FEBRUARY INTRO LOG( FEB 16TH & 17TH )
february 16 ↴ INTRO: NEW WANDERERS' ARRIVAL! Our batch of new Wanderers wake this morning, as all new Wanderers have before, on a plush bed with a mild but lingering sense of recent disorientation. Frigg greets them as per normal, though rather than outright escorting Wanderers to the front doors this time, she and Sigyn allow the Wanderers time and space to leave their bed, meet the pantheon, and even depart the palace at their own pace - but not without a warning. All Wanderers must choose a deity to tether to before dawn the next day, or else one of the gods will choose them. This is of grave importance, as that's precisely how long the magic giving them form is able to last untethered before the Mother's own magic overwhelms it.
(Though the gods are more than willing to allow Wanderers to leave, it's worth noting that many a castle servant - natives, born in this land - might see fit to intercede and insist on the choosing of a god before Wanderers step off the Gladsheim Palace grounds.)
Stepping outside, you're greeted by an almost bright and sunny day... Undermined thoroughly by a sharp, biting wind that permeates any small gap in your clothing. I bet the gods might give you a sweater, if you ask. It probably won't even look that absurd, depending on which one you ask. A trail of what seems like stringless balloons float at eye level from just outside the palace door, guiding Wanderers down the path to a notice board just outside the palace grounds. On this notice board, Wanderers find a brief handwritten guide to accessing the city map on their cuffs, specifically denoting the little colored house icons ( ⌂ ) to help Wanderers make their way to each god's housing.
Also on this board appear to be a variety of job listings, for those who want to get more involved in Asgard as a whole. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? There's more than enough time for that once you've chosen a god to tether to in the first place. february 17 ↴ GOD CURSE: CHARACTER-BUILDING WITH SKADI. The storm brewing within Skadi is hardly a secret. She was impatient during the gods' supposedly unanimous address, and in the days to follow, Sigyn (with all her desperately good intentions) tried to balm the irritation but only abraded the goddess further still. She attended the Wanderers' arrival purely by the letter of her duty and swept back out the doors as soon as that duty released her, and since then she's been holed up in her temple, her pointy-faced statues positioned just outside as sentinels meant to intimidate mortals away.
They dared to tell her that she does nothing. Nothing for the Wanderers, that is. Nothing to help them grow and self-actualize, as if these 'Wanderers' are so much more important than Asgard itself, which weakens by the day as her fellow gods fling their magic about to overprotect the Wanderers, or even to satisfy their whims. The consensus to draw back some of that wasteful protection would have pleased her, if she weren't so thoroughly fixated on the slight that preceded it.
They want her to help the Wanderers self-actualize? So be it. There's no better way, truly, than to confront and overcome the ways in which you're flawed.
So the morning after arrival day, many Wanderers wake up with a stinging, itching spot somewhere on their body. Maybe their arm, maybe their back, maybe their throat. In that spot, as it turns out, is a set of words in a deep ruddy brown (almost like old blood) under their skin as if tattooed in place. But these aren't just any words - they prey directly into the Wanderer's fears, their regrets, their insecurities, and their mistakes. They're facing down some of the worst things they've ever thought or feared about themselves.
The other gods, of course, are eager and willing to try to relieve the poor Wanderers of these cursed marks... but they find that it's not quite so easy. Wanderers who seek a god's removal of the words find that not only do the words remain, but a new set appears: Flees the truth.
But that's fine = For most Wanderers, these words disappear on their own in a day or two. A handful of unlucky souls find that their marks linger indefinitely, or seem to disappear but return at truly inopportune occasions down the line.
MOD NOTES This is the February intro log and Skadi's curse, our mini-event for this month! Skadi's curse is is entirely opt-in - not all Wanderers are affected - and is detailed more fully in the 'This Month's Events' section of the February Bulletin, and you're welcome to direct any follow-up questions to the Bulletin's mod questions top-level. You've also likely noticed that god jobs are now live! The listings themselves can be found here (same link as within the 'arrival' prompt), with a brief FAQ featured over here. |
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asgardchrysalis2020-02-16 10:08 pm
NPC TOP-LEVEL
❧ SKADI
❧ HONIR
the curse
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❧ TYR
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❧ HEIMDALL
arrival
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❧ MIMIR
❧ FRIGG
Skadi's curse
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❧ SIGYN
Curse!
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jet star | the true lives of the fabulous killjoys
[If this is the version of the afterlife that Jet was bound for, he's not too clear on what he did to deserve that.]
[The important thing is that this is real. It's verifiably real. The world and the people respond to Jet being in their periphery, and he can interact with everything with a solidity that's both reassuring and bordering on distressing.]
[That's what happens when the last thing you can remember is the rest of your family getting gunned down, one by one.]
[Dwelling on it isn't going to fix that he is where he is right now. He's required to pick a god or it'll be picked for him. So he picks one, though none of the names are familiar in the slightest. No Phoenix Witch or mechanical Destroya here; just an unknown pantheon he has no earnest conceptualization of.]
