fairynuff | TEST DRIVE #6

i. within caer scima.

[ adam parrish walks through the halls of caer scima as if in a trance.

it's not like he's not there. he is, mentally. adam can feel himself walking, knows that his feet are moving towards--something, something he doesn't really know or understand. he's not sure where he is or why he's come. imps? is that what they were? he thought he'd been dreaming, that cabeswater had wanted something of him. a ley line to fix, power surges to stop, something that could be done with his waking hands. but now, as adam walks, he's having trouble remembering anything but cabeswater. the dark trees, the whisper of the water, always calling him, calling, calling.

though he looks a little blank, he continues walking, hands in his pockets. where he's going, he doesn't know. in fact, at the moment? he doesn't know much of anything.

transient global amnesia the doctor says in his head. gansey, he thinks, got to find gansey. ]

ii. the feast.
[ having more or less snapped out of that, adam makes his way towards the feast in the great main hall. there's not much familiar here, making his stomach turn a little--but a part of him is excited, too. his friends are gone and he's not sure if they're anywhere near where he might be, but isn't this what he wanted? independence. a chance to be far away from henrietta and all of its memories. adam can't feel the ley line anywhere near him, which has left him feeling a lot emptier than he'd expected, but it's just like that, somewhere different. it's no ivy league school. it's more like one of gansey's politician parties, full of people and music and expensive food and noise.

he's not sure how good he'll be at working the room, though. for now, he sort of wishes he had a cellphone and settles down at the table, staring down into a cup of whatever's on the table and debating if he wants to drink it or not. adam looks a little morose, really, and he stares at the cup like maybe it'll have an explanation of what he should do. ]

THE FEAST.

1.

Ten minutes. That's all she gives herself. Ten minutes to flee to the first empty room she can find, shove her back against the door, breathe in deep through her nose, out from her mouth. Not going mad. Not going mad. Of course, when she checks it, her watch has stopped, because what good will a battery do in fairyland?

Irene scrabbles at her wrist with red talons, suddenly enraged, wanting to grab it and throw it down and stamp on it—then she sucks in her breath again, calms herself. That's Gucci, she reminds herself, and it's got diamonds in it, and the mechanism is very complex, and you're going to want to have someone take it apart carefully and hawk the individual bits for as much as possible.

She's just done talking herself down from childish destruction when the door shoves forwards and she has to hurry away from it, turning. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she purrs, instantly snapping back to collected charm.

2.

Irene is all the better for seeing that others are all the worse. It's not sadism; it just calms her to see how many of her fellow feast-goers seem to be looking around in confusion or dismay, or frozen uneasily at the edges of the festivities, because hell, at least she can hide her own panic and use it to fuel her, not paralyse her. A hidden engine, working and grinding hard behind her charm.

She wants to prove her mastery over the situation, and touches the upper-arm of the nearest feastgoer to her who seems troubled; "Come on, darling. Let me get you a drink; you look like you need one."

LOCKET | VIDEO | OPEN TO BOTH COURTS

[The woman broadcasting holds the locket like a compact, tilting her head this way and that, pink tongue lapping red lips. Not a nervous movement but nervy, certainly; her expression is full of excited energy, and when she realises the locket is connected she flashes a grin like she's unsheathing a knife.

Her accent is English, expensively schooled, polished and bright.]

Oh thank God. Electricity's out, but communication technology's tip-top. I thought we were all going to be sundered from one another and have to talk face to face. Terrible fate.

Speaking of technology. [She raises her wrist, shows off a flash watch, its hands stilled.] Doesn't work anymore, sadly, and I'm not really too interested in repairing it, even if it could be done—ah—magically, or something. I'm looking for someone who can help me take it apart. There are precious stones in the face. [Diamonds, actually.] I'd like to repurpose or sell them.

Thank you.

[A. Caer Scima

The feast within Caer Scima is bountiful, the imps making mischief and laughter abundant with the new arrivals. There is food and drink, welcoming tones and jovial answers to questions being given. One would think that being within this festivity means that all people would be active participants.

There is one, however, who isn't exactly partaking in the welcoming, yet not shunning it. Arno is among the crowds, yet not engaging them. He blends in and out, seen one moment, then gone the next, like breathing in fresh air and breathing out. Some people he passes by without a word, others it's a small touch to the shoulder, a quiet pardon, monsieur/mademoiselle, and he's gone again like a ghost.

The whole point of this is to gather information- as much as Arno wants to angrily demand he be returned home, he's noticing through observation that that is proving to be something more difficult than it looks.

B. The Station

..........if there were any words to describe how dumbfounded the Frenchman currently is, they fall incredibly short where they are. He's never seen anything like this- not even the richest of the nobles had technology like what he's seeing, and half of the things he notices he doesn't even know what they are.

