multiversallogs | Recent Entries

Who: Emily Finch, Sherlock Holmes, and OPEN
What: Poking around and possibly getting into trouble
Where: Initially in and around the University, but she is probably around the city
When: Sukkardi or thereabouts
Notes: If you want a hook, talk to me ooc and we'll sort something!
Warnings: None yet

( When you were young )

wontturntofoam

Who: Shrieky, Ivan, and YOU?! Open, basically!
What: A solo scene which occurred during the hiatus, and an open log of Shrieky recuperating from blood loss in a bakery.
Where: The Red Chamber Bar (which I just made up/will make a wiki post for later) and The Bleeding Heart Bakery in Mafaton
When: Solo scene from the Hiatus - Open Log at around midday
Warnings: Blood letting, Blood drinking, Depression

( Solo scene: The have and the have nots are bleeding in the tub )

~~~

( Open - That's Baedal's future not mine, oh! )

synergismus

Who: Everyone.
What: The Harvest Festival!
Where: Howl Barrow outdoor park
When: Through the weekend.
Notes: The companion OOC post for this log is here if you have any questions or concerns!
Warnings: Please give me a head's up if a thread contains something that should be edited into this section.

Locations: COSTUME PARTY, COSTUME PARTY - VIP, MARKET STREET, CARNIVAL GAMES, THE PARK.

amberdrake

Who: Amberdrake and Sanzo
What: Hanging out on the roof at night with good tea and good company.
Where: The old dojo in Howl Barrow
When: Night-time, present-day.
Notes: --
Warnings: Vague discussion of past rape.

It's been a long and somewhat wearying day for Baedal's one and only kestra'chern. He's done with his final client of the day long after sunset, and has cleaned up and then...

Well, he's climbed up onto the roof of the dojo. With a pot of tea, and two cups, and a small box, and a blanket, which he wraps himself up in before sitting down and putting the tea things together.

Then, Amberdrake sits back and watches the sky for a while, letting the stars and the strange three moons make his mind drift. It's rather peaceful.

contentwithoutcommand

Who: David Long and OPEN
What: A new arrival to Baedal is attempting to get his bearings... looking like he just stepped out of a history book.
Where: just outside the Valhalla Inn
When: Mid-afternoon
Notes: Poor, poor man will be suffering from extreme culture shock throughout almost every second of every thread.
Warnings: Mild swearing. Will edit if anything else comes up.

Even the most unobservant person could likely tell that David Long was far from home, unhappy about it, and very confused. He stands outside the Valhalla Inn -- a very pagan name suiting the very pagan place he found himself now in -- desperate for a breath of fresh air.

He doesn't understand how he got here, but he is slightly annoyed by the condition he is in. His arm is wholly healed by now, thankfully, but he had been at work overseeing the application of a fresh coat of paint to Revelation. So, rather than white wool breeches with brass buttons, he has cloth trousers with pewter buttons. His white linen shirt is clean, at least, as is his white, light wool waistcoat. Of course, it's the one with pewter buttons, too. The uniform has brass buttons, but every officer's always does. It bothers him less that it's his undress. It is still very respectable. His black neckcloth has been set to right since his arrival, and the black ribbon that starts at the base of his skull and wraps his hair into a tight queue down his back ends at his shoulder-blades with two inches of hair left loose. That hair and what is visible on his head is dark brown and curly, with a slight red tint to it in the light.

Still, wherever he is, David has promised himself he will give no cause for shame to any brother officers who may be here.

He stands, dark eyes casting in one direction then the other. he holds the pamphlet in one hand, his... device? as it was called... in the other. the money he was given when let out of his room is safely in his waistcoat pocket. That gives him some sense of security, but it does not help his most pressing question:

What now?

asklepios

Who: 'Dr Vanessza Bernát' & Spike Spiegel
What: Removing his stitches and checking in.
Where: Benny's Syriac Well home
When: Newdi!
Notes: Obligatory polyvore.
Warnings: Medical nonsense; anything else will be added as relevant.