[From there, what else is there to do but familiarize himself with his surroundings? Jet is direct and methodical about the entire process, regardless of his disorientation and the distress of the entire situation that he's simply not allowing himself to indulge. He primarily combs through the Heimdall District, as that is the god he's chosen, and - holy god. That's food. That is food.]
[Okay, fuck all of this, Jet is fucking floored that there's free food in the Röskr Önd and it's not cans of dog food?? What is this. Cheers to anyone who walks in and has to deal with this post-apocalyptic desert vagrant eating like he's starving (which he probably is), and also like he expects someone to steal it from him at a moment's notice (which he...also is).]
[A bit of careful poking and prodding of his bracelets reveals access to a network, and a subsequent directory. Scrolling through said directory tells him everything he really wants to know about who else is here.]
[Which is no one. No one from home.]
[A deep breath to compartmentalize. Stow that until he can make use of it. Tthen he issues a public, manual post:]
place is missing highways.
[...sure, Jet. Priorities intact.]
[It might be that it's easier to focus on that than literally anything else.]
[Right after he starts the adjustment period, something else starts going wrong.]
[The words creeping out along his skin, darker than his already dark complexion, like ink from one of Ghoul's tattoos and impossible to scrub out, no matter what he does.]
[He scratches at the skin, tries to rinse the words out, but of course it does little aside from chafe those spots raw. He stares at the dark patterning of the words, trying not to feel sick with disgust at their display.]
[On the exposed stretch of the back of his right forearm: COULD NOT SAVE HER.]
[On the back of his left hand: WATCHED THEM DIE.]
[And along the back of his neck, unknown to him: FAILURE.]
[Feel free to notice any and all of these and call attention to them as desired. He does his best to hide them, of course, like yanking down the sleeve of his jacket or donning his fingerless gloves, and his long, shaggy hair can do a decent enough job at veiling the words at the back of his neck. But inevitably he reaches up for something and sleeve falls back, or he has to remove his glove for some reason or another, or the wind tears at his hair in just the right way...and lo, a convenient excuse to strike up some awkward conversation is born.]
[I am happy to cook up closed starters or run with whatever you want. I'm wide open, brand new, and eager to hit the ground running! If you wanna hit me up one on one you can add me over at
ii
[The best part of any pit stop was the franchised diner that sold the most mouth watering, artery clogging comfort food along the road. That's the greatest tragedy of all.]
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ii
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i
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i food!
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i.
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i.
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network;
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ii. ignore if it's too late
things are NEVER too late
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iii
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Malcolm Bright | Prodigal Son
Malcolm has slowly come to terms with the fact that this is not a dream. It was kind of hard, given that Malcolm tends to be practical, though he'd also wondered if he was having a psychotic break. That would honestly be more likely. It might explain the blonde-haired British version of his father that seems to be here (which is a whole other thing he has to worry about). However, he has finally firmly landed in the camp that this is somehow all real. And since there's apparently no going home, he might as well get settled in.
Odin House reminds him of being back at Harvard, only with a more modern set up than America's oldest institution. He's pleased to find that his prayers to Odin have been answered: he finds all of his medications on his bedside table and the restraints that he needs in order to sleep peacefully already attached to the wall above his bed. For now, he's glad that he doesn't have a roommate. He's sure the night terrors won't make a good first impression.
And come the night terrors do, as they do every night, variations on the same theme: his father, a girl in a box, being drugged with chloroform, etc. Malcolm tosses and turns, trying to get away in his dreams and ends up shouting as he wakes. Once he catches his breath, he sighs and lays back down on the bed. Malcolm doesn't bother to undo the restraints. Even though he probably won't fall asleep again for a while, he doesn't want to take the chance of sleeping without them. It's for everyone's safety, including his own.
The next day, Malcolm is in the living room, ostensibly reading the book on Ragnar Lothbrok that he borrowed (stole?) from Odin's library. It's a fascinating history, and it's kind of mind-blowing to him that it's written by hand. He wonders who here wrote it. While slightly lost in his book, he's still approachable and will say hello to whoever comes into the living room.
II. Temjask Arena
The next day is decidedly not as good. He wakes up itching his right forearm, wondering if he's gotten some kind of bite or allergic reaction. Imagine his horror to find the words HIS FATHER'S SON tattooed on his arm like henna.
It takes two Xanax, a twenty minute yoga and meditation session and three daily affirmations (he wishes he had his card set here), but the Malcolm that emerges from his room is incredibly calm. Everything's fine! Please ignore that tremor in his hand as he drinks his coffee in the kitchen.
Today he decides to see about training at the arena in Heimdall, because when else should one hold sharp objects than when one has a shaking hand? He arrives in a long sleeved shirt because he definitely does not plan on explaining that mysterious tattoo. Being the self-taught blade historian that he is, Malcolm is utterly fascinated with the weapons on display in the arena. He carefully pulls down a sword and holds it in his hands.
"This is a tenth century Ulfberht sword," he says, turning it over and admiring the blade. "These are basically only found in museums now. I mean, in the time that I come from."
He's already learned that not everyone here is from 2019. Or Earth.
[ ooc: For prompt one, feel free to either hear him during his night terror and come to his room or to find him in the living room. Also if you'd like to find him somewhere else or want another prompt option just let me know! ]
Arena
"Ulfberht?" He asks curiously. "Is that your country?"