Of course, with what he's wearing, he's not exactly looking like he belongs, either. His mouth opens, goes to say something, then promptly shuts it self again before letting out a slight sigh.]

Right, then. Definitely not Paris.

[C. Network

So he's finally figured out how this locket thing works and well. He's full of questions. Really, being from the French Revolution means he's far behind in a lot of times.]

If any of you could spare a moment, indulge me. What time do you fare from?

[Spoiler free unless requested otherwise! Prose or action is all game.]

01 :

Off to the side and near a corner, Fiona stood. Not at all because she didn't want to mingle, per se, but because she intended to watch. She didn't trust this place yet, and was uncertain why others were so willing to right from the start. Wars were, indeed, a time of desperation and one where someone couldn't remain picky of who their allies were. She was familiar with that tune. Yet at the same time a large feast stood in front of her that appeared to spare little expense, and her method to even arrive was easily questionable at best. She wasn't pleased with any of this.

No food touched, no drink poured. Eventually, she would need to have found something, but clearly this feast wasn't anywhere close to being finished yet.

03 :

[Anywhere, anytime. Anything is appreciated to nothing. :)]

arriving: [ as far as sam can figure, he's got two options here: either this half-assed whirlwind adventure across the states to find traces of a man that wasn't supposed to exist has finally gotten to him and he's having the mental break of a lifetime, or getting sucked into the superheroes' battle with wwii-era nazi extremists to overthrow his government's intelligence agency is not the weirdest thing that's ever going to happen to him.

he's not sure which he prefers, to be perfectly honest, but door number two has food behind it! sam's done as much reading and surveilling as he can on his own, but he works better with people than shadows ( 'i'm more of a soldier than a spy' ). going to the feast just makes the most sense right now if he's gonna get his feet back under him.

who's gonna begrudge him getting his grub on at the same time?

sam only carries one plate with him, but he stacks it high with as much food as he can manage. he doesn't trust his captors or their high king ( seriously, this dream is whacked. he doesn't even play those open world rpgs with the knights and the dragons and fucking fairies jesus christ ), so he hasn't actually eaten anything that he couldn't immediately identify as 'probably not poisonous', but still. it makes for a good conversation starter. if anyone approaches, he might speak excitedly at them, or he might even just start blathering at the back of someone's head. he's got a job to do here! ]

Aw, man, have you tried this one yet? [ y'know, this one here. no, not that one, this one. ] I have no idea what's in it, but whatever it is, it is the shit.

[ he assumes. maybe. someone convince him this isn't an elaborate ruse to steal his soul so he can eat these things, they really do look awesome. :( ]
the station: [ go to the station, they said. it'll be normal, they said.

they're all a bunch of bold-faced liars. there's nothing normal about half a city dropped on its ass in the middle of ye olde mind-fuckery, or the mythical creatures texting each other like teenaged girls ( might actually be teenaged girls, he ain't judging ), or the barista that is green and excitedly telling the story of how the station was attacked by a shadow beast as they make his coffee and also they are green.

he's stuck somewhere between being absolutely fascinated by everything and freaking right the hell out. a few weeks in and sam's still halfway convinced this is probably some long con, way over-ambitious prank. if ashton kutcher jumps out at any point, sam is decking him.

coffee is normal, though. coffee is good. right up until sam realizes that the drabwurld probably doesn't operate on the usd. his life. ]

Uh. Do y'all take debit or credit?

[ help. ]

[ ooc: i am going out of town for today so i might not respond until tomorrow but i have been too excited for this not to jump on it while i have the chance, sorry. :c thanks for your patience!!]

party time

[It's been months since Élise replaced time spent in ball gowns making social niceties with desperate planning and cleaning blood from underneath her fingernails. But she knows her way around a castle, and even if she gave Madame Levene an excess of gray hair before her time, she can behave herself when the situation calls for it.

And she still recalls Julie de la Serre's lessons after all these years. Assess the situation, don't reveal yourself, and do what it takes to keep going. Right now, that means seeking out possible allies.]

This is very fine wine, don't you think? Tell me, what do you make of our unexpected hosts?

outside the castle

[Enough of that. She will not allow it to show, but Élise finds herself somewhat drained by the socializing. Yes, she's been trained to social graces, but a welcome reception held in a land she never knew existed is somewhat beyond her experience.

So she goes for a walk, intent on collecting her thoughts—but she's not so lost to them that she doesn't hear the sound of approaching footsteps interrupting her solitude. She turns sharply, one hand on her sword, but she will not attack—unless given a reason.]

Who's there?

1. THE FEAST
[ It's not so much of a surprise anymore for Ajay to wake up somewhere unfamiliar, with no memory of how he got there but a ringing in his head and a dull ache in his bones.

