TEST DRIVE #6

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks! 02. THE STATION. Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms! 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket!

Comments

lauralae . native oc .

[darkborn]

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. ]

One! If not okay, lemme know.

[stickanarrowinureye]

Duck!

[Is the best warning Sera gives before an arrow flies by just as the woman makes camp. She's hoping to hit the tree behind her just as she bends over to fix ... whatever. But it wasn't her clearest of shots. It wasn't planned either. So Sera comes running up right after.]

Piss, are you all right?

it's good! c:

[darkborn]

[ She twists, jerking out of the way as the arrow comes flying by her head, her lips twisting down into a frown. When her head turns back to Sera the noise that comes out of her mouth is almost feral, absolutely infuriated. ]

Are you entirely brainless?!

[stickanarrowinureye]

[Someone's mad. Someone's grinning. It's all good. Probably needs to dislodge that arrow from the tree then.]

No, but you could've been. Except I know what I'm doing.

Great shot, right? Relax, you would've been fine.

[darkborn]

[ Her nose wrinkles and she turns, twisting a little, tugging her robes around her a little. Knows what she's doing, she says, and yet she still had to duck. ]

You know what you're doing - [ she scowls. ] - and yet you still aim arrows at unsuspecting folk? Perhaps I ought to return the gesture.

[stickanarrowinureye]

That's the fun, innit? Seeing if you can make the shot.

And I did and you're fine. What's the problem? Get over it.

[darkborn]

[ She hisses, glaring as she wraps her robes tighter around herself. ]

Next time aim at someone else, you twit.

[stickanarrowinureye]

You're in the middle of a wooded... thing! There is no one else.

[She still wants that arrow back, so don't mind her approaching now to get to the tree.]

Whatever. Arse.

[darkborn]

Then perhaps have the intelligence not to go around shooting strangers.

[ She sniffs, glaring at Sera. ]

At least I may be an arse with a brain between my ears.

[stickanarrowinureye]

Yeah, that's the point. Making the shot. It's no good without moving targets. No target just trees. Lot's of trees. Anyone can hit trees, they don't move.

[She's near a snarl but okay, dislodging her arrow and honestly not hating the view right about now.]

Cute arse, too. But still an arse.

[darkborn]

Then ask. I may have been able to provide.

[ For a cost, of course. She doesn't do anything without getting something in return.

-- but. She frowns, lifting her head and feeling her eyes narrow. ]

You are pressing your luck.

[stickanarrowinureye]

Pfffft. It doesn't work if you're expecting it.

[She scrunches up her nose in a frown.]

Shite, it's just a compliment. Don't want it, don't take it.

[darkborn]

Not myself. Other means.

[ Magical or otherwise, but - well, she doesn't need to say it, surely? Magic is common here.

She turns away, her frown almost blinding with her pale features. ]

I don't need it.

[ It's not your fault, Sera. She doesn't believe in them. ]

[stickanarrowinureye]

[Squint squint squint.]

Other means?

[That's the weirdest answer ever, but she can take a hint.]

Fine.

[darkborn]

[ A flick of her fingers - covered by gloves - and the tree behind her moved, branches twisting as she called for it to twist with her fingers. ]

Other means. Power.

[ She looks away; she's not cute. Don't be ridiculous. ]

[stickanarrowinureye]

[Oh nooooo maaaage. Gross groaning noises.]

Eugh, that's not normal, you. You're supposed to be normal.

[darkborn]

[ She laughs at that, a little twitch of her lips as she actually looks at Sera properly. ]

And what is 'normal' for you?

one. ( also know as I DO WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT )

[seidhe]

[ He appears shortly after the camp is established, emerging from the surroundings with a purposeful heavy foot ─ a early warning she'd likely recognize by now. As somewhere along the way he began bringing her food during her movements, if she was nearby of course.

Nothing is said, no other sound save for the noise from the Station and Iorveth's heavy footsteps, and he simply... deposits two rabbits down for her. The kills had been clean and swift, leaving the pets undamaged. If he hunted for himself, it is hard to tell, there is no smoke smell on his clothes, only to fresh scent of pine and dirt.