The next time Spike arrives at Vanessza's split-level apartment (on his own two feet this time, and everything), it's a little different to last time - the furniture is all where it's actually meant to be and the sofas are uncovered, for starters. The glass doors out onto her patio are closed, and there's a dog sleeping beside it, where light comes down into the room. (Rigel; she's picking up new tags for him with her name and CiD number later. Practicalities.) The room smells of French perfume and a local blend of tea, instead of antiseptic, and it doesn't look like the kind of place that was chosen with makeshift operating rooms in mind.

At the door, Benevenuta smiles, very slightly.

“Come in. My usual home office is upstairs.”

norea

Who: Hasibe Ozcelik and anyone who feels like it
What: The nightlife goes on.
Where: The Vault.
When: Evening.
Notes: Hasi will do some aerial silk work during her act! AERIAL SILKS ARE COOL.
Warnings: The ratings are appropriate to the location, let's say.

As her star rises in Baedal's society pages--fashioning herself the actress, the scandal, the girl with the golden eyes you'd never leave alone with your husband but love to see onscreen--so does the anxiety in Hasibe's employer at the Vault. She doesn't want to lose one of her best girls, her so-called 'black diamond', and although Hasibe has reassured her she doesn't plan to go, she did, originally. But now Mitchell is gone, and so is Bruce, and her plans have reconfigured only because places like these, places where women dance and drink and entertain, are her homeland. She feels safe here, and she's never alone. Sometimes she even brings Huan into her dressing room, because she doesn't want him to feel alone, either--this isn't really a problem, but she projects feelings onto her dog, occasionally, and he tolerates it.

She smiles, and makes her way through all of the various dens of sin at her disposal, looking for unfamiliar faces, or familiar faces, or really, anyone who catches her interest. Being forward has never been her problem. It would take a truly superb level of observational skill to sense there are any cracks whatsoever in her guile and charm, and even then, only at various moments where she's carelessly machinating a few chaotic moments with clientele simply because she can. That isn't characteristic Hasibe behavior, but she's looking for something right now.

As for what that is...she'll know it when she sees it.

amberdrake

Who: Amberdrake and Ilde
What: Ilde's been referred to Amberdrake for therapy, this is a first session.
Where: The old dojo in Howl Barrow
When: Present
Notes: Kestra'chern do kestra'chern things.
Warnings: Talk of suicide, mental illness, etc. It's a therapy session, yo.

Amberdrake rather misses having an assistant. He finishes straightening up one of the twin work-rooms from his last client, who wanted a hot stone and hammer massage and a debate, and takes a moment to re-center himself and relax.

Then he heads for the hallway, and beyond it the walkway, and beyond that, the red gate. He's still wiping faintly lavender-scented massage oil off his hands with a cloth while he waits, humming faintly to himself.

It's hard work, but it's good to be doing his own thing again! He can stop being a glorified spa-worker and get back to being a kestra'chern, and all the things that entails.

Like actually getting to talk to my clients. Even if he has to do it all without an assistant! But I managed fine on my own before Gesten stomped into my life, I can manage again.

Indeed. So here he waits, giving his shoulders an experimental roll as he wipes his hands off. He's in his full kestra'chern garb, complete with the little bells in his hair.

mightyfallen

Who: Jack and Rachel
What: Talkin' about things
When: After hours
Where: Jack's office in Syriac Well
Warnings: Mild alcoholism

( i've got lots of them )

gotbottle

Who: Raylan Givens and Rachel Conway
What: Regrouping.
Where: Rachel's house, Flyside.
When: backdated to a few days after the riots.
Notes: n/a
Warnings: none so far, will update as needed.

It takes her a few days to reach out to people. It's not that she doesn't care.

It's that she cares so desperately, so deeply. Feels so much responsibility for everyone she cares about, too much to let them be dragged into whatever mess she's created.

But she can't be sure, at first, what that mess might be. She lets that small handful of days pass, lets time come and go and unfold and bring what it will. And it brings... nothing. Apparently.

No imminent danger, at least. Rachel still can't quite believe she walked out of the Arena with a fallen vigilante's sword down her boot and a purloined Militia agent's CiD slipped down her shirt, but she's apparently pulled it off. No one's come to kick in her door, no one's come to drag her away.