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odin house
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ii.
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II. Temjask Arena
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takame kesi | ffxiv (oc)
[It isn’t a pleasant experience for Takame, opening his eyes in a new realm to briefly believe he’s lost his sight all together and hear an unfamiliar voice on top of that. Then after it finally adjusted to… somewhat normal (save for the absence of an aetheric aura) to only see whoever spoke make their exit.
Being appraised of the situation he was in was some solace, and though he would adapt regardless as is necessary, even he had to admit some solace was better than none. Some purpose was better than none as well, being called upon by these higher powers for a reason yet beyond his understanding. But they are kami, gods. They are above him, therefore he must abide by their desire. Despite how recent events in Eorzea have a hold on his mind.
The option as well as the time he is given to decide which god he would choose is taken merely to show appreciation for the courtesy. He assumed the choice in reality was not his to make, but he wished to use the opportunity to explore the grounds of this castle. Or more specifically, to allow his eyes to adjust to this realm. He never knew they carried any sort of magic within them, but he did now and he needed to be able to see to learn.
Around the grounds other new arrivals may find Takame stumbling about, possibly into other people (maybe you), and rubbing at his eyes as if he’s just rolled out of bed.]
ii. Heimdall House/District/Mini Event
[The god he chose (or that he felt he must choose) went by the name of Heimdall, he noted. If that was the case, it would prove most useful to begin learning this land from there and working his way around. One step at a time, Zhian always told him… With the barracks that would be his… home (a strange thought) he began, standing about in the mess hall early in the morning if only to see the others who made the choice to align with this god. Though he did realize that he was a bit of an odd one, always waking up before 5 am. Or so Hina always told him.
From there he made his way to the grounds called the Temjask Arena. He noted them as having a familiar presence to it. A feeling of Ul’dah’s coliseum combined with similarity to what Zhian and others described of the Azim Steppe.
Perhaps he desperately sought the familiarity after the unsettling discovery he made early this morning. Vague words to all but him on his right forearm: “They will find you” and words that shook him to his core, enough for him to seek out a wrapping over it, on his left: “Takame oen Tsurugi.” Years… years it had been since he saw that name of his.
For a mercy, the last message of “You are a Weapon” on his left flank was covered by his clothing, but all three combined certainly put him on edge enough that he needed to find something… anything else to think about.
Be it regarding the riders curiously or maybe you found Takame
practicing his rotationtesting one of the myriad of striking dummies about… very, very aggressively, if you lock eyes with him he’ll regard you curiously. With his very intense stare, he'll respond with a tilt of his head as if he wasn't just beating the hell out of a dummy, but also realizing he's been at it for a while.]... Ah, my apologies. Have I been making you wait?
iii. wildcard
[[ hit me with something completely different if we had an idea or hit me up at
Mini event
It's not familiar to me. I was seeing what I could piece together from watching. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.
[There's no hiding 'Broken and useless' marring the left side of his face. He doesn't even bother to try.]
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I - Arrival
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Arrival
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[Sora's lips purse and he frowns when he notes the words at his arm. He's quick to cover it with his gloves. But that doesn't hide that he's seen them. That it gets to him, especially without his usual support of Donald and Goofy to distract him or cheer him up, encourage and reassure him. He misses them.
And it hurts. Being reminded that even with all his efforts, that fear, deep down, that he wouldn't manage to save everyone. That after traveling to all those worlds he still didn't actually have the Power of Waking yet, with all those people depending on him to help save them somehow.
For all that he tries to be cheerful and optimistic, and he usually is, even Sora can have his doubts and insecurities. Just hidden deeper down that he doesn't usually actually admit to.
So Sora might be more obviously forcing his usual smiles and banter on this particular day. Which might be all the more obvious to those that know him well, but in general he's usually a pretty easy to read kid, an open book. He definitely seems to try perk up more when others seem to be looking, when others were around, in comparison to if he's by himself for a bit. He might subconsciously be holding to or glancing to his gloved wrist more than usual.]
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Sora?
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rhus (warrior of light oc) | final fantasy xiv
b: god curse
network: voice
What do people smoke here? Tobacco aside-- if there is tobacco. [He just hopes there are alternatives-- he hates tobacco.
Then he starts patting himself down to find a specific something. But he cant-- and he makes a noise of irritation in his throat.] Hells, I think I need a new pipe, even...
wildcard
[[ make your own adventure! feel free to pm me or hit me up on
a
It's not even new to her, she's had to take care of tons of men back home who didn't understand bare skin wasn't a great idea in the middle of winter.
But it still makes her fuss enough for the young woman to approach the.. oddly cat-like person? The tail and ears make her stop and blink for a moment until she realises she's rather rudely staring. ]
Ah..! Forgive me, but you're new, aren't you?
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god curse
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b.
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network; voice;
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Keith | Voltron: LD
[The day is bright and sunny, but it does little to lift the scowl from Keith's face. Between Frigg and Heimdall, he's left with more questions than answers. He can't change it so it's best to make due. Keith glances at the silver bands on his wrists and tests one arm than the other. No restraints. He shakes his head and stops, looking up.
