tdm 03

[thestewards]

Oh we were comin' around You threw me back down
You had my trust in your hands You gave it up again

► 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. They also count toward AC.

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

VIGILANDEN JUSTICE
Newcomers may have heard: just two weeks ago, the Blood attempted to sabotage the power plant just outside the city. For a brief time, the city plunged into darkness and during that time, Councilwoman Vera was shot and killed in the Old Town Bazaar by a young landen man. A small flower now grows where she died. No matter how many times it’s torn up, it grows back.

Following these events, the Strangers overwhelmingly chose to aid the power plant that keeps the lights on. With the perception that the Strangers are on their side, young landen men and women have grown bold. In the night, they creep into River East, where the Blood live.

Some of these gangs of landens do little more than paint Guild symbols on the walls of Blood homes: a hexagon with circles at each joint for the Guilds as a whole, the Tinker's hammer, the needle and jewel of the Crafters, the double-arrow of the Hunter Guild. They cover walls with incendiary words—words like bleeder and bastard.

Others are not so kind. They bring portable muters with them and break into homes. They steal both precious and mundane possessions, frighten children, and terrify parents. They go to the single altar in Draega and smash the treasures of the Blood’s faith, knocking over candles and lighting tapestries that honor the Darkness on fire.

Have you friends in Draega already? Perhaps you met someone at breakfast at the Queen’s Residence, and now as you walk the streets together, you come across one of these landen gangs. The news is full of reports about what they’re doing. Now, it seems, the choice is yours. Do you stop them or join them? The Queen has asked you to help broker peace between the landens and the Blood, but she’s also given you the worst freedom of all: that of choice. Perhaps you think it best to support these gangs in their desire to even the odds against the Blood.


WARM FRONT
The explosion at the power plant caused a surge of power that damaged elektriline heaters in homes across Draega, leaving many in the cold. The Queen, seeing her people in need, immediately dispatched her court to provide heating spells for these homes. She also asked the Strangers, both those still living at her residence and those living throughout the city, to lend their aid, too.

Members of the First Circle provide a quick lesson on how to cast warming spells. These can be wrapped around people or attached to items, such as small stones or large ovens. Depending on how much power is infused into the spell, it can last for an hour or two or upwards of a few days (especially when cast by a darker Jewel).

Many in the First Circle insist on going to the homes in River East—the Blood homes, places where they are more likely to be welcomed. Some certainly choose this because being around the landens makes them nervous and uneasy, but some outright refuse to help the landens, especially those who live in River North where the Guilds do their business. Prince Barret and Lords Jared and Yarl in particular won’t go to the landen parts of town, leaving you and your partner to canvas Old Town, River North, and perhaps even the slums to see if anyone would like your help.

Certainly, this will not be easy, and the Queen has promised a silver mark for each household you and your partner help.


POISONED GNATURE
Warmer weather claws its way across the land, lifting the temperatures above freezing for the first time in months. While much of the city reacts with relief, and the air in the Bazaar improves in spite of the violence and tension that hovers over the city like a black cloud, the farmers outside the city walls are dealing with their own troubles: cold-resistant mosquitoes carrying disease from the frigid mountains of Askavi.

Stagnant water fills troughs and furrows in the earth, becoming a toxic breeding ground for more of these awful pests. The mosquitoes have little interest in humans, but they’re hungry for animal blood. Most animals bitten by the mosquitoes die within a day, their meat rendered inedible.

Food is already scarce and stores run thin. If more animals die, people won’t just be a little hungry or disappointed in the tasteless porridge many are serving as a hold over until summer, they will starve.

The landen Guilds provide a thick, smelly paste that can be spread over the animals, and the Queen requests the Strangers aide the farmers. She, too, can be found working among the stables with Prince Verim or Prince Allairavar at her side, doing her part to ensure the city remains fed.


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.] …understanding that some people— [She’s being polite about it, but she definitely means the Strangers.] —don’t know how to address a Queen!

[Aren’s voice is chipper and bright. He sounds more like an eager boy than the full-grown man he is.] Quite right, Evandra. For Blood females, remembering titles is easy. Every witch you meet should be addressed as Lady.

[Evandra sounds a little surprised.] Even though male castes have different titles of address, a witch is always called Lady?

[Aren:] That she is! A working Healer or Priestess should be addressed by their caste, but if you’re just being polite in casual conversation, calling her “Lady” is enough!

[Evandra:] As they say: whether warm or rainy, when you meet on the street, you address her as Lady.

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.] …rains coming out of Askavi over the next week. Farmers are advised to cover their plants. When outside in the rain, Blood should shield and landens should wear heavy cloaks to protect their skin. Worried about lesions from the rains? The Medicos have a new salve that…

the news
[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.] …appointing someone new to the Ebon Council?

[Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn’t sound rushed so much as put upon.] It’s hard to say, Garret. With the Strangers in the city, it’s likely that Lord Grejor is waiting to see if any are willing to bring the young assassin to justice.

[Garret:] The landen who killed Councilwoman Vera is a member of the Crafter Guild and is currently being held by the Queen. There have been reports that the Queen means to implement some new process for judging offenses by the end of the week…

Comments

shiro | so i'm a spider, so what?