So now she can reach out. Now she can make sure the people most dear to her are all right without putting them in harm's way.

She starts at the top of the list.

are you okay?

She still can't bring herself to send even Raylan a voice or video message, started out paranoid after her curbside interrogation, got even more so after her thefts at the Arena. What if someone sees her face and remembers her? What if someone hears her voice and reads between the lines?

i'm at home.

Her new home, the house in Flyside he just got done helping her move into, in the days leading up to the riots.

come over when you can.

He works to help keep order in the city and to help those that need it and have no other resources. God only knows how busy he is right now, in the wake of everything that's happened.

i want to see you. i miss you.

And that, at least, requires no further explanation.

egodefence

Who: Gaius Baltar and You
What: A day, or several, in the life of Dr. Baltar.
Where: Around and about, specifically: Serpolet (Tinker's Lot), Echomire (Madrasati), Chnum. Will add more as they happen.
When: Vaguely the last week and onwards.
Notes: Post text is general narrative, I have some specific starters below. Hit me up if you would like to tag somewhere and would like me to set up a thread, or just go ahead.
Warnings: Scifi swearing!

"Here's to the Colonies."

This was said after Gaius had lit the last of his fumarella leaf cigarettes -- he'd allowed them to stretch this long, already substituting cravings in between with more local smokes. By now, the last cigarette is very dry, but not stale or badly tasting. He burns his lungs on the first inhale but swallows against a cough, huffing out smoke through his nose in a cartoonish whuff of breath, before leaning right back to enjoy it. His apartment is a small thing, but he keeps it compulsively neat, save for a work bench that is messy with computer parts and tools.

A brief commission with the City's government had seen a little relief, wherein he'd purchased for himself a new soldering iron and a few months worth of rent at a workshop in Tinker's Lot. And food, obviously, but he's never actually lost the hungry edge that most of those New Caprica refugees had taken on after the first few months, and those that know him now are accustomed to the sharp edges he's made of, bony beneath his suits and expressions.

The clock chimes in reminder that if he wants to make it to Madrasati in anything resembling on time, he ought to move now. He lists about the small apartment to collect his things -- tools one would not expect to be brought into a doctor's clinic, for instance, but he's a special sort of doctor.

Cigarette stub is dropped into a teacup he's been using as an ashtray out of sheer laziness from a month ago, and he leaves, slinging a tie around his throat, the last taste of home tasting like ash at the back of his throat.

amberdrake

Who: Amberdrake and Spike
What: A chance first meeting~
Where: Out and about in Ludmead.
When: Present
Notes: --
Warnings: --

The skin around Amberdrake's eye is still a rather disconcerting shade of ick from his mean bastard of a black eye the other day, but it's healing up nicely... and a touch faster than one might normally expect. It's not so shockingly noticeable, now, that the kestra'chern will avoid leaving the house at all, although he hasn't yet gone back to work.

In fact, the walk he's on is one he figures will stay solitary, on his way back from... somewhere, heading for the house again. It's a ways off, and he's got his head ducked a bit as he goes, although the vibe around him remains calm and serene as usual.

serjeant

Who: Seoraj and Hasibe Ozcelik
What: Grieving.
Where: Amaryllis.
When: Over the weekend.
Notes: Sad faces.
Warnings: Discussion of death.

Grief is not something that Seoraj has ever done alone.

He knows loss - it's a familiar path to tread, a fallen comrade, a lost lover. They've never been the same person, before, but he's no stranger to the quiet that comes afterwards, when motion can no longer be maintained and the space where they aren't feels accusatory. The space where he isn't. Seoraj wakes up to silence in the wee hours of the morning, unsettled, and drinks tea alone in his kitchen, spreading his hands on the rough wooden table where he got accustomed to drinking, sometimes, with someone else. At home- at home he would never be alone, right now. He's never known a kitchen to be empty; the sound of someone trying to sleep filtering down. A cat sleeping near the hearth, where it's warm. His cousin sitting beside him with something stronger than tea and not meeting his eyes- Ewar is a boy in his memory, but he knows that hasn't been true for much longer than he's been in Baedal. He is, he's sure, still a boy in the mind of his brothers. In the mind of his sister, especially.