The medieval trappings of where he's ended up, though — not medieval as in the genuinely centuries-old monasteries and ruins he's found dotting Kyrat, but rather some genuinely cheesy Medieval Times-style set-up — now that definitely throws him for a loop. It's enough to make him wonder whether whatever drug he must've been stabbed with this time hasn't worn off yet...and really, seeing all this, how could he not be on drugs right now?

Still, as convinced as he is that this is all one big hallucination — somehow bigger and more elaborate than all those before it, even though he's not feeling much of a buzz at the moment — he's on his guard as he makes his way into the feast hall. He doesn't have any weapons on him save the kukri knife at his hip, but maybe he won't need anything more than that... Hopefully. ]

2. THE STATION
[ Okay, so he was definitely not on drugs. At least, he's been stuck here long enough to be pretty sure that none of this is a hallucination.

Which was why the second he heard about this place, he was on his way here as quickly as possible. As it turned out, as quickly as possible meant horseback, and riding horseback is definitely not something he's used to... But, whatever— He's here now, and that's what matters.

His radio is working again, cracked screen and all, but the only signal he picks up is an endless stream of static. Still, that's hardly going to stop him from trying. ]

Sabal? ... Amita? Come in, anyone, come in...

[ Eventually he'll give up, but not for long. He can't just accept that he's stuck here without any allies at all. ]

3. WILDCARD ???
( idk, anything goes! )

1 (a).

[ doot doot doo doo doo doot

Strolling the shimmering hallways is a handsome face who certainly looks like he belongs, golden-horned and dressed in gleaming scalemail the same green as the Seelie banners. Occasionally, he stops to listen in on conversations, talks to this and that person, and generally is a charming piece of trash. Feet up on a bench here, hanging over a balcony there, sometimes there's even a woman wandering around who might just be his twin ~~but isn't, shh~~. He revels a little in the pleasantries, polite to a fault and gleefully bloated on being treated like the hero he (wants to be oh let me be please) looks like.

Why didn't America ever kick down the wall to this little corner of the multiverse? Verity will adore my stories next time, I wonder if I could take a fairy back to show her.

If you follow him around a corner, Seelie sweethearts, you'll find he's simply not there at all. Not where he can be seen, anyway. Are you being rude and stalking this perfectly respectable fellow? Tsk. Not that he blames you. ]

1 (b).

[ Bored at the Scima feast, he leans on the edge of a table and keeps a weather-eye on the meandering bodies, attentive for any he might recognise. No, he prefers Glaem to this. Everything is so dour, he doesn't want to be one of these, not even outside of his preferred dimension; the stigma is a sour one. Surely someone he knows will be yanked into this rank reality too.

Billy would be a shoo-in for the Unseelie, given their track record with magic.

When the young man starts flicking grapes into the helmet of a suit of armour, he really makes no effort to hide his ire. ]

2 .

[ (When he feels certain Mother isn't around, he relaxes significantly.)

Loki, he tells everyone sitting in the kitchen of the Station, my name is Loki.

A small crowd of hungry neutrals have gathered and far be it from him to deny them their breakfast meats, not once he really gets cooking. He wears a plain green hoodie and dark jeans, sleeves rolled up as he hums cheerfully and doles out rashers of bacon, piles of eggs, and tumbling sausages by the spatula-full onto awaiting plates. They thank him and he earns a few kisses on the cheek, and he grins. It's lovely to be known and, dually, not to be criticised. This horrible little dimension with its delusional, multiversal deities posing as royalty is a vapid dive, but mortals are mortals wherever you find them. It's the godly equivalent of rolling around in a bathtub full of kittens, what with the way they hang off his arms and laugh loudly at his quips, cranking up Beyonce to half-dance his way through the French toast with them.

He finds he likes this corner of the Drabwurld best of all.

Much later, Loki can be spied slouching on a couch in one of the IT rooms with a laptop, apparently browsing fanfiction. He is, sort of, but he's mostly wondering exactly how pissed a certain human lie detector is going to be with him when he gets home, chinning a hand. Does he look distracted? Yes, he is. Mrrr. Magical deals are definitely the best deals for him to start working out with the monarchs, it's all a matter of approaching them from the right angle, which means recon. Boots-and-sword time, later.

Either way, word will have gotten around after a few days that the God of Mischief is holed up at the Station. ]

Edited 2015-01-04 19:40 (UTC)

01.

[Wheatley has not stopped yelling since being literally kidnapped from space. There had been, of course, a brief moment where he wasn't screaming, but that was before he tumbled out of the sack into a crumpled, wet, sticky, human heap. There had been a lot of yelling then, so much that if you asked him what he'd been briefed on before being ushered to the party, he wouldn't be able to tell you.

No, his concern is entirely for the arms and legs and hair and face (oh, god, a face), unceremoniously slapped on him without even being asked. Surprise! Here are some hands that are definitely attached to you. Enjoy!]

No, no, nonono, no, I don't--you didn't even ask me if this was what I wanted! This is--this is completely non-consensual , I'll sue you--!