[webdomain]

i. warm front

[Shiro has never handled the cold well. It simply does not agree with her physique. The warming spell being shared by the First Circle is just what the doctor ordered and provided a way cheaper method to warming up than her first instinct. The part where she was supposed to go use this knowledge to help the less fortunate? She didn't hear anything like that. It's fine, right? Right.

Not far from the demonstration she's parked on a bench, a little stone resting in her lap. She appears to be the picture of comfort despite only wearing a simple white shift as protection from the cold. Her expression might be completely blank but the warm cozy air is as inviting as a warm fireplace. Maybe you've been struggling to make to cast the spell and want a reprieve from the chill. Or maybe you noticed how quickly and effortlessly she cast the spell and mean to drag her off to work. Whatever the plan she doesn't appear to be voluntarily moving any time soon. Her bench now.]

ii. poisoned gnature
a.
[How did she let herself be dragged out here? Playing around in the fields surrounded by bugs and disgusting medical salves does not sound like her ideal time. In fact far from it. So far. And if one more mosquito buzzes by her ear she's liable to snap. That's to say, she was already well past her breaking point with the bothersome insects.

Shiro is squatting down by one of the ditches staring, as close as one can get to staring with their eyes closed, at the stagnant pools of water. She's completely motionless but the air above the water appears to be vibrating. With clumps of insects struggling valiantly against thin spider's thread. Thread that is spanning the entire length of the ditch in an intricate pattern. Some mosquitoes need to be reminded of their place in the food chain. Struggle with all your might, you can't escape her unmatched thread! Cry for help from all your powerless relatives! Perish!!

She's pretty proud of this one. If anyone passes by she'll look over and tilt her head slightly towards the ditch. Praise her.]

b.

[Unfortunately, those webs were pretty useless since it's not like she can subsist off a diet of mosquitoes. Not like she would actually eat insects anymore. Gross. Those dead cows though? Now that had some potential.

The farmers had said something about the meat no longer being eatable but it still seemed like a waste to Shiro. It's not like it was poisoned or venomous. Just a little off. People were really picky, you know? Well, she was picky too but compared to going hungry she could stomach some bad meat. She's eaten worse. It probably wouldn't kill her.

After standing next to the cow carcass for Well Too Long she reaches towards one of the legs. And proceeds to start pulling. Please stop her.]

iii. Wildcard!

[Come at me with whatever! My plurk is chocoletto if you want to send a pp.]

( poisoned gnature; a. )

[sunborne]

Oh wow that's so cool!

[ and, of course, daylight (currently in his avaform) is always quick to let his awe be known when he sees something cool happen and this? this is pretty cool.

he was busy rubbing paste on all the animals he could get his hands on when he realised he's the only one doing this task. admittedly, he had been a bit annoyed at someone playing ding dong ditch the chore but any annoyance or question fades away when he sees his partner standing over one of the stagnant pools - one now covered by... spider thread?

spider thread. it's definitely spider thread. pretty spider thread, for that matter.

he hurries over, eyes wide and bright with interest. ]

Did you do this all by yourself? [ he had been wondering where his partner for this had gone off to but this question takes priority.

day leans forward, admiring the intricate pattern that can be seen in the web. it's a little... creepy to look at, given the amount of mosquitos struggling in its hold, but he can't deny the level of detail that can be seen. ] That's amazing!

gross. b

[illequipped]

[Emil is here with his generously-provided bucket of nasty-smelling paste because the idea of sad animals is the most tragic he's heard in so many weeks, and it's awful (the paste), so to say he's already a little nauseous is a polite way of putting it.

He does not, in any respect at all, expect to find a girl out here pulling a dead cow apart limb by limb. What? What the hell??

He stops short some few yards in front of her, at a loss - first, gross, second, what is he supposed to do with this bucket of nasty shit now that this animal is already dead? Jesus. So. He does the only reasonable thing, putting his bucket down on the ground before he turns away and politely throws up his breakfast into the grass.]

[sinistral]

Vigilanden Justice;
A strange dream, a strange offer, a strange world. Nothing about this situation feels right: from the palace and its rules to the city and its politics. But — putting aside for the moment that he may in fact be crazy and that this might all be in his head anyway — Bucky decides that the best course of action is to take to the streets of the city, partly to explore and partly to just get away. Staying all day in the fantasy castle probably isn't conducive to deciding whether or not the fantasy castle is actually real. Of course, the streets come with their own problems, namely the gangs wandering through what Bucky has been told are Blood areas of the city. He still doesn't understand the politics of it all but violence is something he understands very, very intimately. The intent to do harm gives a person a certain stance, a certain nervous energy — especially when that person isn't a professional soldier. He picks it out easily, trailing the knot of young men like a shadow.

It's when they make to move on a woman with two children that he moves. The man at the front brandishes something that looks sort of like a gun and sort of not like a gun but it's clear he's the threat and ringleader both. His gang had been expecting an easy mark, maybe. What they get instead is a supersoldier moving through their ranks like nothing, disabling two of the group before they even realize he's there, making a line right for their leader. It can't even be called a fight; it's more a very efficient, very quick disarming. His flesh hand holds the young man's wrist in a firm grip. It's not tight enough to bruise, but it's very much something he won't easily break. The other hand squeezes, reducing the weapon to scrap metal. "You really don't want to hurt anyone today," he says, quiet and calm. "Do you?" It's not really a question.