Balloons bob in the air without strings to keep them in one place. He reaches out to one, poking it with a finger. The balloon shifts forward then goes right back into place. He drops his hand before he's tempted to prod it again.
He doesn't have time to be distracted. Keith sighs, glancing around and follows the trail of balloons. It seems like it's what the gods want.] ...gods. Seriously?
[Keith shakes his head and moves to the side to dodge around people as he gets closer to the large notice board in the distance. It looks like any old notice board he's seen growing up.] Hey, let me through.
[He peers up at the board and reads through the jobs and frowns thoughtfully.] ...at least they make it clear where people can help.
Skadi's curse - Sticks and stones. (Temjask Arena)
[Thwack. The blunt end of a wooden staff slams into a training dummy with lethal force. Keith draws back, spinning the staff in his hands as he turns and slams the staff into the dummy again. It rattles on its post. 'Broken and useless' mars the left side of his face, curving across his skin in muddy looking words that match the scar on right side.
He pauses, stepping back to the weapons rack. He sets the staff back into its rungs and picks up a sword. He checks the plain grip and turns, swinging the sword to the right of him.] Two pounds.
[The bevel in the center of the blade seems to make the blade lighter. He swings it again, warming up his wrist. He slashes at the dummy, cutting right to left then reverses the blade cutting left to right. He doesn't look up as he says,]
If you're here to learn, give me a minute. Same thing if you want to spar. I want to get a feel of this sword first.
Wildcard
[Want a custom starter? Got an idea for some other location/meeting? Hit me up at
arrival
So instead she's easily distracted by the person next to her speaking up. She glances over at Keith, a slightly curious look in her eyes. ]
.. Ah. Excuse me, but are you maybe new..?
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arrival
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skaldi's curse
Monster.
Murderer.
That's what he is, he knows it. But when the third word shows up... that's what he doesn't need people knowing. That's what makes him leave the house and go into hiding. That's what makes him try to rub mud and dirt on his body to try and hide the words. (Clothes? He doesn't really give that thought, seeing as he wears so little as is.)
He can be found trying to hide in alleyways or rubbing dirt on himself. As for that last word?
Cannibal.]
Hnnnnngh...!
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[ There is a bandage wrapped around Turgon's own wrist, and his voice is gentle ]
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Re: skaldi's curse
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With bow and arrows in hand Thea is heading to the arena to train. But she's trying to ignore the words on her arms. "Once an addict always an addict" covered her left arm while "Killer who deserved to be stabbed" covered the right arm. Hidden via her hair (for now) were the words,"Walking trust issues.' which makes it ten times worse. Yes she has trust issues but too many losses and having her trust betrayed can do it. But at the same time having her demons blasted open is just makin it ten times harder to heal post stabbing.
"Please let this place have decent coffee." since part of her is wanting to drink and she's trying to stay clean. But feel free to notice little things like her breath hitching and the "all is just dandy!" mask that is her forced smile.
---
[Wildcard]
Have Thea will travel!
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"Milady Thea."
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Ye Zun | Guardian
It was starting to become a habit. Every other month or so new people arrived looking lost and confused and somewhat angry as they stumble into the city proper. Ye Zun usually didn't care too much about the whos or the whys they were there as much as he did about knowing what they looked like. It was a little bit of paranoia at work, but the idea of having a new face sneak up on him when he was working on something else made him loiter around the central palace an hour or so every day. Today such dedication seems to have worked.
Watching for a moment, he then steps forward to block the path of one such person, his hand already holding out a folded piece of paper. "Here."
二 A Curse
Some days Ye Zun does not feel like wearing his golden half-mask. It had been something he worn to stop from clawing his fac eoff, something to keep him from the screaming, insistent, gut-tearing knowledge of a lie told so many times that he believed it bone deep. He knew the truth now and did not hate his own face as much, but habits often were hard to shake. Here though he could gradually let go. His brother hadn't left him. His brother had tried to find him again.
His brother wanted to save him.
So when the itching burning sensation started on his skin, he thought it was from the sunlight and the wind and paid it no mind. And when a native jumped, looking at his face in horror, he frowned, thinking that maybe he said something wrong. It took actually catching a glimpse of his reflection that made Ye Zun stop, turn around and look again.
Under his right eye Devourer, under the left eye Fratricide and in between his eyebrows, right where Zhao Yunlan put a bullet in his head trying to stop him, Monster. Lips pulling back from his teeth, he pressed his thumb against the last one, digging in with his nail and cutting down. The skin parted a little but still, the word remained.
"Oh good," he said with a snort. Pulling out his mask, he set it back on his face and glances over at whoever was watching him. "You ever get the feeling that someone needs lessons on how to treat us as something more than pets?"
welcome!
Or nervously agitated. Reading isn't so much her strong suit, and that's usually what paper means.
"Thank you." It's sincere, even if there's a slight upturn of confusion in it. "What's it for?"