[There is something of a commotion towards the entrance, centered around a flailing, sputtering, completely uncoordinated man who appears to be incredibly ginger and incredibly naked. He has not seemed to realize that in this situation, negotiating with the imps will prove entirely fruitless, and, unaccustomed to his own (clumsy, human) feet, he crumples, sprawling on the stone floor. Face into the ground, he lets out a long, drawn-out moan.

It sounds like this:]

Ahnnnaaaghhrrnnnghhhhhghrhhghh.

[The Station, Action]

[He's still not entirely sure what he's doing here, but it's all very interesting, especially this locket. Most of the people are terribly annoying, but that's nothing new. And he's been told he'll find amazing things in the station, so he heads that way. Plus, he's been promised coffee.]

i. the feast.

[To say Bellamy trusts no one here would be an understatement. The food smells great, but he's cautious, skulking along the edges as he looks over the meal and the faces. He's hoping for familiar ones, so far without luck, but his luck has never been the best to begin with.]

[Shards and fairy courts sound like a whole lot of bullshit, but war is more familiar, and he can see the signs of it. His stomach grumbles quietly in reaction to the food, and he scowls, hoping the sound didn't carry. He's left his gun elsewhere, but there's a knife hidden away, the pressure a comfort.]

[What he should do is duck out and take advantage of the populous gathering to explore everywhere else, even though he gets the sense he won't be in trouble for getting caught anywhere. It feels like something Clarke would do, but that's not a bad thing. And the feast itself makes him feel like he's crashing a Grounder celebration, which sets him a little on edge. But really, what doesn't these days?]

[If someone walks by close enough, he'll jerk back with a frown and maybe a slight glare.] Watch where you're going. [It's half annoyed, half 'look out for yourself,' okay?? He's not a total ass ~~anymore~~.]

ii. the station.

[The Station should remind him of home, and in some ways, he can see the Ark. But it's in being here that Bellamy realizes he hasn't thought of the Ark as home in ages. The ground was where he came alive. It feels like the Ark does, in the sense that it's a bastion of technology against a backdrop of rural violence.]

[He might prefer the ground, but he's going to take advantage of being here for now. Maybe with a cup of coffee. He's never had coffee before, having been a bit of a luxury on the Ark.]

[He should use the Locket, try to see if any of his people are here too. The only reason he hasn't, he thinks, is because he's afraid of disappointment. But the sooner he finds - or doesn't - them, he can make a better game plan. First, he'll scroll through it - skimming over public messages, looking for recognizable faces or phrases. He settles in a chair (god, it's the most comfortable chair he's used in probably his whole life), looking grimy and a little out of place), and despite his focus on browsing the locket, he's astutely aware of his surroundings and anyone in the vicinity, looking up every time someone walks by.]

Edited 2015-01-04 19:43 (UTC)

feast;

[Koltira isn't one much for revelry. He stands--looms--awkwardly over the feast table, his bright, ice shard eyes taking in the platters and platters of food with little interest. He's reminded of the parties he once attended in life, but these chairs are obsidian, this table a dark, glinting mahogany. The engraved silver plates are piled with sugar-frosted grapes and strawberries, their flesh delicate and jewel-toned.

The meat is plentiful, and of many different kinds; Koltira observes whole chickens, pheasants, perfectly cooked roasts surrounded with buttery potatoes and small, sweet carrots. Koltira observes the other guests cut into gooey slices of pie, smear their mouths with jellied peaches and bits of flaky crust.

Some are wary, like him, but others eat and drink with abandon -- especially drink.

Koltira eyes the full wine glasses. The red liquid shimmers in the dim light of the castle, and he can sense magic in it. His long fingers curl around the stem of an untouched glass, and he brings it to his lips.

He does not drink. Instead, he keeps his watch on the others, noting their behavior, their increasingly loose talk.

He mutters audibly.]

Best to be mindful around magic such as this.

wildcard; locket;

[Koltira rasps irritably into the locket. He's no stranger to war, and he has little fondness for faction-based pettiness, but he wants to know what he's up against -- or with -- nevertheless.]

Who hears this call? Who wants this war?

Edited 2015-01-04 19:38 (UTC)

(Caer Scima)

[ Kuvira, being an opportunist to her core, worked hard to suppress the gluttonous urge to indulge in the offered festivities with reckless abandon. The chance presenting itself might be her only one for this kind of living for the remainder of her life, and although the thought of it all being a dream certainly crossed her mind it was met with very little resistance. If she could achieve happiness in a dream or in some sort of illusion, it just might count.

But her dream had been deferred, and strange things happened to one's appetite and sleeping patterns after they've been confronted with monumental, irrevocable failure and irredeemable actions. She watches the food, stomach lurching from the inside, and places an arm over her abdomen in an attempt to quell it. Standing, dignified, Kuvira's eyes scan the crowd with a suspicious fervor that appears too tired to have momentum behind it. In her other hand is an empty plate.