The young man glares balefully at him before nodding; when Bucky releases his wrist, he and his compatriots run off. Bucky lingers for long enough to watch them disappear around a corner before turning away himself, nodding awkwardly at the thanks of the woman and her children. He hadn't done it for them specifically, but he had done it, and with little thought beforehand. That's something he needs to digest.


Warm Front;
Magic. It's magic, and Bucky's half convinced that he really is crazy, that this really is some sort of fever dream. Or worse, hallucinations from being so long out of cryo; with no memories of his own, his brain has clearly substituted flights of fancy instead. He doesn't understand any of it but apparently the jewel thing with which he'd woken is of a desirable color, enough to give him some sort of skill with this so-called Craft.

Yes, he's definitely gone crazy; there's simply no other explanation.

Regardless of his feelings on his own mental state or on the political tensions, he finds himself in the city with another person who's apparently also been brought here from somewhere else. Which is maybe sort of a little comforting unless the person and the story are both also figments of Bucky's imagination, but that train of thought promises to be much more convoluted than he wishes to consider, especially not when they enter the rougher-looking parts of Old Town. Slums don't bother him — they're a great place to find information more often than not — but information relies entirely on people who want to share. Or who can be persuaded to share but he doesn't think this calls for his particular brand of persuasion, especially considering that offering warmth seems like it can be a very strong bargaining chip.


Poisoned Gnature;
Bucky doesn't mind work. He doesn't mind hard work, doesn't mind any sort of physical labor at all, and in fact prefers to keep active. Smearing mosquito-repelling paste on livestock isn't at all what he'd imagined for work though. He understands the importance of it certainly, especially given his own metabolic needs, but he hadn't quite been prepared for the reality of the work — namely, the exact nature of the thick, sticky paste. And how it adheres to metal as readily as it does to animal hide.+ It's going to be trouble, he can tell from the start. But starving would be even more trouble. And if even this supposedly powerful queen is stepping in to see to the welfare of the farm animals, he supposes he can do no less.

Especially if she really can follow through with that promise.

It's that in particular on which he chooses to focus; that and the simplicity of the task. Fortunately the work is rather straightforward; there's no grappling with Craft, or whatever it's called, here. It's elbow grease and work ethic; those he can supply in spades. And after working his way through the stable, he's outside, attempting to clean the smelly stuff from between the plates and joints of his left hand. It's not exactly going as well as he'd like, but he's nothing if not determined.


Something Else;
Leave me a starter, or hit me up via PM or at sometimesamuse to plot! I'm open to almost anything, and I'm happy to match your style if you prefer brackets to prose. For those familiar with canon, Bucky is taken just post-The Winter Soldier so, uh, that's. A Thing.

warm front

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa isn't used to travelling in slums and she's grateful that her companion appears to be more than capable of defending them both. She schools her face to be open and kind; the last thing these people need is someone else wearing a Jewel that seems to be looking down their nose at them. She herself knew nothing of magic until arriving here some weeks ago, after all, and she thinks that makes her no different than the landen she's aiding now.

"I'm grateful you've come to help me. I'm not certain I would have been brave enough to come alone," Sansa admits. "I wanted to, though, because I think it's a bit ridiculous that men stronger than I wouldn't come here to help people just because they're a bit different. If I've the mettle to do it, they ought to have the same."

Vigilanden Justice

[arrogator]

“Where the hell did you learn how to do that?”

Mordred's been working on dealing with the gangs too. As somebody who helped out with the power plant, she feels like she needs to try and deal with this too since it seems to have started in the wake of that. She's got her way of dealing with it and she's seen some other approaches, but nothing like how this guy disarmed him. It kind of reminds her of how Archer of Black fought unarmed, but not quite.

“And how'd you do it?”

Since the disaster's averted, she's got plenty of questions and doesn't seem to be stopping to consider that Bucky might not want to answer them.

Vigilanden Justice

[thequitecontrary]

The street gangs have gotten so bad that Mary is almost afraid to go out into the streets, even in the Blood neighborhoods. While landen haven't specifically attacked Strangers yet, she knows that they are generally seen as being on the Queen's side. Mary feels vulnerable, but this is a task that must be done. She's seeing about a flat so that she might be able to move out of the Queen's residence soon.

After viewing the flat, she walks back down to the streets and starts to head towards the market. It's then that she spies the gang members threatening a woman and her children. Mary remembers one of her first days here, when a gang was attacking a landen boy and she and Henry had stepped in to help him. It's easier to be brave with Henry around. Without him here it's up to her to step in and do something. She's still not great at attacking spells, but she does an excellent defensive shield.

As Mary approaches, she notices the man stepping out of the shadows and she hangs back. What he's able to do is impressive, and she's fairly sure that he's not using Craft. That power is native to him.

Once the woman and children are on their way, Mary hurries to catch up with the man. "I have never seen anyone do something like that," she says, her eyes flickering over his metal arm.