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welcome
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Bucky Barnes | MCU
The idea of signing up for a job here isn't entirely appealing. Of course it's not unappealing either: it would be nice to have something more useful to do, something more tangible, but Bucky also doesn't trust those in charge of everything. Their words paint a pretty picture of coming together and benefiting the community at large, but in his experience that often comes with hidden agendas. He doubts this is any different, but at the same time doesn't possess nearly enough information to know if it's true, or to sort the strings of truth from lie.
Even so, he's made it a point to check the board several times, partly to see if the information presented there changes at all and partly to see if others are doing the same. The jobs are all well and good, but just as interesting — and potentially more informative — are the people.
Skadi's Curse;
The words that appeared overnight, he thinks, are supposed to trigger something. Shame, perhaps. Anger. Maybe even embarrassment. And it's true that he'd felt all of those and more on seeing the bold lettering. But it also serves to solidify in his mind that these so-called gods have brought him here for one reason: his skills as the Soldier. He'll never be rid of that part of himself, he knows. And if that's what this place wants out of him, it'll be on his own terms.
Or so he tells himself.
Regardless Bucky isn't bothering to hide. Partly because it's annoying to his the prosthetic arm in general; the sliding plates like to snag threads from clothing, meaning wearing a sleeve over it leads to an exercise in patience of removing said threads from between the plates. As such, there's nothing covering the bold Fist of HYDRA curling its way down his forearm. Neither is he hiding the word assassin splashed across one cheek, nor the four Cyrillic words starting at the opposite jawbone and making their way down his throat. He knows what he is, and he'll take the brands with everything he can manage in stoicism.
Of course, by the third or fourth day, he's pretty sick of it.
Wildcard;
Whatever, wherever; hit me up on
job listings
It's hard to tell if she notices Bucky in particular too or not though. Her gaze crosses his a few times, but it's not until the third or fourth time that she sees him that she finally steps over to him with a small smile. ]
.. Ah, sorry.. But I couldn't help but wonder if you were thinking about something. [ Since he's seemed to have stared at the board and the people near it for such a while already now. ]
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Skadi's Curse,
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james t. kirk ▹ star trek aos
He does try to spot any new faces around Asgard, this time around. He knows there have been some new arrivals and he wants to get to know a few at least, help them settle in however he can. He can't do much, but he can show them around, answer questions, see that they have what they need-- granted, there are the gods here, but other Wanderers were a lot more helpful when he first arrived than the gods were, so he hopes he can offer that, too.
Other than walking through the city greeting both new arrivals and familiar faces, Jim can also be found at the farm, where he splits his time between tending to the crops, taking care of the animals, or cleaning and sweeping, with his dog always following happily in tow. Either that, or he's working on the last few details of the house, nailing a few things into place, varnishing the woods or painting.
Anywhere he might be, he seems more keen on wearing high turtlenecks than usual, or anything with a collar that can cover his nape. He'll often scratch at the back of his neck, frowning when that itching sensation comes from nowhere, but it's difficult to spot the words that pop up every once in a while.
Maybe if he's distracted or bending his head slightly, someone might spot a word on occasion; liar, cheat, smug and manipulative are the most common to switch back and forth, their significance enough for him not to want to talk about them with anyone, even though they were all true about him at some point in his life. Maybe even now, at times.
((ooc: bit of a generalized starter but I'm pretty much open for anything! feel free to run into Jim anywhere, or poke me if you'd like to plot anything more specific.))
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She arrives with her piglet Winston who immediately starts sniffing around the yard. Her things are still left on the Benetar, but she can work on moving that later. Mary gives Jim a kiss on the cheek when he meets her out front.
"I'm so excited to see what it looks like," she tells him, before pulling her shawl more tightly around her. That morning, she had woken to a nasty surprise: a brand of the word MEAN on her left shoulder blade. While not necessarily untrue, it came out of seemingly nowhere and was definitely upsetting to discover. Since a lot of her dresses dip in the back or are off the shoulder, it's at least partially noticeable. The shawl is doing a good job of keeping it hidden, but she has to remember not to let it slip down her arms.
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Re: james t. kirk ▹ star trek aos
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Shen Wei | Guardian
It's almost impressive that after all that he's seen in his very long life, Shen Wei can still be amazed by his arrival in Asgard. He'd thought to drift in the ether a while longer, to wait for the next life and hope he might find in it the one that he loves, yet here he stands.
Here, in the middle of the grounds before the castle, with his life newly declared for Heimdall and a shellshocked expression on his face. The buildings don't resemeble at all the structures of Dixing or of Dragon City, and the people are just as strange, if for the most part friendly.
Shen Wei adjusts the new gauntlets on his wrists, and then his glasses, calling quietly to the person nearest. "Could you direct me towards Heimdallhaus?"
ii. curse aka that didn't take long
It starts as an itch beneath his collarbone, some sort of allergy, Shen Wei thinks, right up to the moment that he parts the crisp white cotton of his shirt and spies the words branded on his skin. Failed them both. It's not a sentiment Shen Wei would argue, but neither is it one he prefers to flaunt. The letters look like old, dried blood, but they won't wash away, and after a moment's staring at them in the fountain's reflection, Shen Wei stops trying.