With that done he sets himself a short distance, pulling his bow from his back, resting it beside him. ]

my favourite kind of prompt

[darkborn]

[ She flinches a little as she hears the sound of his footsteps and, were she unused to it, she would have turned to aim something rather vile at his face. Luckily (for him or for her, she cannot tell) she is used to how he walks, at least when he approaches her, a lesson hard learned for the two of them together. Lauralae doesn't know enough of him to say much or do much other than let her gaze flick to his; their conversations have always been short and the trust between them hard won.

The rabbits, however, are welcome, for all that she once loathed the idea of eating meat, and she reaches for them and draws the small knife she wears at her side. She can use the pelts, he knows this, and she finds his consideration as charming as she can find anything; all she does is begin to skin them, her fingers moving nimbly. She has been alone for so long that tending to her own meal is second nature now, she barely needs to think.

Eventually, however, her eyes turn to him, gaze careful and measured. ]

You were successful, then.

B)

[seidhe]

[ Truly he had not expected to gain her trust, nor for her to gain his. Their initial meeting was full of venom spat at one another, to wound, to frighten. Both so full of pride and anger and a great amount of hatred for others, he for humans, and her for her own kind. Ironic, then, that somewhere along the thing they went from spitting cats to this.

He has pulled out his pipe as she begins to skin the rabbits and lit it, inhaling a herb he refuses to name. His lungs seize against it, threaten to cough, but he ignores it. Something he has gotten good at over the years. ]

You had doubts?

[ Iorveth's singular gaze flicks to her, eyebrow raising from behind his head scarf. ]

[darkborn]

[ Her eyes flick to his and her lip twitches, ever so slightly. ]

No.

[ For she knows that he is skilled, just as she is, and they share talent as much as they do nature. If there is anyone she would put her trust in to do any kind of scheme it would be him - and that is not something she would say lightly. Indeed, her trust is hard won and difficult to maintain, her skin crawling at the very idea of someone having enough of her to know what to say and do.

One rabbit is done and she moves, drawing a cloth and dropping the meat upon it before she turns to the next. She'll have to cook it, or perhaps salt it, to keep some for later; there will be more journeys ahead and strips of carefully preserved food will do her some good. ]

I was curious.

[seidhe]

[ He scoffs, the noise more an exhaling of breath, followed by a trail of smoke.

It may have been that that drew him, the difficulty of gaining her trust, a mannerism he too shares. He yells his hatred for humanity, curse them, insults them, though they are not the only people who have burnt him. It had been one of his own who traded away elven lives, one of his own who paid for the elven state in blood. It has made him a difficult man, hard to get along with and even harder to gain his trust.

But since then a hand full of people have managed it, all in different ways. From the white haired Witcher, to her. ]

About what?

[darkborn]

[ She sniffs; this is how all their conversations go. It's like pulling teeth from one another at times, neither of them keen to spend any amount of their day speaking on matters that they hate. Most of their time together is spent in silence, she will happily admit that, even when they sleep (she is still getting used to waking up in her other form, her face buried in his neck and his hand touching her, careful).

Together, they are a dangerous mystery.

She takes a moment to peer down at her rabbits before she continues to speak, nonchalant and entirely unconcerned with his lack of response. ]

How well you did, evidently, or I wouldn't have asked.

[seidhe]

[ There is something comfortable not being expected to speak, though he is a man with much to say, something comfortable about her expectations of him in general being as they are. She does not expect him to rant or rave, or speak of his people, or be the vicious murderer many of his land say that he is.

He does not admit it, of course, as he does not speak of the mornings where he wakes with a wolf draped over his chest, head buried against his neck. ]

I have hunted for my food for a hundred years or more. A clean kill is an easy feat.

[darkborn]

[ She shakes her head, lifting her shoulder in an absent gesture. The ease of their friendship - can they call it that? She's not entirely sure - has startled her and her nose wrinkles. Lauralae knows what he is; he is part of the groups that she tries, sternly, to avoid, but he cares for her as she cares for him. A reflection of veiled interest in one another tied with the knowledge that they have an uneasy accord.

She moves once the meat is cut, moving to scrape the last of anything fleshy from the pelts. Maybe she can leather it, turn it into another pelt to tuck something small into. Perhaps she will give one to him - there is not much, but there is enough. For now. ]

You are cleaner than I am.

[ Because she hunts as a beast, snapping their necks with a powerful jaw. ]