Guts | Berserk | Opal

[garmr]

a. Vigilanden Justice

Even without the spirits of the Interstice hounding him, Guts would find sleep hard to come by in the Queen's residence. The expectation of battle that came with every sunset plagued him like the ache of a phantom limb. His restlessness would send him sneaking out into the streets, full gear and all, despite the sting of his still-healing wounds. Figures he’d have the luck to hop worlds and keep every slash, puncture and burn he got while hunting his last apostle.

Maybe it was the eagerness to release some of that tension that motivated him to stick around when a child ran into him full-tilt, clinging to his greaves. Maybe he just felt like being helpful that night. The boy saw the glint of the opal in his hand and assumed he'd found safety, and Guts supposes he did. Tears were streaming down the child’s frightened face, which signaled trouble was going to follow him. Seven or eight bits of 'trouble', running down the alley to meet their prey.

The brief glimpse of excitement in Guts' eyes wasn’t the reaction that belonged to a wounded man - it was more like the twitch of a mad dog. Nestling his jewel beneath the metal of his armor, he waits for them to turn the corner, the fist of his iron arm ready beneath his cloak. The healers that were patching him up were going to be pissed in the morning, but a part of him needed this.

"Stay out of the way, kid."

b. Poisoned Gnature

As soon as his wounds had closed enough, Guts would be found kneeling in the stables, helping slather paste on flanks and backs. He’d left his armor and much of his equipment behind in lieu of more suitable working clothes, though he couldn’t quite get himself to stay more than a few feet away from the colossal Dragonslayer.

The sword would be found leaning against the walls, easily towering just over seven feet. His iron forearm prosthetic, too, was left hanging on a hook. The last thing he wanted to do was end up having to scrape stinking animal mud out of the joints, and it’s not like he could grab anything with it, anyway.

He works quietly and diligently, looking more comfortable tending to the animals than he ever did in the court. In fact, little seemed to grab his attention aside from getting a glimpse of Fayura and some of other Princes down there in the grime and dirt with them.

That sight was utterly alien enough to make him pause, thankful he was far away enough that his own staring wouldn’t be so immediately obvious.

"Never thought I'd see a Queen tendin’ to livestock," he says to no one in particular.

c. Weather - Psychic Thread / Farcaster

[A tiny, talking metal box seemed just as magical as Craft did, at least to Guts. Most of the conversations were nonsense he would never listen to on his own, but the novelty of the device kept him plugged in longer than he'd first expected. Useful, if slightly annoying.

There were helpful reports once in a while, weather forecasts certainly counted as one. This particular report elicited a reaction that was less calculated psychic connection and more blurted thought available for any passersby to hear.]

The hell did they put in the water?

d. Wildcard
[Hit me up with whatever! Feel free to PM here or at hematite]

b.

[theladyofwinterfell]

"A queen does what she must to help her people. I am no queen, of course, but at Winterfell I helped with the smithy to prepare all the armor for winter. A bit of leather can mean the difference between life and death when the sun's gone and doesn't return for days."

Sansa, too, is aiding the farmers and she's glad to see a familiar face. She knows little about tending livestock but one of the things she'd learned as Lady of Winterfell was to ask questions when necessary. As such, she knows just enough to get started and if she runs into a problem she cannot solve, she asks. It's worked well so far.

c

[arrogator]

Don't know, don't want to know.

[There's a passerby's two cents as she's walking by. She's still not really sure how she feels about the Far-caster stuff, but knowing that the rain could give you lesions? That's actually important, she can't complain too much about that one.]

I just know I really don't want to end up with anything like that. This city's already a pain in the ass without having to worry about the rain too.

C!

[1019]

[This... is basically equivalent to having everyone around you wiretapped. In the brain. That or having a friggin' cell phone or limited internet right in your head. Lucas isn't... the kinda person who's ever actually wondered what it'd be like telepathy. Never particularly been anyone he'd wanna talk directly to. Or, you know, have a direct line to his head.

But he is an Earth fella who was raised in the 2000's. Frame it a different way and it shifts from kids' fantasy books stuff to fun.

And it's thus that as he passes by, hands behind his back with one grippin' the other at the wrist, he turns his head up with a shit-eating-ass grin at who knows what in particular; god knows even he barely does.]

Ho-oooonly one way to find out -- !

[He sounds like a damn crow.

Last sound "lilts" at the end. Rather... "pinches".]

Yelena Batzdorf/Sparklebright | Velveteen vs.

[nomoresparkle]

Vigilanden Justice

Well, it's not exactly supervillians, but gangs out for mischief are certainly the sort of thing that a good superhero should put a stop to. Even if Sparklebright is pretty sure this strange alternate world doesn't have superheros. The so-called Blood seemed sort of like superheros, but not quite, and she wasn't quite comfortable enough to ask. So she's decided to stick to what she knows. Upholding truth, justice, and... well, not the American way she supposes, but the truth and justice for sure.

She'd been walking through the streets - flying seemed a bit too... indiscreet, since she didn't have her mask and costume on. Even if she supposedly didn't have to keep up a secret identity. But she'd come across a group of ruffians harassing an older woman, and a lack of costume wasn't going to keep her from stepping in. "Stop, evildoers!" she said, in the perfectly proper 'confronting the villains' way.

The ruffians laughed at her, but she'd expected that. Sparkles of light lit up in the air around her, and she had to clench her fists to keep her powers from lashing out of control. Glancing around she saw another person approaching. "Stay back, citizen, I will deal with these miscreants!"

