multiversallogs | Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

Entry tags:

Noli equi dentes inspicere donati.

Who: EVERYONE.
What: Swap meet.
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Sukkardi the 14th of Haneden
Notes:
Swap Meet Spreadsheet: Pre-chosen swaps are green. Assigned are blue. There were a few characters that were selected more than once, so objects were assigned on a first-come first-serve basis. If you have any issues or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact the mod team.
For objects that might not be immediately apparent as belonging to their owners, there may be a picture or name attached, or players are welcome to have their characters ~just know~ it's for them. Drr drr drr, bb.
Party post nights are a great time to come join the chatroom.
The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.
Warnings: None yet. Please put warnings up on individual threads.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hellboy had liked the idea of the swap meet up until he saw what he was given to swap. Boromir's death was still too recent for something obviously of Gondor to seem like anything but a cruel joke to him. (Some part of him recognizes that this isn't really all that fair to Faramir, but he might as well be honest at least to himself with his feelings.) That it's specifically that dagger, one that he knows belonged to Boromir because he'd given it to him, only intensifies the cruel-joke feeling.

His initial foray into the lounge had netted him his own gift, now resting in the holster that had gone empty for so many years, which buoyed his mood somewhat. After a swing back out to the bar for a (non-alcoholic) drink, he's made his way back to the lounge to settle in and wait to see who has the stones to claim the dagger sitting next to him, or if he's just the victim of the gods' missing a beat.

Edited 2012-04-15 07:51 (UTC)

[ I know, sort of a non-tag, kind of dependent on Hellboy's willingness to say 'hey', don't feel obligated! ]

News at 6, Hellboy is difficult to miss, and Benji is honestly-- fucking-- surprised to see that he is, in fact, a real person. She has seen xenians by now, of course, ones that are overtly so, but just didn't really make the connection, and none of them were quite as larger than life as this one. Saying 'hello' (and also 'sorry') seems beyond her reserves as much as she might want to, so he is on the receiving end of furtive glances when they are in roughly the same space that she doesn't mean to be rude about.

In real life, her wardrobe is more masculine, presence slightly more demure and unremarkable, but she is otherwise distinct. She is making use of the wine being at a cheaper rate than usual.

Hellboy is used to being a bit of a spectacle, but even so, he does eventually become aware of being the subject of furtive glances. Once they come to his attention, he starts looking back, and while he doesn't place her right off, there is something about her that looks familiar.

The penny finally drops when the weight of his new-old gun on his belt reminds him that he'd dreamed of having it again weeks ago. He doesn't remember the dream especially well, but thinking on it... yes. The recognition startles him a bit, and he gives her an uncertain look and a casual finger point as though to ask the question without just outright stalking over.

[ Not quite a 'hey' yet, but yes, their meeting in person is cool. ]

[ :3 ]

Oh, hello.

Turns out Benji was not being as sneaky a ninja she thought (and she really wasn't), and her first instinct is to smile, although it's clearly one of those compulsive gestures that comes with a little nervous. Rather than sidle out of the room, though, she taps her fingers against the side of her wine glass and then head on over, stepping around people rather than cutting a path.

"Hellboy, right?"

"Yeah, and you're..." It takes him another moment to finally surface the name. "Benji. You were in that dream I had, a couple weeks ago."

It's not quite accusatory, but it's definitely a little suspicious that something weird went down there.

She finds a nearby place to perch and sit, mostly out of politeness; she has the demeanour of a bird landing somewhere precarious and ready to take off at the barest hint of suggestion that she should. "That's right," Benji says, ankles crossing. "'We' had, actually. Part of it was mine, part of it was yours."

The bit with the frog people, specifically. "I'm sorry, I never usually do anything like that."

"You did... Oh." He cracks a little smile as the pieces suddenly fit together. "Dreamwalker, right?"

Some people might be incredulous or fumble towards understanding what Benji meant, but no, Hellboy is a professional.

Is that a smile? Yes, Benji thinks so, it's not that difficult to tell. Just, perhaps, not what she was expecting, but seems pleased to realise. Her shoulders slouch, and she nods, the corner of her mouth turning up.

"Yes," she confirms, raking hair behind an ear in a fidget that is largely unnecessary. "You've met one before?"

"Kid, you'd be surprised what I've met in my day," he chuckles.