As welcomes go, it isn't the most courteous, is it?
iii. straight to business:
Cursed words or otherwise, Shen Wei has been brought here for a purpose, and even if it isn't the one he chose he has no intention of slacking. Heimdallhaus has a rather splendid training yard, and Shen Wei descends upon it quickly, eager to work through his frustrations with being here and worry for his brother, rolling up his sleeves to practice forms with his glaive.
The exercise helps with his restlessness, but it can't empty Shen Wei's mind. As he swings his blade scattered images crowd into his vision - of Ye Zun's manic smile, of the SID. He swings again, and the training post disappears, replaced by the wormhole of the Hallows, the warmth of Dragon City and the cold, bloodless walls of Dixing Palace. He sees the brief family that he'd found, xiǎo Guō and lǎo Chǔ, Dà Qìng and Zhù Hóng and Zhào Yúnlán, Yúnlán, always Yúnlán.
The blade goes too deep into the training dummy, stuck in its thick wood, and Shen Wei yanks it out with a rare sound of frustration. There is a bench not far, and he sits down hard, running shaking fingers through his hair as he tries to calm himself.
iii.
His dummy isn't getting stabbed much, probably because Malcolm is more used to fencing than to actual combat and ends up stopping himself before making any serious contact. He's just about convinced himself to actually hack at the dummy when he hears the cry of frustration from close by and sees the other man yanking his sword out of his own dummy.
One doesn't have to be a profiler in order to see that the man is upset. Malcolm holds his sword down at his side as he approaches the bench.
"You okay?"
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Wrathion | World of Warcraft
Wrathion is pacing by the job listings, alternating between a frown of intense concentration and muttering to himself. He appears to be muttering the names of gods, and their traits: Odin, knowledge and wisdom. Mimir, strategy, patience... He pauses every so often to stop and study the listing, to try and gain new information from it, then goes back to pacing again. These sorts of decisions, for Wrathion, are not taken lightly. If he has to ally himself with one of these gods while here then he must select the best possible option. Will it be Odin, then, for knowledge? Mimir, for strategy? Wrathion does love a good strategy. Something else, though? Would a diplomat allow him some good inroads?
He pauses, one gloved hand rubbing at his chin in thought, then turns glowing red eyes on the newest person approaching the job board.
"The work these gods offer tells us much about them, but not everything. Their motivations remain unclear to me. Do they truly desire to send us home? Is it true that they do not know what brought us here? Tell me, what do you believe?"
❧ WILDCARD
[ ooc: Wrathion will eventually align himself with Mimir, then will explore all over Asgard! I'm happy to have him bump into you anywhere. If you have prose, I will happily switch to action tags with you instead! ]
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"Ah well... I believe they are trying their best. That they do not know what to do with us is, I think, very obvious once you have been here for any length of time. Do they mean well? Well enough, I think, for the moment. Sending us home... that, I think... is harder to tell. Some of them certainly wish us gone!"
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Arrival
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more arrival!
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Riku | Kingdom Hearts
His worst fear, lose the light on his path and lose the strength to protect what matters. Succumb to his darkest desires and hurt those people really important to him. Mickey would be there to remind him what -or better said, who- his light is and how hard would be to take that light away. If not him, a ghost of the past would. But that voice is long death since he woke up in Asgard, just like the presence of his little friend and adventure partner.
A simple word, a mere name tattooed on his forearm is enough to shake his entire world and break it into pieces. A name he used in the past to hide himself and his shame, the same name the dark that consumed him had; Ansem. Even if now is hidden by his glove he knows it's there, the itchy feeling that warned him that something was going on under the fabric still present as he walks. Riku believed that fear had been overcome over time but now he can see how wrong he was. Dragging his feet he walks aimlessly, looking every now and then at any surface that reflects his person to make sure he is still himself.
He tries his best to pretend that there's nothing bothering him, like he always does. And if it wasn't for how relieved he seems every time he sees his own reflection, would be hard -or impossible for those that don't know him at all- to know something on him is wrong. Once he snorts at himself; so much for the I'm perfect lie he used to tell himself a couple years ago. )
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Seeing Riku, she waved and started to walk over his way.]
Hey, how you been holding up? Ignore the doodle. I'll be kicking someone's butt later.
[She didn't quite know him well enough to know anything was up, so she was going to try and play it all very cool for the moment.]
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Rhys // Borderlands // OTA
[ It's not as bad as it once was, but Rhys doesn't have many nights of truly restful sleep. If he doesn't have nightmares, he can't quite settle, tossing and turning and drifting in and out of surface sleep. It's really just ironic that after a night when he's actually slept and wakes up almost rested, his skin is burning, and when he lifts the palm of his left hand to check--
MURDERER
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, sucking in a deep breath through his teeth. It's like it can't quite get where it should, stuck in the shoulders that tense, like the pain in his chest is a physical obstacle blocking of his lungs. The next two breaths are a little easier, despite Jack's voice ringing in his ears that he tries to somehow quiet down by shaking his head.
This is what success looks like. After a while you start to measure it by the pile of destruction around you.
He has no idea how long he sits on the bed simply trying to breathe, but eventually he manages to get onto his feet and walk into the bathroom to look at the other burning spots: His right cheek and the right side of his throat. If his heart is racing, well, he's pretty scared - anxious - about what they'll say.