Warm Front

The idea of using her powers - and it really did feel exactly the same as using her normal powers - to generate warmth was weird. Warmth was the purview of the fire manipulators, or maybe some minor, second or third string support heroes, not her. Then again, even her normal powers were behaving weird here, so she supposed that it was just another feature of this weird alternate reality she'd ended up in. At least this way she could be useful. She liked being useful. Just... not to the Superpatriots Incorporated anymore. And here, there was no way they could find her.

So, despite the weirdness of the job, she was in a remarkably good mood as she met up with her fellow Stranger. "Good morning! Have you done this before?"

Etiquette - Farcaster

[She's worked for years with Mechamation and Imagineer. Strange devices do not phase her at all. Sure it takes a little getting used to, but she figures it out]

Everything seems so very formal here. [There's a thoughtful pause] Like, actually formal, not the sort of 'uphold the public image' formal I'm used to. But if Blood women are Ladies, what are non-Blood women called?

Wildcard
[Anything you want with a corperate raised superhero who's currently on the run from her contract! I can be found on plurk at palmedfire]

Ettiquette

[butforafew]

[The Far-casters wouldn't be out of place in the Empire. Much of the technology here wouldn't be out of place in the Empire, which makes those pieces that don't line up all the more jarring.

Still, it makes responding easy enough, and if it's a little bit paranoid to respond with audio alone, well. Emily's earned that bit of paranoia.]

I think that depends on whether anyone who would take offense and can do anything about it is listening.

Vigilanden Justice!

[1019]

-- Ohhh, you see...?

Lucas had been just about to walk on by. Right past the whole scene like an urban crow crossing the street. He don't fight. If someone more head-on did have the attention of a group fixin' to brawl today, well. Yay. Just meant more wide berth for him as he kept along his merry skulking way.

That was before the sparks started to fly - stopping him and swinging him back to turn with a twisted gait. A slack jaw steadily bending to a lift and higher curve. Aaaaaaahhh, man -- there a fuckin' magic show about to go on here...?!

Annnd - that's when the girl turned around to catch a glimpse of him. Immediately getting a start out of him and a reel to shuffle back a couple steps. Mouthing -- something in between a gasp and a "shoot".

...Lifting along with his stance and the return of a grin - locked half for-show - and the bare shake of gigglin' out simple... sparking energy...!

" -- What, you ain't even gonna let a guy WATCH -- ?!"

Evie | Disney's Descendants

[4hearts]

Vigilanden Justice
This new place was, somehow, even more amazing than Auradon had been. The Queen's Residence? Perfection, in her mind. She was not lacking for inspiration. Even so, Evie found herself growing restless inside, and decided exploring would be a fun idea. It's easy to slip out unnoticed into the streets and disappear into the shadows. Walking alone at night, in the darkness, she felt almost at home.

As she wandered the streets between buildings, she caught sight of a few people her own age. She nearly called out to them, but noticed in the dim light that one of them was lifting a paintbrush to the wall. She smirked. If that didn't bring back memories. How many times had she watched Mal tag an open surface?

Should she try and stop them? Probably. Defacing someone else's property was definitely Not Good. But, people here had magic - Craft. Cleaning paint off a building wouldn't be hard, and the people further down the alley were laughing quietly and grinning. How bad could this be? And now, she was curious about what exactly they were painting. If she stopped them too quickly, she wouldn't get to see the finished work.

Warm Front
The further out they walked, the more the buildings began to resemble ones she remembered from her own childhood on the Isle. Tension pulled at her shoulders, even as she looked with sadness at the places and people around her. She could see herself in the children that poked their heads out of ramshackle buildings and huddled together for warmth against crumbling walls. The Evil Queen's castle had been so cold in the winter, and Evie couldn't pile enough blankets on herself to stop it seeping into her bones.

She stopped dead when she saw the girl tucked under a porch awning. The ratty, molding blanket the girl had wrapped around her and clutched with pale fingers looked nearly identical to one she'd had herself as a child. She turned to the fellow Stranger with her. "Let's start here." She tipped her head toward the girl. "I know we'd said work out from the center, but it feels wrong to just keep passing people by."

Air Time: Etiquette

"I can't believe no one here uses the word 'Princess.' Wouldn't that make more sense for the daughter of a Queen?" Evie sat at a little table in a cafe owned by one of the Blood, sipping at a warm drink. She shook her head as she talked quietly to the broadcast, as if it could somehow hear her. "I mean, if the men are 'Prince', why wouldn't the women be 'Princess'?" Clearly, the titles in the caste system of the Blood were not something she had the firmest grasp upon.

Wild Card

(Anything you'd like to play out with the bad girl gone good? PM this account. I don't have a Plurk yet.)

Warm Front

[garmr]

Guts seemed indifferent to the human suffering around him, acting as little more than an silent, unapproachable curtain of black a few paces behind her. None of the sights were particularly new to him. The huddled children wouldn't look out of place in some back alley of Midland, and he's walked through enough of those to grow a bit numb to it all. Or at least, he certainly had a good mask for the occasion.

In fact, if the girl were to react fearfully from them, it was likely from the steely glare he was providing from over Evie's shoulder. Far from sympathetic, it seemed to do a good job repelling any wayward person that looked at them too long.