She knows a story like hers doesn't end with being rewarded, so... what was this ruse? Or was it a straight-forward plunge into madness? Feel free to shove past her to get to the food or encourage her to actually get some food. She's kind of in the way. ]

(The Station)

[ Kuvira will be sitting on the patio, doing some breathing exercises, stretches, and indulging in some meditation. Her appearance is tired and her breath comes out a bit too heavily to give off any sense of inner peace, but she's trying. Any instance of someone entering the patio will be met with a furtive and tense glance over her shoulder. ]

o1. The Feast

[Okay so maybe Leia and being greeted with food isn't exactly the best of combinations. Youthful, energetic, and pretty unpredictable, she is almost the epitome of what most people would call a 'tomboy', even if her 'masculine' outfit with a bright yellow blazer and her heart pen try to embody her more... feminine side. Which exists, she swears. Diet starts tomorrow! Then again, that's what she's always telling herself in the midst of all this food. Wouldn't it be rude to say no?

Though after she's done stuffing herself, she can be found in the castle halls, pen and notebook out. At least all this stuff here looks like the makings of a great article!]

o2. The Station

[The Station is a nice place to her, and a place she'll probably be scooping around most. Maybe because it does remind her of Marksburg, being the neutral part of this world and it's courts. And the wifi means that she's actually trying to connect her GHS and being unsuccessful, so... best to put her RPG knock off of a cell phone away. But while she's hear, her journalist senses are tingling, so she might be approaching your character ready to practically tackle them for an interview.]

What's your thoughts on the two courts? Who's side are you on?

[A piece to really get an idea of how things work in this world. In the end, she would love to make an article for the readers in whole. Not one that's biased, but one where her readers can form their own opinion. That's her ultimate goal.

Also if your character's not giving in to her interview, she'll totally hook them up with food or something else, so long as it's in her timeframe and budget. That also means her morals, too.]

o3. The locket

Woah, hey, this locket's pretty neat! Talk about advanced technology here.

[She doesn't even have to dial a number! Then again, technology is still a little new to her where she's from, but details details. She just wants to really see how this works and if she can actually call en masse! Respond to her just to make her happy. That and she'll love to make new friends. Especially ones that can fight! Hell yeah, sparring time!

But that's for another time she guesses.]

Edited 2015-01-04 19:54 (UTC)

Dressed in a floor length gown fit for an English noble lady and a holding a ornate golden pipe in her right hand, Beatrice stood out even amongst the throngs newcomers who now haunted every corner of the imposing structure.

The Golden Witch, as she was very very likely to introduce herself, was far louder then one would expect of such a refined looking women. Accompanying grand speeches and gestures with a cackle so high pitched and off putting that it could not have possibly have come from a normal human being.

"Eh? Do you require something of the Golden Witch?" She would ask of anyone who approached her.

Station:

It was more then likely that "modern" was something of a relative term for most of the people brought to this land from afar, and even for the a witch who has lived a thousand years certain things were beyond her reach. For example; Wi-Fi and related technologies.

But while being behind some arbitrary identifier of technological advancement was annoying, it was far less so then the thought that all of this, the world, its conflict, and even the other people here, may have been nothing more then yet another game set up by a particular set of witches to sate their own need to rid themselves of boredom. So the Endless Witch sat by herself, mumbling and fuming none to quietly about this little dilemma.

"Dammmmmmnnnn yooouuuuu Bernnnnnnkastellllll!!!!"

If she were ever to escape this Fragment there will be hell to pay.

c. OPEN + Magic

[Things break, and the means they need to be fixed. Sometimes through good old fashioned handiwork and elbow grease, but sometimes also by the magic of a thousand year old witch with a bit of a need to show off.

Somewhere sometime, you may see just this, Beatrice in her full gown and pipe conjuring in a circle of golden butterflies all the while chanting at some inanimate object to pull itself back together.]

Edited 2015-01-04 20:07 (UTC)

ONE. outskirts of the station;

[ She's quiet as she moves, stepping through into the main light of the Station proper. It's a place she had been to before, of course, but each time she gets close she is in awe of the magic it possesses. It's all bright lights and flashing metallic that is still foreign to her, even now, and her lips twist down as she tries to take it in. It's more barren than she recalls from her last visit, more broken, though it's obvious some effort has been made to clean things, to repair what had been damaged - that she turns her nose up at.

The idea that it would be so easy to repair something war-torn is an uneasy weight on her shoulders.