"Now, let's see, it's starting to come back to me a little." He rubs his forehead and scratches a little at where the skin meets the horn stumps. "The frog monsters were me. I'm guessing all the robots were you; they didn't have any swastikas on 'em. Was the apocalypse just me, or did we both contribute to the ambiance?"

(no subject)

cestrumnocturnum - 2012-04-23 06:54 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

hehaseatenthepancake - 2012-04-24 04:29 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

cestrumnocturnum - 2012-04-24 05:24 (UTC) - Expand

Steph is in a much better mood, thanks to her cool gift and the liberal application of a few drinks. They don't seem to be affecting her too much as she swans up to where Hellboy is seated, giving him a friendly (cheeky) smile.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" With a pointed look at the newly acquired gun in it's holster. Stephanie you're terrible.

And okay, maybe the alcohol is affecting her a little more than she thought.

Hellboy gives a snort of laughter and what for him passes as an oh, really? kind of look. (He is way too old, Steph.) "A little of each, I suppose, though not in that way."

He draws the cannon from the holster, then lays it on its side in the outstretched palm of his Right Hand to display it. (It's unloaded, but he still treats it with care, including being able to close his hand around it if she reaches for it in her inebriated state.)

"I'm going to have to see what I can get for handloading supplies."

Her grins widens, "Sorry," No she's not, if the way she's trying not to snicker is any indication.

Though she is well behaved around guns, regardless of how much alcohol she's consumed, so she looks with her eyes rather than her hands and gives an impressed whistle. It's pretty damn cool.

"You probably have Hellsing people to help with that, but I have a - friend who might know suppliers if you ever need it," The pause before friend is because she's talking about Jason and he's, you know, Jason.

"Oh, really?" He says with a mischievous grin that suggests he has an idea what kind of contact she's talking about. "I'll keep that in mind if I come up short."

The gun goes back in its holster; Hellboy has apparently not learned any lessons, and does not button the holster flap.

"You remember I told you about the Torch of Liberty? He gave me that gun, taught me how to handle it, how to make ammo for it, how to shoot it." He pauses a moment. "Truth be told, I never got very good at that last one."

Steph unceremoniously flops down on the arm of the lounge Hellboy is sitting on, with an ease and balance that contradicts how many glasses of wine she's had. This is less a 'Bat-training' thing and more a 'years of being a rebellious teen' thing.

She hums as a yes in response to his question about the Torch of Liberty, "I can't imagine it's hard to miss with that thing. You could literally hit the entire side of a barn."

That easy familiarity gets a bemused look, unaccustomed as Hellboy is to young ladies perching themselves on his chair that way.

"I'm not that bad," he says, but the hurt in his voice is obviously mock as he adds, "...Anymore. The size of the bullets does help. I also learned to get in close enough that my aim's less of an issue. 'Course, then I usually get the gun knocked out of my hand after getting maybe two shots off, and I have to finish things the old-fashioned way."

What, just because he's a giant, red dude with sawn off horns? Steph is not so easily perturbed.

"I am somewhat troubled by the idea of something that could knock a gun out of your hand," Just saying, because even Hellboy's left hand is kinda huge. But the troubledness doesn't seem to last too long because she gets distracted by giving him an overly cheerful grin and adding, "The old-fashioned way is the best way."

It does tend to put a lot of people off at least a little, so he ends up being both pleased and yet just a bit uncertain whenever someone's that casual with him. (He'll get used to it.)

"A lot of my fights, the other guy ends up being a lot bigger. Sad but true." He shrugs a slouchy what can you do shrug. "I remember we talked about that before, how punching's the best part of the job."

(no subject)

controlledvariable - 2012-04-23 05:20 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

hehaseatenthepancake - 2012-04-24 03:59 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

controlledvariable - 2012-04-24 10:05 (UTC) - Expand

He knew he had to come. It was too soon after the funeral and Ilde was right, everyone who had known Boromir needed to mourn, and he agreed. But the boon he had been given might have some special significance tied to it, something the other person might even need (sentimentally or pragmatically --did it really matter given recent events?) So he would be quick. He would drop off the metal container and go.

When he enters the lounge, the collar on his jacket is still up in the hopes of obscuring his face from anyone who might recognise him. Of course, it doesn't help when he recognises Hellboy --from memories that are still fuzzy and the video transmission on his first day-- and his step falters just a touch.

And then his eyes drop to the dagger. ...oh. Oh crap.