"We're gonna be here a lot longer you keep stoppin' for every kid curled in a corner."

Air Time

[shiftinglikeclay]

[In general, Alex doesn't usually reply to people talking to themselves. Back home a person talking to themselves was either on a cell phone and would be annoyed to be interrupted, or mentally ill, and thus unpredictable. But it's different here, and this is the topic that has been itching under her skin since she arrived.]

What would make more sense is not making titles so stupidly gender specific. But if you're looking for logic here, you're going to be sadly disappointed.

Warm Front

[whettedmind]

Tyrion's gaze follows Evie's gesture towards the girl - a scrawny, shivering little thing, barely covered by her threadbare blanket. It would be a lie to claim he didn't feel a twinge of sympathy for her, to say nothing of the much stronger stirring of disgust for the fools who had been responsible for this mess in the first place. And yet...

"There are a hundred more like her," he says, knowing all too well that this is probably a vast understatement of the numbers. Draega holds, from what he's seen, only a fraction of its original population. Draega is still a large city, with all that entails. "We'll help more of them if we stick to the plan. It isn't cruelty to go about this in the way that allows us to cover the most ground, and miss the fewest people."

arthur morgan | red dead redemption ii

[haveyouseenmyhat]

vigilanden justice

Shit, you really know how to make a guy feel like he's at home.

[ arthur ducks into an alley, watching as a group of landens breaks into a house. the queen had asked them to "broker peace" - whatever the hell that meant. mostly, in arthur's experience, brokering peace with gangs meant doing so down a barrel of a gun. and he's starting to think maybe this is going to end up that way, too.

there's a lot of them and not a lot of him. (well, perhaps more appropriately: there's a lot of them, and he doesn't have a lot of guns.) so the next time he sees a stranger (that's you, probably), he grabs them and pulls them into the alley. then, quietly: ]

Hey, you, come here.

[ he nods over at the house - the commotion is hard to miss, with the sounds of screams and breaking glass. a few months ago he probably would have just moved on. a few months ago, he might have even joined in. but now...well, they should probably help right? that's the right thing to do. and, besides, the queen did ask for help. ]

warm front

Well, let's go then.

[ arthur isn't afraid of landen parts of town. at least it isn't the fucking bayou. no gators. no nightfolk. no ghosts. piece of cake. (it is probably not a piece of cake.) teamed up with his new partner, it's time to head out and see who they can help.

oh, and make small talk. everyone's favorite. ]

These warmin' spells are pretty useful. I can think of a few times it woulda come in handy.

[ not freezing in the grizzlies, for one. ]

poisoned gnature

[ this smells worse than the gang after days without bathing, but admittedly, this might be the best job of all. just arthur and some peace and quiet with some animals. and while the farmers are quick to get the livestock that's meant for eating, arthur goes to help the horses. can't round up your animals without horses. can't do anything without horses, really.

he's patient with them, working diligently to get them covered with the paste to protect them from the mosquito. ]

Now, I know it ain't fun, and it's matting your coat, girl, but you gotta relax and stay with me. Last thing you want is to get bit by some mosquito carrying the plague or whatever nonsense it's got. So just, easy does it.

warm;

[mekhanikos]

Oh yeah, totally.

[ leo's answer is that of someone who both means it and doesn't at all — of someone who's had his own warming "spell" of sorts for so long that he doesn't even know what it's like to be cold. ]

It's kinda like your personal heating blanket, right?

poisoned gnature

[garmr]

[Guts is making his way out of one of the other stables, empty bowl of paste in hand. His iron prosthetic is clipped to his belt and sword strapped to his back, but is otherwise dressed just as the rest of the farmers were.

He leans against a wooden frame, watching the other Stranger get to work.]

You sure you want that one? Heard she's got a bit of an attitude.

Emily Kaldwin | Dishonored 2

[butforafew]

I. Vigilanden Justice
If pressed for an explanation of why she's out late at night when there's been a rash of violence in the city, Emily will swear that she simply wanted something to drink and maybe a little gossip. That she's minding her business, heading back from the tavern, and not at all out looking to run across one of the gangs that has been terrorizing civilians under cover of darkness. That her choice of neighbourhood to walk through is entirely and perfectly coincidental.

It isn't, of course, and the jolt that runs up her spine when she hears breaking glass and raised voices - a man barking orders, a woman pleading, the high, thin cry of a young child - is as much excitement as outrage.

"Go find the guard," she directs the nearest passer-by, only vaguely recognizing another Stranger out enjoying the night, and turns on her heel to dart down the nearest alley towards the sounds of violence.

II. Poisoned Gnature
The work is disgusting. It's also entirely necessary, and despite the aristocratic manners that seep in when Emily is at ease, she hasn't protested it once, hasn't idled, hasn't taken more than the necessary breaks to get some food and water and not keel over from the stink of the paste. She's seen too much of the horrors of plague spread by vermin to be anything other than serious, even if this wasn't at all what she'd been expecting to find herself doing when she made the bargain that brought her here.

She's checking over a young nanny goat to make certain she hasn't left any bare spots that might leave the creature vulnerable to hungry insects when one of said insects whines past her ear - the hundredth that day, or perhaps the thousandth. Her hand snaps up, crushing the mosquito mid-flight, and she opens her hand to inspect the small, crumpled wings embedded in the stinking gunk coating her palm.