Eventually she stops at the edges, watching as people move around inside; this is close enough. All she needs is somewhere safe to rest for a while, an evening at most, and then she can move on. She has no desire to waste her time interacting with people brought here to play a game that they cannot win; there are more important things at stake, at least for her. Solemn as ever, she does little more than move, shrugging off the thick robe around her shoulders and beginning to make a bare-bones camp. ]

TWO. nimh gleanne;;

[ Nimh Gleanne is familiar to her, at least, and in a warm, comforting way. She would say it reminded her of home if the memories of that place weren't clogged with nightmares and howling in the back of her skull; the forestry is handsome, the buildings mostly quiet, and few bother one another here. She knows this is a point of neutrality, that there is nothing here that anyone will do to upset that delicate balance, even now. This is a place for the fools and idiots alike to come and find a resting place, and she steps inside to do nothing more than seek refuge, to barter, trade and collect on the secrets she is owed.

The quiet of the place settles her and Lauralae doesn't do much more than walk through, her robe thick and her face hidden in the shadows of it. Should someone stop to look at her she will pause, tilting her head, considering, before she continues - people know of her in the Drabworld, of course, but rarely by face. That is still a secret she wants to keep for herself; if people knew her face, attached it to her name, her life would become significantly less simple. It's as though she can feel the hounds snapping at her heels and she refuses to allow it, her nose wrinkling in the darkness.

Rather than taking advantage of one of the localities (she could, she has the money for it) she moves to sit alone under one of the trees, her fingers brushing along the greenery. For all that she claims to hate the world around her, and most of the people within it, she finds a certain swell of affection for quiet moments like this - at least until she is bothered by someone. ]

1. Feast

Here's a young king, wandering around the court, watching everything carefully. He's not eating or drinking, because he's a little afraid of enchanted food. If he looks a little lost, it's because he is. But he's a friendly sort, and will greet anyone who stops to talk.

2. Locket

[More magic he's not used to. Caspian's a little hesitant as he speaks, but it can't hurt to try.]

Good day to you all. I hail from the land of Narnia. Are there any others here from that place?

A. Feast Hall.

[So many minds!

The Feast Hall was full of noise, but it was beautiful noise like laughter, and there was fear in there, too, and anger, lost, let me go back, I don't want to fight, but the newness of it all enthralled, and halfway-terrified like one might be if they don't know whether a new creature is dangerous; forced a temporary retreat on top of the fresh lack of balance.

There is no Veil here. Just a wall. No Fade; can any of this really be magic? This is definitely not the Fade; it feels rooted and real yet fast, and freer, with light shining into new shapes yet with something holding close underneath - and in everyone that sticks. Lights lit in grand places that shouldn't be disturbed. That's what Seelie is, or - some of what Seelie is, too much, too closed, hard to hear...

And then people start to leave for the chambers. Or elsewhere. Sources of sounds moving. Spreading. Some stay, and... he ventures on in. Not enough out for the music to have stopped, or all the food to be eaten, and still clanging - with apprehension and with differentness. Where to start...?

He tries catching ahold of one set of sounds, focusing, eyes half-closing - staying put, all the while; he doesn't think he's letting them see him - and... a starting point. Good... Nods - makes note of where it is, strides over to the table, peeks at the sweets and trying to catch after-thoughts - which he can't find, no Fade to put them in, and so he... guesses. Something will help more than nothing will.

Makes a selection and puts a couple of cakes in a napkin, and holds it stiffly on the way away from the table. Takes them to someone who might notice on seeing them that they might've been slightly hungry. With a hushed, encouraging voice and a frozen look - ]

-- I couldn't tell if these ones were better than the others. But when your stomach is calm, your mind will be calmer, too; it will be easier to hear yourself think.

B. The Station.

[A boy appears out of nowhere.

So it seems, at least - you hadn't seen someone coming from your front a moment ago, but he's there, now, terribly scruffy with a hat you'd put on a scarecrow sooner than a person, and within sufficient time to make note of any of this, he's come to a full stop in front of you, brim of that big floppy hat tilting up to show his face, holding out... aye, that appears to be a megaphone.

And speaking in a fast yet somber half-whisper.]

A woman in Caer Glaem said that she needs this very much. I can't make it work in Caer Glaem. -- Or anywhere that isn't here.

I need to know how to make it work...

C. WILDCARD.

[Fire at will!

And note for the non-canon-familiar: Cole compulsively reads minds. If you'd rather he not, say the word!]

1. The Feast

[Tink's still getting used to the idea of being amongst big people. Humans, some of them, and some of them... really not human at all. But everyone here is at least open to the idea of fairies, so there's slightly less chance of her winding up pinned inside a frame and mounted on the wall. (The memory still makes her shudder. Those poor butterflies.)

But for all that these big people are used to fairies in at least some capacity, some of them clearly don't hold her kind in high regard. It's probably due to the way they were brought here, and the fact that several of them--herself included, let's be honest--really didn't want to come here at all. Oh sure it's an adventure, and Tink will make the best of it regardless, but not everyone shares her attitude on these things.

