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.]

[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.

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.

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."

[sinistral]

They probably make quite the pair, a slip of a young woman and a man with a metal arm. Bucky's aware of the staring, though he's not sure if it's because they're together, or because of the Jewels they wear. Either way he's staying close to his companion's side, simply because he doesn't trust people at all and the temptation to act against a seemingly unarmed target may prove too irresistible for some.

"I'm not sure I'd have your skill with people." He says it cautiously as they step around a puddle. Bucky's aware that he attracts more stares than not, but at least his physical presence should be enough of a deterrent for trouble. He doesn't quite understand the nature of the political divide in these people, but he does understand the cold and exactly how unpleasant it can be. "Maybe it's not as simple as an outsider sees it."

[theladyofwinterfell]

"No, it's more difficult when you're within those castes than when you're removed from them. We both know we have our own places back home, our own positions within social strata. These people must always live with what they are, be they Blood or landen."

Sansa tips her head a bit to look at him. His appearance does deter the more violence-prone of the people, she thinks, and she's grateful for that. As to whether she's better with people - well. It's simply a matter of the weapons she has at her disposal.

"When all you have to fight with are your words, you learn how to use them very well. If I am good with people, it is only because I've been forced to be."

[garmr]

“Most ones I know are happy to stay in their keeps. The pawns get their hands dirty.”

What a leader should or shouldn’t do rarely factored into the equation. It is one of the reasons Guts normally couldn’t stand dealing with upper crust, though Sansa was leaving a different impression on him.

He gets up, wiping some of the sweat from his forehead. The big brute of a creature was a bit dumber looking than a warhorse, but caring for it brought some warm memories back either way. He give its withers a light pat, perhaps as a silent farewell to the beast, before he moves on to another one gnawing at the ground.

[sinistral]

"I suppose so." The idea of it makes sense anyway. Bucky doesn't have a place or a position in what he'd call home, but it's not exactly something he's keen to share. Better to focus instead on the situation here, since it's immediately in front of them and is the situation with which they must deal.

They probably make quite a pair, he thinks as he meets her gaze before letting his own slide away. She looks like she belongs here much more than he does at least. Bucky's aware that he's likely to stick out no matter where he goes and while it'd be easy enough in the cooler weather to hide his arm under layers, that does nothing for the coming season.

Still, he doesn't think he'd be having much success at this at all without her. "It's still a skill, and you should be proud of how you wield it."

[theladyofwinterfell]

"Perhaps I should be proud of the skill but it's something I've learned simply because it must be done, not out of any desire to somehow be extraordinary at anything. Duty is more of a driving factor than desire or ambition."

Still, she cannot help but have a ghost of a smile for a moment before it fades away. It is nice to be complimented for something even if it's a skill she's developed out of necessity and not out of joy. When they approach the first house, Sansa takes the lead and introduces herself to the landen couple who lives there. They are suspicious and she believes she would be as well; why trust those who keep you oppressed? Still, after a gentle reassurance she only intends to help, they are allowed to work on the warming spells.

"It's better, I've found, if you use an object people gather around anyway. It seems less obtrusive," she says. She casts her glance around the small home before finding a small table that some couches are gathered around. "Here, let's cast the spell. You're darker than I am. Yours will last longer than mine but I can lend you my strength all the same."

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa actually doesn't mind horses all that much even though she's a terrible rider. She's always found them to be lovely creatures, and proud, something she used to be once upon a time. She sees a cut along the forelimb of this one and gently touches her fingers to it.

"He's run across something he shouldn't have. Horses spook so easily. It's why I trust my legs more than I trust the legs of something with fear in its eyes."

[sinistral]

"And the more honorable one." Desire and ambition both have very dark sides; Bucky knows it well. "Don't discount yourself so quickly."

After all, without her Bucky probably wouldn't be making very much progress in this task at all. She just knows how to approach people and reassure them; he doubts they'd have gained entry to the home without her words and demeanor. He simply does his best to stay in her shadow and look like he's deferring to her; he'd been told that women have higher standing in this society, and perhaps adopting those sort of mannerisms will help simply for being familiar to what the people expect.

The thing with the colors doesn't make a ton of sense to him but it is what it is, and if it means that he can help these people, that's the important part of it all. Bucky moves slowly through the space, seeing the unease in the landen couple and the way their eyes linger on his left side. He chooses not to pursue it, instead focusing on the furniture. It's a good choice: central to the home, and clearly often used. "That's a good idea, keeping the intrusion minimal."