"This feels like a half-measure. We need to do something about their breeding grounds, or this will all come to nothing."

III. Weather
[Emily's sipping a cup of coffee, weilding the caffeine like a bludgeon against the midday lethargy that comes of late nights and early mornings, and only half listening to the Far-caster. Half the broadcasts are nonsense, and even those that aren't often wind up giving her a headache, between the unfamiliar terms and the labyrinthine politics that almost make her long for the simplicity of fighting back against a coup staged by a madwoman.

The talk of dangerous weather catches her attention, though, and she regards the device with a faint frown, brow knit.]

Askavi...isn't that where the miniature bloodflies are coming from?

[What void-sent horrors did they put in the water over there?]

[thricefold]

Zita breaths over her hands to try and tries to warm them up while she listens to her partner's observations. Much as she enjoys this job, surprisingly enough, there is a point being made: One has to address the heart of the matter and that matter is the fact the mosquitoes exist at all, causing troubles and headaches for everyone.

Find a way to be rid of them and this, all of this, will come to an end.

"I know the others mentioned coming across one of the stagnant pools when they were chasing after one of the cows," Zita says, offering some information she got when chatting with some familiar faces. "Do you want to investigate that angle...? Perhaps it'll bring up a step closer to ridding us one source of the pest, at least."

arno dorian | assassin's creed: unity

[sournois]

A. Vigilanden Justice

[ Ah, fighting. If there's one thing Arno can appreciate, it's the finesse of a good brawl. And landens don't even use magic, so he especially enjoys this one. Some bunch of thugs thought they could get away with threatening a family in front of him -- well, they're quickly finding out otherwise. He'd be causing a scene if the fight wasn't happening in an alley, but that's no accident. An assassin, after all, works better in the dark.

For this prompt, Arno's jewel is a solid Red. Really, these poor fools don't stand a chance. But it might be fun to watch as he dodges another punch and trips a man over his own feet. ]

Ah, excuse me. [ He holds up a bruised thug by the collar, though Arno himself has barely broken a sweat. Kind of a grizzly scene to walk past, I'm so sorry. ] Could you call a healer for me, s'il vous plait? I think I may have misjudged my strength with a few of these men.

[ The remaining men scramble to their feet, most of them running away now that a witness has appeared and distracted Arno. You look like a huge jerk here, mon frère. ]

And they were acting so tough before. What a shame.

B. Warm Front

[ These fire spells don't come easy for Arno. Let's say he's Rose for the sake of this prompt, which means he's had to cut back on the Eagle Vision to prioritize sparking warmth from his hands. Also he's just bad at it -- maybe ending up in the landen part of town is a blessing in disguise. He's certainly no stranger to the slums. ]

Feels just like home.

[ He's managed to use the spell on the scarf around his neck, but don't expect him to do any of the heavy lifting if your jewel is darker than his. He turns to you, his partner, and casts you a forced smile. ]

Well, at least here people will fear us equally for once, non?

C. Wildcard

[ Anything else? I'm open to it! Hit me with a pm or on plurk! ]

B

[whettedmind]

Oh, I sincerely doubt that.

[There's a hint of humour in Tyrion's drawl, though he doesn't look up at his partner, instead considering the crumbling houses and slush-clogged roads that surround them. He may wear the Opal to Arno's Rose, but he hardly wears it openly - there is far too high a chance that he would actually be called to use it if he did, and he only just has a grasp on this most basic sort of Craft - and even if he had, the gossip he's heard since arriving in this strange land has largely centered around clear proof that at least some of these landens have means of leveling the field.]

katniss everdeen | the hunger games | summer sky

[burn_with_us]

i. vigilanden justice

( In spite of wearing one of their Jewels, Katniss feels very little sympathy for the Blood. They seem too much like the Capitol to her, sneering down their noses at the landens who don't have magic. When she hears about landens vandalizing the city and joining up in gangs to terrorize the Blood by night, it reminds her of how the rebellion started in 8 and how everyone fought to keep it going. She's in favor of it.

Still, she's living in the Queen's residence right now and she wears one of their Jewels, so she's not really sure how to indicate to the landen guilds that she's on their side and not on the side of the Blood. Katniss sneaks out at night and manages to catch the landens vandalizing a Blood-owned shop, writing "bleeder" along the storefront. They panic when she shows up but she holds up a hand. )

I'm with you. I'm a Stranger, not Blood. I wouldn't even wear this thing if it didn't make my aim better and my reflexes faster. I'm not doing any Craft or magic with it, that's for sure.