It turns out to not be quite as bad. Not if you ask him. On his cheek: GREEDY, and on his throat: TRAITOR.
It's easier to scoff at that and roll his eyes. Like that isn't something he thinks about all the time now, with everything that happened. He's over it. Or at least constantly working on being ... better. And anyone he's betrayed has already moved on from it. ]
Yeah, yeah.
[ Then he sets about going through his morning routine. Coffee and something resembling breakfast, even if it's just a small sandwich. He sits himself down at the table like nothing abnormal is happening, and will greet any of his housemates with a casual "morning". ]
B. Around the city
[ And after that, he goes about his usual routine in the city too. He can be found wandering the streets at various times of the day, and he'll happily greet anyone that he recognises. Alternatively, because it's cold as hell and he ensures to bring a huge thermos of coffee with him, he'll stop if he sees anyone shivering and perhaps trying to pull their clothes tighter around themselves, he'll approach and raise both his eyebrows and his thermos.
He's got a whole backpack with necessities to stop for coffee at any time. It's important, okay. No, he's not addicted, he just used to work an office job and drink many, many cups a day during all-nighters. He's fine. ]
Coffee?
[ At lunch, he can be found at V's pizza place Gilver's. In the afternoon, he'll be in the library, considering the logistics of fitting a data server and computer into it. ]
C. Wildcard
[ Just your good ol' wildcard. ]
b
A man walks up and offers a thermos of coffee. And you know what? She's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth or turn down the kindness of a stranger, even if this isn't her preferred beverage. It's so bitter, usually.]
Oh, you're a lifesaver. I could use something to warm me up about now-you sure you don't mind?
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coffee time
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A, of course
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Dolorous Edd | ASOIAF
Edd suck at his teeth thoughtfully, looking at the board of job listings. His life as a steward of the Night's Watch has led to him to have a variety of skill sets. He could just stay put and be part of the food lot, like with Sigyn. Or he can look out as a Sentinel, considering his work at the wall.
He just can't make a choice which to pick.
"No god seems to want a steward," Edd complained to nobody in particular.
SKADI'S CURSE
Edd is not even that upset at the words. Because of course they are on him. He knows, he knows, he says it all the time, so it just finalizes so see it on his skin. On his forehead are the words DEAD MAN WALKING. On his left hand said NO WAKING UP FROM THIS NIGHTMARE and NO DREAM OF SPRING on his right. He tried all sort of soaps to get rid of the words with no avail.
There's nothing else to do except just wander around the city, guiding his half-blind garron around the city as he does his shopping, using the garron to carry his various groceries. There's bags of vegetables, a small wheel of cheese, along with salted pork and one lone chicken in a cage, with the various skins of wines. Edd's just going along his day, trying to ignore the stares from others, particularly the one on his forehead.
EVERYWHERE ELSE
Edd can be found in many places, mostly in involved in food in some capacity. He can be at the Njord District to take a drink at Drykka Drekkr. He belched. "No. Most ale I tasted was watered down. Now the water taste like ale here."
Even though he's not a religious man, he every once in a while he will go to Sigyn's temple for a rare moment of prayer and reflection. He figured that since the gods are literally here and he did originally picked this house, so it wouldn't be too much of an effort to keep a connection to that. Or something, it made sense in his head.
Job offers
Perhaps, via breaking it down, they could match his skill set to something?
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eliot waugh | magicians
ii. curse
iii. wildcard it.
(( ooc: will style-match. hit me w/ whatever. also reachable on discord or
i
While this guy is clearly new but strangely seems to be taking the whole thing in stride, that much is a reasonable reaction. ]
Trust me, when you've been stuck here for six months with nothing to do, it's a much better offer. I've been bored out of my mind.
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curse;
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Lan Wangji | The Untamed
Lan Wangji is tired. The curse marks on his hands, Cold and Unworthy are truly only as troublesome as they will upset Wei Ying. These are things he knows, things he has felt for years and are no worse than the other scars hidden by his robes.
But they will upset Wei Ying.
And further, he has spent the morning discussing not only having lost Wei Ying with Master Shen but the injustices Wei Ying has faced with Master Ye. He is so deep in his thoughts he finds he's walked nearly to the edge of the city, feet taking him towards the still unfinished house he so longs to finally live in. He stops, chiding himself for his absentmindedness and turns on his heel only to nearly run face first into someone.
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Naminé | Kingdom Hearts
[ After so long in the city, Naminé's elected to make it something of a habit to take a peek at the new Wanderers when they arrive. Though this time their entry into the city takes place with slightly less fanfare than is typical, she still makes it a point to meander over in the direction of where she knows the newcomers will be passing through. She's armed with a sketchbook and a keen gaze that she employs even when she isn't drawing some of the new strangers; she's quiet, but not unapproachable, tiny, unthreatening thing that she appears to be.
Provided one doesn't mind that she still hasn't learned to stop staring at people, that is. ]
Curse | Anywhere
[ Today, Naminé is restless.