He tries to imagine, while he's saddling the horse who is now his and who will probably never get a name, what she'd say. Everything he can think of sounds disapproving - uncharitable of him, maybe, but that's the way of sisters, and it comes of love. He's had few problems in his life she wasn't pretty sure could be solved by a wife, and he finds himself leaning against the side of the horse, laughing-

It's just he's never done this by himself. He doesn't have it in mind to start now.

amberdrake

Who: Amberdrake, Genjo Sanzo
What: Stuff and things.
Where: Drake and Sanzo's current place in Ludmead.
When: Today.
Notes: --
Warnings: --

Braving the trains and then giving massage all day every day one right after the next like he's some kind of massage factory is taking its toll on Drake. He hasn't been sleeping well, despite his excellent company at night, and his reaction time has slowed down juuuust a hair.

Just enough for him to be home during the late afternoon, for once, sitting at the tiny dining table with his head in his hand and an ice pack held against his eye.

rhinemaid

Who: Ilde Decima, Shrieky, and open to the public.
What: River monsters.
Where: The Gross Tar River; primarily but not exclusively in the Raven's Gate area.
When: To...day.
Notes: This post is mostly intended for waterweirdos to catch up, but if your character has yet to meet their nymph quota for life, please feel free to set up something - a rousing game of 'spot the naked fairy' is often enough of a hook to start something off, but if you need more to work with, lmk and we can come up with a scenario! I enjoy your tags. ...Also there's no polyvore link this time because nudity.
Warnings: Nudity, Ilde existing, discussion of childbirth. I will add as I go if need be; let me know if I've missed something that should be warned for.

Getting into the river and not changing her shape is something that Ilde is still finding odd; the lack of an impulse to do so, even more. She sheds her clothes and her glamours, at least, but there is something she finds vaguely irritating about having toes in the water. Her tail is better, and this is a less than ideal shape, and it adds a little to how increasingly ungainly she feels as months and weeks progress. She doesn't feel like she's glowing with maternity (although the pearlescent sheen of her skin still catches the light and ensures that at least in the literal sense it is, actually, true), or like she's suddenly become one with the world via her uterus. Mostly she just feels like she'd quite like not to have to see her feet in the near future, and yet stubbornly they remain.

Shape-shifting with a baby on board is not a very good idea. She can't, doesn't and won't until after she's delivered. It's still annoying.

-but Conway is not annoying, and especially with Wolfgang gone now, it seems important to reestablish their bonds. It's practically a family tradition to acquire family by declaration, so Conway is family and she missed him while he was gone, and it seems easier to get into the minutiae of how she managed to get pregnant with an undead and sterile partner in person. It's not that she's making any effort to keep her pregnancy a secret, it's just- that it's not something she's inviting commentary on from every arsehole with a network connection, either. She's not even sure she wants the commentary of people she's close to, half the time, much less unsolicited opinions and advice...

She stretches out on a rock cropping up out of the river, too lazily to be said to be imitating that famous statue, and closes her eyes to wait. Or sleep. He'll probably wake her up when he gets there, if she's sleeping.

whattigerscanchange

Who: Odessa and Vicious.
What: Taking stock and touching base.
Where: Brock Marsh.
When: The day following Vicious' visit to Spike.
Notes: Beginning with a network conversation, moving into a log.
Warnings: Discussion of drug use.

( can't we find something else to pretend )

redeye

Who: Spike and Vicious.
What: A friendly chat.
Where: The Valhalla Inn.
When: After Spike gets back from getting patched up after the riots.
Warnings: TBA.

There is some kind of emotion, surely, that exists in the vast expanse of unsurprise at Spike still being at the Valhalla, extending his stay despite lack of funds through a mixture of inexplicable charm and pity. It's not contempt, it's not even irritation - old, familiar resignation, maybe; Vicious is not surprised the door is unlocked, but he did expect to have to step over discarded clothes and old cup noodle containers on the floor. The lack of it shows either the depths of repressed anxiety, or simply the evidence of the extent of his injuries.

