean this feline man wont greet his current training partner with a raised hand.]

Good morn. I don't feel like fightin' too roughly right now, but I don't mind if you're not the same. [Especially if his partner just got doused with ice water. He'll understand the need for aggression.]

charity is as charity does

[Pear preserves are enough of a reward for moving rocks, in Rhus' opinion. He did think on it a little, using his adventurer's experience to weigh the work with the reward, and decides... Hells. It's not that bad, physical labor is easy. Methodical. Pears would make a good meal after a sweat.

But then he spies the landen couple who needs their roof fixed, notices the twisted, mangled mess of the man's hand, and frowns. If he had his white mage cane rather than his dark knight's greatsword... he would have been able to do something about that.

But he elbows his companion-- either in the arm or in the ribs, depending on how tall they are compared to his 5'8" frame-- and nods in the couple's direction. Both his ears are standing up. What do you think?]

hit and run

Hold on for a moment, aye? [Apologies to anyone he's decided to go exploring and shopping in the Bazaar with, because he thinks he's heard something-- though with those big, furry ears of his, just what has he heard? He's following that sound right now, though anyone with some awareness may notice that he holds his tail lower than usual, only a slight bend at the end, with his ears twitching and swiveling around and around. And he moves more fluidly, shoulders hunched, with a stance like he's ready to leap at someone and toss them down-- he looks like a big cat ready to hunt.

A boy and his puppy, being surrounded by young men with clubs. Clearly this is what Rhus was following.

A growl rips out of Rhus' throat, deep and rumbling. He is displeased at what he sees happening here-- in no world does he allow someone to bully a child. He'll break bones to teach such people a lesson, and in fact has. The Miqo'te snags one of the young men by the back of the collar, looking far more dominant despite being shorter.]

You'll want to bugger off 'fore I take something precious off of you.

[Because Rhus? Rhus is readying for a fight.]

wildcard
[[ ooc: if there's something else you'd like, feel free to pm me or make your own starter! i'm easy. ]]

Edited 2019-01-04 01:52 (UTC)

( she pauses, shifting her weight as she crosses her arms )

What species are you?

( absolutely relevant. maybe )

It would. [ just enough to hide her buys for the day, and honestly? that's the most she could hope for.

after zita quickly gives her thanks and good-byes to the vendor, she hurries to the young man's side and ducks her head in thanks, smiling his way now. ]

Thank you for stopping. This is what I get for not checking what the weather will be like before I venture out.

[ zita visibly winces when spoken too, as if hoping to not be noticed at all by her partner, but she's quick to pull herself together. she stands up at full height and tries to look like the picture of calm she most certainly doesn't feel, not wanting to come across as too... you know... pathetic.

especially since she needs to make a confession before anything happens. ]

I suppose honesty is the best policy for situations like these. [ she clears her throat, trying to compose herself.

then- ] I don't know how to fight.

[The Miqo'te is here for an entirely different kind of card-playing, looking for a way to get some coin through gambling if he can-- he can always learn how people play cards here. But his attention is taken up by someone who already has a spread happening... All on his own?

What are those, fortune-telling cards? Not like any cards he's seen before, definitely, and especially not like a Sharlayan astrologian's. Rhus leans over, tail quirking in interest.]

It's that what the cards tell you? [Half a tease, half curious. He never fully got started with his astrologian training after all.]

[ Sen surveys the Stranger assigned to be her partner. This man looks out of the ordinary, but it's never bothered her. Demons have varied forms and she's very sure he's not one of her race's enemies, so it doesn't matter. ]

That's alright. I've made stuff before. I'm just a bit confused. Surely the witch doesn't expect us to actually blow up anything? Then are we supposed to make a prank toy instead?

[ That makes two of them. Sen's cautiousness breaks into a sheepish smile. ]

Um, me too. Not with the cool stuff like pointy sticks. Don't think we're cut out for wrestling either...

[ She knows how to fight with magic, but it's a point of hesitance as the land's lifestream here is inaccessible. ]

Edited 2019-01-04 02:02 (UTC)

[Almost in response, Molly's own tail flicks a bit. Look, when you see a person who also has a tail, sometimes there has to be silent tail solidarity.

He steeples his fingers under his chin, beaming like he's already won some great victory.] No, that's what my eyes tell me. I just know the look of someone who isn't certain what they've gotten into.

[That's a cheap cold read. Molly hasn't met anyone who agreed to the Call that knows what they're doing.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 38

test drive 01

MOLLYMAUK TEALEAF | CRITICAL ROLE

good morning, draega (ii)

Stone of Indigo Cloud Court | Books of the Raksura | OTA

Mary Crawley | Downton Abbey | Opal Jewel

sen yan'an | original | opal

Rocket | MCU: Guardians of the Galaxy | OTA

B-52 | Food Fantasy | OTA

ZITA XI | ORIGINAL CHARACTER | PURPLE DUSK

Tinker, Tinker

miss quill ( class )

I.

Good Morning

iii

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rey | star wars

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rhus (warrior of light oc) | final fantasy xiv

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( prompt one. )

mr fortune teller

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