( Someone approaches from behind her and Katniss whips around. She could really get used to the fact that her hearing is a little advanced by this Jewel. She wears it in a little pin. It's not her Mockingjay pin but it serves well enough for now. )

Are you with us or against us?

ii. poisoned gnature

( Katniss is more comfortable with animals than people sometimes. She's a hunter, yes, but part of being a hunter is understanding your prey and what spooks them. She doesn't have any experience with horses other than the ones that pull the chariots at the opening ceremonies but these horses are a lot more skittish than those; she guesses the Capitol's horses have to be immune to pyrotechnics and dramatics. She has a partner with her, someone she recognizes vaguely from breakfast, and she starts slathering the paste on the foreleg of the horse closest to them. )

Mosquitoes that cause poison? Sounds like what we call mutts back home. Nice little tricks from our government. I was hoping we wouldn't have stuff like that here.

air time: etiquette

( Katniss scoffs a little at the idea of protocol and using titles. She didn't want to do it back in Panem and it really chafes here. She didn't like the idea of calling her peers "Soldier" in 13 and it rankled every single time she had to address Snow by his title of President. She's heard people call her Lady, taking her for Blood, and she's corrected them every single time. She's not here for that. Calling people Healer and Priestess is a little different. There's no religion in Panem but she thinks Prim might have liked to be called Healer. )

What about people who have these titles and don't earn them? I'm not calling anyone Lady or Lord or Prince if they're not worthy of it, no matter who they are or what family they were born to. There's a lot of crooked people who demand respect and there's a lot of good people who don't get the respect they deserve. It's like that where I come from and I have a hard time believing it doesn't happen here, too.

Etiquette

[whettedmind]

Of course it happens here too. It happens everywhere you find people.

[The voice that responds sounds faintly weary, touched with wry humour. Seven preserve him from idealists.

(As though Tyrion's not an idealist himself, not so far beneath his cynical and often-mocking armour.)]

Which is all the more reason not to alienate half the population before you've even started working out who's worthy of respect, and who's simply likely to kill you for not managing common courtesy.

Lucas Baker | Resident Evil

[1019]

A. Vigilanden Justice.

[Lurking is one of a handful of things Lucas does well. It's a job he's been on for the past two, three years. When he goes out, he goes out late. He lies low, stays on quiet roads with his hood up. Does whatever he was sent out to do. Is out before he turns a single head that doesn't need turnin'.

He knows that the streets're getting mean by night. And for a bundle of reasons, he just doesn't care. For the first time in ages, not that he's got a reflective bone in his body, he ain't lookin' for trouble. He's not a fighter; promise of cozying up to a royal court ain't nearly incentive enough to go out accosting possibly-armed gangs, and neither is the goodness of his heart, whatevertheheck that means. Hell, he'd be joining them for the thrill of a good bout of wrecking shit if a chain of logic hadn't run that "bad for the Blood in general" = "bad for you, too, son. You're carrying a jewel. Everybody knows that you're here thanks to the Queen".

But. Staying out of shit doesn't mean you can't pick through the bones afterwards. Outta curiosity or otherwise. A crash cut from around a corner. He peeked around it to see a couple dashing over themselves out through the door, a kid maybe 'bout five or six stumbling behind them. Bit of ruckus later, and out filed the landens the opposite way back down the street.

And that's why... mmmmaybe you heard the commotion, too!

And in investigating to pop your head through the doorway of a house with shattered windows, you're finding the place ransacked. Furniture overturned, a Far-caster fritzing on its side on the floor.

And a spindly figure in a hood rifling through the cabinets chest of drawers. Head down, shaking, half-whining-and-half-growling a rising aughhhh -- !

Turning and then -- catching you there with eyes huge. Stumbling backward against the chest and hands bracing into it with a grimace 'n a jerked-out dammit -- !

Before... he shakes his head again in a metronomic swing. Stance slouched. Rocks to a settled point, hands up! And face a gawking joyless smile.]

-- Listen!

[His is a very, very pronounced Southern drawl 'n twang. Aaall in a nasally singsong.]

Before you go, uhhhh -- ! -- Settin' me on FIRE or whatever's yer plan...! [A hard toss of his head into his shake as his eyes round over a jack-o'-lantern smile.] -- I didn't have nothing to DO with this... -- !

[His head lolls aside a bit. Hands comin' down and out a tad. "Jazzhands-y". Teeth parting.]

I'm Blood -- ! [With a sort of upward nod aside at it, he opens his right palm. Rrright out from it drops an opal on a chain. Into the peak of another series of rising shakes of his head:] ...Aaaain't'cha the same?!

[Nnnno, Lucas. You are not Blood.

But. Nonetheless, he holds on a look of... So how 'bout that, huh -- ?!]


B. Air Time. The Weather.

[Go fig that taking a trip to magic-land has kinda... set things up in such a way that there're little moments like this that are aggressively normal. Hell, maybe even more normal than things were before Eveline came around. He wouldn't know.

Point is, it's a moment of new-old routine. Slouchin' over a table by the wall in a cafe. Hand half-hangin' off his wrist as he turns a long sip of coffee on up between his lips. Eyes flickin' to a corner, half-lidded, as the report comes in of rain. Rain, too! That's... back-home-stuff, too...

..."Lesions".

His eyes... tick just a hint rounder before shooting back down to the table as he plops his cup down.

Practically hiccups out a little giggling sound. Draws up a toothy... smirk? Looks half-like a sneer, as his brow furrows, and he husks:]

-- Whaaat they got in the rain around here... -- ?

[Delivered like a pointedly-dry "Well. Noooow I seen everything...!"]


C. Wildcard!

[Do you have any ideas for a thread, or would you like me to cook up another prompt? Feel free to hit me, either here or over on Plurk @ schmendricks!]