He looks at her sidelong, pitching his voice low so they're not overheard. "Are you sure? I don't mind if you want to save your strength for later."

[garmr]

Guts watches as Sansa examines the cut. It looked like an old wound from where he was standing.

“Depends on the horse. Some can be pretty reliable, if they trust you enough.”

The rough snort from muzzle in front of him was hint enough of that. A farmer’s work animals weren’t usually all too hot-tempered, but it helped to take the extra minute or two to greet and soothe them.

Even with a full head of height over most men and the physique of a workhorse himself, this mare still had nearly two thousand pounds on him. A kick into the wooden stalls wouldn’t be pleasant, even if he’s survived worse.

In a way, Guts gets it. The smell from the paste was unpleasant enough to deal with, much less being rubbed down by strangers. He’d hate it, too.

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]

[theladyofwinterfell]

"My strength is to serve these people," Sansa says, keeping her voice just as low. "So reserving it would be selfish. I will be measured, as to help as many people as I can, but I'm not going to waste this gift on myself when it's meant to help others. There's very little I'll do with it anyhow. I do most things manually out of habit."

Sansa doesn't think that will change any time soon. The idea of using magic to pick up her things or to find a lost object seems excessive to her and she prefers to reserve it for healing or doing things like this. If only there were a way to bring this back home; she thinks they could find a way to weaponize it against wights or at the very least, warm the castle when the winter grew too cold for even the fire to stave off the chill.

"I can shape the spell if you want to power it. Perhaps then we won't tire out so easily?"

[theladyofwinterfell]

"I'll never be a horsewoman but you sound like a knight who has a warhorse he truly loves. Is that the case? Did you have one of your own before you came here?"

Arya had loved to ride, back home, but Sansa has never cared for it. She's just as good at it as she has to be and no more; a proper lady can avail herself of a wheelhouse if she must.

"I never really enjoyed riding. Too messy when one's wearing the sort of fine clothes I used to wear."

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.)

[garmr]

He pauses, a tension entering his shoulders and edge of the psychic air around them. For a few seconds, Guts simply stares at the mare's neck, fingers sunken into the thick winter fur. The animal seemed to respond in kind, ears pulling back and nostrils flared. For all the fond memories that came to him in this place, they always lead to that same cursed end.

"I ain't a knight," he says, the dim knot of emotion evaporating with the silence," - Never was."

He lowers down to scoop more of the paste into his palm.

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."

( 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!

[webdomain]

[What was that about ditching her work buddy to do everything by himself? She wouldn't do something so heartless. She was just taking a little break! By statute she's entitled a five minute break probably. Yeah, okay, she's a little apologetic for ghosting in the background. Not enough to rush back to the task of slathering up farm animals though.

Much more important is Daylight noticing her handiwork. Shiro replies with a simple nod, acknowledging. Her expression stays blank but there's a subtle air of pride at the compliment, especially since something so basic to her is being described as amazing. It makes her want to see what his reaction to something more complicated. So she holds her hand out, palm up, and focuses on her Rose jewel. Like a very strange magical 3D printer multiple threads appear out of her fingertips and begin to construct a model of the Eiffel Tower.

It's a complete waste of energy but it's definitely cool, right? Right?! No simple string trick can compare to this.]

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.

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.

[sunborne]

[ if only daylight had his winglets. they would be audibly springing up at what's happening before him.

alas he does not have his winglets, if only to keep the farmers from getting scared of his presence if he had come in his actual frame. he'll have to settle with making use of his eyes and making them wider(er) in response. that and the squeal of awe he makes. ]

Ohmygosh! That's so cool. That's- That's the Eiffel Tower! [ wow! he's never seen a complete version of it before. all the illustrations and pictures of it when growing up showed it at its usually destroyed half-state. he never could imagine it would look that spectacular.

so many questions he wants to ask and he already feels himself buzzing in excitement. ] Is that what you can do then? Make threads? That's amazing.

[theladyofwinterfell]

For a moment, Sansa is swiftly reminded of the Hound. He'd always bristled at being called a knight even though he was more knightly than some of those who'd taken the vows and insisted on being called Ser. Sensing the tension, she seeks to soothe it.

"It isn't a bad thing," she says quietly. "Though I understand not wanting the label. I knew a man who would do the same, back home, though he was very much a knight in all but title."