Which becomes increasingly apparent as some very, very large man walks by with a scowl on his face. Someone's not happy at all.

Someone's angry enough to swat at the nearest fairy, who just happened to be fluttering a little too close to him as he passes.

Tink wasn't expecting the backhand and it catches her full on. She slams into the wall behind her, collapses in a heap of pixie dust and limbs askew. Around her life goes on; she's so small hardly anyone notices the incident at all.]

2. The Station

[Tink can be found here most days fiddling with some gadget or another. She's even set herself up a little home inside one of the shops, complete with tiny little accoutrements made of bits and bobs, odds and ends. If you're poking around the Station there's a good chance you may run into her, or she may run into you.]

3. Open! COME AT ME BRO

01 (Seelie Court)

Wait, wait, this is not fair.

[The fairies ignore him, by and large, going about their business of celebrating their new catches and generally making merry.]

I mean, seriously, you all came to me in a dream. You can't kidnap someone and tell them they agreed to it while they were asleep!

[One of the more low-key faeries pretends to listen, but yawns in the middle.]

I revoke consent. I mean, I didn't give it in the first place, but I take it back. How do I go home?

[An exceedingly patient fairy takes a moment to explain the situation, but as expected it doesn't calm him down at all.]

You expect me to fight in a war???

02 (The Station)

[So, now he knows exactly how far he will walk for television. It's through a forest, across a mountain range, between three towns, over a river on a rope bridge and along the length of a sizable lake. That's exactly how far he'll walk for television, because any further and he'd drop dead.

But he made it, and hardly anyone threatened his life along the way, and now he'd just like a solid cup of coffee and a place to sit down, thank you. Anyone else in the station might witness a dazed and bedraggled traveler more or less collapsing on a bench with a fairy-brewed beverage. And looking for a TV.]

03 (Your choice!)

Edited 2015-01-04 20:36 (UTC)

the station.

( It had taken Claire a while to get there, more so in the uncertainty of moving around the place and some fear at what might be out there. She hadn't left the Dollhouse in months because of her fears, and now the simple idea of what was happening was overwhelming - never mind actually 'exploring' the place.

She didn't know whether the Station was any better, though. It may have looked more familiar - or least more like somewhere she may have discovered in L.A. if she looked, certainly compared to the halls of the castle. Familiar didn't mean better, though - it was still unknown, and even if something (or someone) were familiar to her there'd still be the confusing story that had been given to her before. War and courts - fairies? She wasn't any closer to believing that it could be real, even after having talked to some others.

Her hands were together, rather than in her lab coat pockets as she walked. Her movements were slow, very uncertain and it was possible that she might even jump if disturbed. Claire knew that eventually she might need to talk to someone else, or find something of an information center. Someone had to know more than what she'd been told, or be able to give her a better explanation )

01 - a ( caer scima ): Naha (human)

[ That was all rather unpleasant. The unpleasantry didn't end there, either. It was one thing after another until Naha found himself in a room filled with people and food, celebrating his renewed imprisonment.

Oh well. Nahadoth could deal with that later. Naha had never known any other life and would never know any other life it seemed. He was used to this. He would survive. Nahadoth would likely be angry. Naha almost smiled, sad that he would miss that reaction when it came. ]

What's one master for another? [ He shrugged finally as he made his way into the crowd. He might as well indulge while he could and let the rest settle where it did. ]

01 - b : Nahadoth (inbetween)

[ The day draws long and the party looks like it might be ending soon.

But not soon enough. Twilight sets in and that moment comes when the god's mind takes over but the mortal body still yet remains. Only when night truly falls will he be full god. Until then madness strikes the man as it becomes too much for the mortal body to contain the god.

Nahadoth smiles with wolf's teeth.

There's little thought to his next actions. He reaches for the throat of the nearest person, closing fingers around flesh and digging in tight enough to kill. ]

Let's give them a Shard, then. [ Dark hair falls over his eyes as he threatens to choke the life of the person he's grabbed. If they want a Shard he'll rip it from the bodies of the soldiers and throw them all at their feet.

Then they can have their Shards. ]

03 - locket : Nahadoth (god)

[ There's no video, it's difficult to see him in person and so he doesn't try it with the locket.

Instead he only speaks, sounding as though he's relaxed. Wherever he may be. ] What a curious thing. I'm sad I never imagined one sooner.

Does the name Arameri ring a bell to anyone? Enefadeh? Anything of the like? I'd like to know how many are from my own lands. [ And if he should fear two masters. ]

If not, where do you all come from?