(Or nothing.)

A bottle of shit vodka and the tell-tale wrappers and plastic tubes of painkillers and antibiotics all on the bedside table, decorating the half-eaten, complementary breakfast - potatoes and eggs almost cover up the smell of stale blood, but not quite. Vicious moves with neither deliberate stealth nor threat, existing in a space near-impossible for even the most hair-trigger of unconscious minds to detect. He checks where Spike's got his gun, where his hands are, considers how many rounds he could have.

Then he sits down in the chair facing the worn hotel bed and its occupant, and waits.

inkdamage

Who: Severus and Amberdrake.
What: Business consultation.
Where: A restaurant in Flag Hill.
When: Presentlyish?
Notes: i'm in ur game spammin ur log comm
Warnings: I don't foresee any.

Taking a break from jobs that necessitate the corrosion of his soul is not a work hiatus, Severus would go mad. He remembers the man who contacts him over the CiD, remembers he pegged him for being awfully new and thus certainly under-funded; it's been a while since he walked into a job knowing he'll have to undercharge or work on barter, but maybe something about witnessing those riots is making him sentimental. He's not sure if that's a better or worse explanation than just doing something nice for someone new on his cohort.

The restaurant he's sitting in is one that he's been to before, both to get out of the house and to meet with potential clients; dimly-lit in a way that's subdued instead of shady, upscale without being exclusive, private seating, and no smoking restrictions. He waits sitting in a round, leather-backed booth underneath a low amber lamp, cigarette burning between his fingers, coffee at his elbow.

inkdamage

Who: Antonin Dolohov, Severus Snape.
What: words words words
Where: Severus' Flag Hill home.
When: Little while after the riots.
Warnings: Medicinal drug use??

Though disdaining of social pursuits, Severus can't quite be called a homebody, either. He works, and he works a lot - he'd be bored otherwise, and considering the pace his mind works at, boredom is intolerable. When he isn't working he's studying, because Severus looks at learning like both an enjoyable leisure activity, and something vital to his existence. He'll never just be done.

Which makes tonight rather rare: sitting in the covered garden room of his house, one window open, a few books laid out before him but nothing that would give the pedestrian academic a headache. He's accompanied by a plate of leftovers, a pizza box with several pieces missing, an oversized plastic cup filled with what is apparently iced coffee, and a lazy golden-colored dog, currently laying dejectedly on the floor near him, in utter, bleak despair over not being permitted to eat anything.

His last few jobs have been intense - fascinating, difficult, different, but also draining. He needs some time off of commissions of that nature lest he burn himself out, and after a day of not having the stomach for anything even resembling food, he's taking an evening for himself.

amberdrake

Who: Amberdrake and Sanzo
What: Drake's been out Healing people since the riots began, and is finally hitting the bottom of his resources when a familiar face shows up. Sanzo always had a particular timing...
Where: Ludmead.
When: Very late on the night of the arena riots.
Warnings: A little gore and violence at the start.

( If we're going to make our own way, let's do it without being idiots. )

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multiversallogs

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Recent Entries

Living In Harmony (Open)

You got a black .38 and a gravity knife, but you still have to ride the train

open log :: time made me soft around the edges

If you need to fall apart, I can mend a broken heart.

Kind friends and companions come join me in rhyme...

closed; this is after you stopped on a bridge by a statue to admire her hands

you can't make homes out of human beings; someone should have told you that.

When you do not like to fight, change the rules.

i wanna slay my demons, but i've got lots of them

(no subject)

and that was the turning point, that was one lonely night.

If you want to see the fish, don’t stir up the water.

a velt screen between your self and the brutal art of dying

[closed] Nothing's what it seems to be, I'm a replica, I'm a replica.

something beautiful about keeping certain aspects of your life hidden

over and over they call us their friends

brought something back to me, it's in my blood

take a good look in the mirror and tell me

you had me several years ago, when i was quite naive

[complete] I'm home again, I won the war, and now I am behind your door.

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