Oh crap, indeed. Hellboy notices the movement as he finishes taking a sip from his (thankfully non-alcoholic) drink, and glances over to see who just came in. His glass cracks -- going to have to pay for that, he considers ruefully, but at least it didn't shatter like if he'd had it in his right -- and he quickly settles it down on the table next to him.

He considers in that moment what to do -- once again, he wants to storm over and start some shit, but once again, he knows this is an awfully public place for such a scene -- and looks back up just in time to see that Brian is looking at the dagger. His own baleful orange eyes narrow, silently daring the other man to come over and do what the part of him who wasn't sure this was a godly mistake expects him to do.

He does take a step or two forward, but only one or two --he's not stupid by any means, but he's not quite sure what else to do either. The dagger is for him, that much is clear. He only wished he'd been given a better opportunity to do this.

"Do you know the story of that tree?" he asks, finger pointing to the leather marking, hurrying on before he can be interrupted. "Yavanna sang the Two Trees into existence after Melkor destroyed the the only sources of light in the world. One tree gave off a golden light and the other one, Telperion, was silver and more favoured by the elves. So Yavanna made another tree, identical in every way except for the light, to stand in the city of Tirion."

"It had a seedling named Celeborn planted in Tol Eressëa. And from that seedling came Nimloth, the White tree of Númenor. When Sauron took control, he had it chopped down. But one fruit was saved by Isildur, and from that came the White Tree of Gondor."

He stops, mouth dry after his slightly hurried tale, one that deserves more telling, and seems to keep his eyes on the dagger sheath rather than Hellboy. He's not sure what's going to come next.

Hellboy closes the distance himself, quickly standing and looming over Brian, tension writ large all across his massive frame. It's not easy for a voice like his to be quiet, per se, but he manages to pitch it into a low rumble that is at least as dangerous-sounding as his regular voice.

"You got a lot of brass, pal, I'll give you that. Yeah, I know the story. The guy who told it to me looked a lot like you, and I had to help put him in the ground just last week. Now, I've been trying real hard to keep my temper under control, but this cryptic bullshit is not funny. Speak your piece, or go away."

"I am him." He does his best to seem steady as he says it, and God only knows he's been up against worse opponents in either one of his lifetimes, but he knows that if anyone is going to come off worse in this fight, it's definitely going to be him.

"Look, I-- There's no easy way to say this, believe me. This city has a cruel sense of humour and I wish I knew how to handle this, but I am him. I was him. It's --uh." This whole thing is ridiculous and awful and he's this close to stomping up to one of the temples and glowering if he thought it would do him any good. "The war that he --I-- was fighting ended, but thousands and thousands of years later the forces of evil have started to move again. We were called back, we were re-born. Re-incarnated, if you want. Me, Faramir. Our friends."

Please do not smush him into the ground, good sir.

To say that Brian's initial statement was enough to boil over Hellboy's temper would be putting it lightly, but at the same time, it kindles a bit of hope that he didn't consciously realize he was harboring. It's not like Hellboy hasn't seen how life and what lies beyond isn't always so cut and dried. He himself had come back from the dead once. The conflict between blinding rage and uncertain hope leaves him simply stunned, slack-jawed and incredulous while the rest of Brian's explanation rattles around in his head hollowly. I am him. Re-incarnated, if you want.

In the moment of silence that follows, Hellboy's temper is sufficiently cooled that his reply, rather than coming from his fists, is instead a rather incredulous, "No way." With the tension broken, he lets out a gruff chuckle, that skepticism mixed with the hopeful and why not and the curiosity that makes him an investigator and not just a monster-killing thug. "Prove it."

It's a challenge, but it's also a chance.

Oh that's just great. That's just great-- he had to think back thousands of years ago, to another lifetime, when his memories of this place weren't even that clear. There's a beat of silence as he considers what he can remember of the Guild Hall, the missions, the offices--

Their desks.

"There's a picture on your desk. An old black and white one. You were just a baby, I think? Small, anyway. And you were surrounded by soldiers, and your father."

There are only a few people outside the guild who know about the picture. Certainly no one who would just blab about it to a newly-arrived stranger, no matter how familiar his face may be. It's good enough proof for Hellboy.

"Well, son of a gun," he says, with his terrible smile. "How the hell are you?" He steps back out of Brian's space to get a better look at him, then picks up the dagger and presents it on the palm of his mighty right hand. "Guess I get to give this to you, then. Again."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only