Too restless to stay at home, too restless to stick to one place. It's like the words on her skin burn her, like the stabbing pain of guilt and shame refuse to allow her respite anywhere she stays, and so she wanders. To the library, to sit curled in on herself and try to draw, try to read. To the quieter temples, to stand uncertainly and not ask for help; to the observatory, to distract herself with the glimmer of stars and the safety of the semi-dark.
She's always been reserved, but it's been a long time since she was so eager to turn her face away from anyone who passes by or stands too close. It's probably owed to the stark NOTHING scrawled right across her cheek, too near to the center of her face to be covered by the fall of her hair. Likewise uncovered is the FORGOTTEN poking up above the back of her dress, right between her shoulderblades where she'd be hard-pressed to reach and cover it even were she to try.
Truthfully, though, she seems more preoccupied with the words written on the inside of her palm, the ones she peers down at occasionally with a grim, troubled expression. STOP LYING TO THEM does leave a lot up to the imagination; that's probably why she keeps her hand otherwise tightly curled. ]
Curse
Ahem. When she saw that in the mirror, though, she did get a little worried. Some folks handled this type of thing well. Like, she wasn't worried about Peter in the slightest. He'd laugh at it. But Naminé was someone she was a little concerned about the reaction she might have, so she was trying to loo her up, and when she happened to catch sight of her, she started to make her way over.
Ugh... Forgotten? Seriously?]
Heya? Someone's been playing with the magic markers again it smells like... eheh....
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curse, late late late
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Héctor | Coco
[The Asgardians and the Wanderers don't really know him. They've not had to live with him for nearly a century, building up quite a reputation with year after year of frantic attempts to cross the bridge. He uses and uses and uses. He worms his way into people's hearts with smiles, friendship, and good times before he ruins it all, each and every time. There are no exceptions. Everyone will grow tired of his antics, give up on him ever changing his ways, not be able to forgive him indefinitely...
None of it would be necessary, if he hadn't done the same to his very own family long ago. He tore through their lives like a hurricane, leaving it in tatters. He gave them nothing but pain, in the end. He's the real curse, not the words he's found etched into his bones. Annoyance. Failure. Useless. Liar. Con. Unwanted.
Forgettable.
But it's easy to hide. The weather's colder than he's used to and he can feel it more than a proper ghost would. A good excuse for wearing longer sleeves, though it doesn't fit as well as his fancy suit does. Everything not tailored just for him is far too baggy, for obvious reasons. And he's had bad days before. Only way to deal with them is to double down, pour out the charm, laugh it all off as he goes about his usual business. Which mostly involves getting into everyone else's business. Plenty of people to pester throughout the city! He's well on his way to becoming that guy who knows everyone.]
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... Go away.
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Ivar certainly wasn't expecting to wake up with a bunch of new marks on him like tattoos he hadn't even asked for. He also wasn't expecting to have them be things that he must rather would have forgotten about. At least one of them would likely be familiar to those who knew him, but most would be a bit shocking to read, given how little Ivar had really told people of his life before coming to Asgard.
One is on his dominant right hand. CRIPPLE. Two others adore each arm, going down at a diagonal like the way blood might run if it was bleeding across his skin. FRATRICIDE. INFANTICIDE. The last rings around his throat like a collar. TORE YOUR FAMILY APART.
Anyone caught starting at him would be getting a death glare and a snarl. "What? See something interesting? Go on then, keep on looking!" Best to say something to diffuse the situation before he pulls out something to stab you with. Or just continue to antagonize him, either will really work in this scenario.
B) Wildcard
[Want something specific to do with Ivar? Give me a poke! I'm on
skadi's curse, because i'm the worst
That's when the viking snaps at a staring passers-by. A native, who scurries off at the snarl in his tone. And Lalli exhales a resigned sort of sigh, calling just barely loud enough to be heard - "They aren't going to stop." Because he can picture Ivar making his way down the street, snapping every which way at any foolish gawking native who passes too close, and the futility of it exhausts him even just as a concept.
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Sebastian Michaelis | Kuroshitsuji
New arrivals wanting to find out as much as possible probably isn't something new. Neither is some of those new arrivals not quite knowing how to human yet, probably.
Then there are mule-headed, intense people like Sebastian, in his immaculate Victorian butler uniform, who can be seen spending the entire morning... lunch... afternoon... rooted to the same chair in the library, steadily plowing through the rather impressive pile of books on the table in front of him. When he's not intently reading the network on his bracelet. What is eating. What is taking a break.
God Jobs
"Truly",
comments the well-dressed man next to you, with something like unimpressed dryness in his tone, as he studies the bulletin board with listed jobs. Hard to tell if he's really addressing you or just being sarcastic out loud to himself.
"For all their talk of wishing to help, these mighty gods certainly are not shy in letting us know how best we can service them, are they?"
Library
This time when he entered the library, it seemed that there was someone new sitting and reading. Though he didn't want to disrupt for a vast amount of time he thought it appropriate to introduce himself. It wasn't often that he had company in the library.
Connor approached the table, "Hello. My name is Connor." He offered a polite nod, "I haven't seen you here before. Is there anything I can help find?"
Feel free to continue with the past tense; I just know myself to fail at anything but present
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god jobs
1/2
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