Edited 2015-01-04 21:10 (UTC)

caer glaem

[While the festivities might distracting enough, what with the magic in the air and the dazzling Seelie colors, Kori is not enamored with any of it. She might provide a momentary distraction as she strides on by, the fire of her hair fizzling behind her and the clunk of her boots echoing just above the murmur of the crowd. If that doesn't grab your attention, the heavy thud of the doors slamming shut certainly will. (Or, if not any of that -- probably her armor, which leaves little to the imagination. )

Kori ain't got time for this. Her face is like actual thunder as she strides down the Caer Glaem's halls, straight outside. She doesn't take well to kidnapping, especially kidnapping for the purposes of war. No one ever just asks, do they? Her hands are clenched at her side as she finds herself outside. Caer Glaem is beautiful, there's no denying that. But the monarchs won't see her and Kori hates being ignored. She lifts a hand and points it, eyes narrowed, at a statue of who the hell cares and let's a star bolt go. It helps, marginally.

She straightens her shoulders, exhales and glances back towards the entrance. Time to try this again.]

lockets - video

Starfire to Arsenal and Red Hood -- if not them, then anyone with influence. I am Koriand'r, princess of Tamaran. I did not consent to being enlisted.

[u and everyone else, Kori. ]

01.

[ Free food and celebration? Well, far be it for Dorian not to indulge. As far one can see, Dorian appears to be enjoying himself, a glass of wine and a smirk on his face. Oh, he knows this must be a trap of some kind, there's no doubt, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy himself while learning as much as he can from whoever should decide to look his way. And who doesn't want to talk to such a charming guy? And with a dashing mustache to boot.

He's not completely sure what kind of magic is at play here-- nothing he knows, that's for sure. And it's rather a strange dream for the Fade. Too real, and defnitely not enough green. But who knows? Demons aren't spirits-- they can get smarter. First it's drinks, handsome men and smooth conversation, and then just like that, someone tries to possess you. It's all the same whether it happens sooner versus later.

But really, possession, demons, fancy drinks, stinky cheeses... Practically reminds him of home. Just needs a few less imps and a few more blood rituals. Dorian shrugs to himself, taking another sip of his drink. It is still early after all. This place could yet surprise him. Plus the food's not too bad. ]

Well, the ham's a bit light on despair, but it's close. Must be an Antivan recipe. Far too ominous for Orleasian ham.

[ What is he even on about. ]

03. [ wildcard me! ]

1. Unseelie Feast
( when she had consented to come here, she had not anticipated that she might be sliding out of the frying pan and directly into the cooking fire. now she is stuck in the midst of another war. her uncle, whom she'd thought would marry her and make her a queen now lies dead in the dried field at bosworth. does she feel grief? yes. beneath the numbness which has settled in for the time being, surely a result of shock. but it does her more credit here than a detriment.

elizabeth is detached enough from the horror which has so recently occurred at home that she is able to see the silver lining in this conflict: that being her family is not at all involved. both sides are comprised of strangers. and she, for once, may be able to use what charm and grace she has to uplift herself for once. and not her relations. she takes to it with diligence, first taking a turn to request a more familiar tune be played to accompany the meal, which she accompanies with song, her voice low and sweet.

she eats heartily afterward, and then rises from her seat to offer a hand to anyone either being a wallflower or seated by themselves, smiling warmly. )

Come now, surely I cannot properly enjoy such splendour on my own. Would you join me in a dance, so as we both might do so?

( and if none choose to dance, then she will listen to the conversations occurring all around her, to gain a better idea as what sort of people she is to deal with on a daily basis. she will hope to hear something she might use to her advantage. )

2. The Station
( the technology in this place is far beyond what she is used to. and for the moment, she would rather not think too deeply on the moving pictures or other wonders she has seen people looking at today. not yet. but when clothing, bright and beautiful catches her eye through a window, she is, of course, immediately drawn to the sight much as a moth to a flame. pretty things have ever been a weakness of hers. she flits about what (appears) to be the women's side of the shop, somewhat confused as to why there are so many trousers.

however when she locates a rack of gowns, she pulls down every last one and takes them all back to the stalls where she might try them on. nobody has told her aught about the concept of modern sizes, so when she emerges in a lovely green gown that hangs off of her like a paper bag, she stares rather impassively into the mirror. )

Well, this is odd. I have not missed any meals or been terribly active of late. ( which means she ought to be respectably plump, like most renaissance women of station should be. this is most disconcerting! )

3. Out and about
( properly attired now in what might pass for an acceptable riding habit, elizabeth races across a grassland she cannot name. but it is flat and lovely, and this is the most freedom she has enjoyed since well before her father's untimely death. her aim is not to do any hunting, as she has no hound with her at the moment. but rather to enjoy the day, and perhaps race anyone she might come across. just because. )

4. Wildcard!
Leave a prompt please!

Edited 2015-01-04 21:35 (UTC)

adam parrish | the raven cycle | unseelie

irene adler // bbc sherlock // unseelie

Arno Dorian // Assassin's Creed Unity // Unseelie // no spoilers

Fiona | Dragon Age | Unseelie

sam wilson || mcu || seelie