multiversallogs | How many goodly creatures are there here!

How many goodly creatures are there here! :: GAME OPENER

Welcome to Baedal.

These are the first words newcomers hear when the door opens and they are invited into their new world. Some fuss, some fight, some need time before they have the courage to step outside. Others, shell-shocked or jaded, go quietly along with the proceedings.

They are given brief instructions; a repeat of what's described in the pamphlet and a door key.

Please stay in your room. There will be dinner soon.

It's been almost a day for some. For others, only an hour's wait. The latest newcomer is lead straight from the arrival room to the dining hall where candles and lanterns have been set out to compensate for failing electricity. (Those who have been here longer explain about rolling blackouts.) The food, however, is warm, varied and plentiful. Seating is open, and less conventional chair are available to those who need them.

There are many strange faces around the table, the majority of these recent arrivals. The proprietor of the Valhalla Inn is here, as is some of her staff. The Sheriff of Mog Hill is introduced, his function detailed. The reason for the dinner is explained:

It's a celebration. A new cohort has finally been officiated; CeidaryBlue523. Your cohort. Please. Introduce yourself. Mingle. Get to know your fellows, they will be your brothers and sisters for as long as you live in this city.

((OOC post for discussion and coordination.))

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This shit again, Lyla can't help thinking. It's differently organized, and the city's structure itself is different--it reminds her of something old world and Eastern European, even the Inn itself. She begs out of most of the dinner (she had, like, a sandwich, that counts, right?) and slinks into the courtyard to sit down on a bench, fishnet-clad legs crossed at the knee.

She lights up a cigarette, glad that her current pack made it through the dimensional trip with her.

If she's honest with herself, she misses her friends. Rather than look sad and petulant about it, though, she just exhales smoke up to the sky, hoping none of the employees at the Inn come in to chastise her.

Some people take their transition better than others; Wolfgang is not one of them. His life had been pretty ordinary up until now (more or less) and the sudden knowledge that there apparently existed other dimensions rattled him so badly. He hasn't even been sure that all of this is real and has been spending the entire time he's been here performing little tests, as if he can prove it to himself somehow, but with every one he still finds himself with doubts.

The last twenty-four hours have been hell on Earth. Or not, as it were.

He steps out into the courtyard, visibly shaking and looking worse for the wear, pausing just outside in the hopes that the fresh air will clear his head. It doesn't. It doesn't take him long to pick up the scent of secondhand smoke and he looks over in that direction automatically. "Did you get those here?" he asks, sounding surprised like it's so inconceivable that extradimensional alternate universes could contain something as mundane as cigarette vendors.

She eyes Wolfgang with a little muted concern--he doesn't look like he's adapting all that well, which she supposes to be expected. The fact that this isn't the first time Lyla's been abducted to a random city lends her a slightly jaded air, which she wears well.

"No, they came with. Thank fuck." She punctuates this by taking a drag, and then pats the stone expanse of the bench by her side. Lyla is tucked up on one edge and she's scrawny, there's plenty of room. "Sit down. You want one?"

"--Oh, you're new here?" It's not a difficult inference to make; he assumed she isn't because she looks oddly calm about this. Maybe it's just him. It's probably just him.

He glances at the bench like, frankly, he's afraid it will bite him, which is a distinct possibility if it turns out he is dreaming, although death by chair would be a new one. He sits with visible relief -- Wolfgang is roughly the size of a fairy tale mutant beanstalk, but he is thankfully quite thin. While not normally a big smoker, he figures he could really use something to settle his nerves. "Ah -- yes. Please. If you don't mind."

Lyla hands one over, along with the necessary lighter (hers has a giant pentagram on it...). She watches Wolfgang's expression, hers lightly sympathetic--not too invested, because there's nothing weirder than a stranger getting all caring at you out of the blue, in her experience, but friendly.

"It'll be okay, you know. I've done this before. It's always a big ol' mindfuck at first, but then, like..." There's a tiny shrug. "People settle down."

"Thank you." He manages to light it even with his shaking hands, then passes her back the lighter (not commenting on the design, although that's... Lyla, why even) and pulling from the cigarette. He coughs once, indicating inexperience, but it does help a little, even if it's only in the mundaneness of it.

He pauses before he speaks, like he's processing what she just said, and: "I -- does this happen often?" He sounds incredibly alarmed.

"Just to me, apparently." She gives a little shrug that's more nonchalant than she really is, deep down--but the image suits her to project. Besides, maybe it'll be reassuring to this guy.

"Usually it's not this organized. I'm kind of impressed, actually."

"That's terrible luck. I'm sorry." He sounds like he means it, too; he can't imagine how horrifying it would be to have this happen more than once... how could you ever feel safe, not sure how long you'd ever be in one place?

"They did seem pretty -- pretty streamlined." Also a little callous, but he's being generous in assuming it must get tired explaining this insane situation to people disinclined to believe it over and over. But. "It's different other places?"

"I think so. I mean, this place feels real different?" She doesn't know how to explain it without sounding crazy, so she decides to leave it like that. It just sounds like gut instinct that way. "But I ain't sure yet. I'll have to look around."

Having explored around the inside of the Inn, Hellboy makes his way out to the courtyard. Partially, this is because he wants to be thorough, but also it's that he wants to get a smoke in, and he doesn't want to take any chances with how the staff might take indoor smoking. Since it seems appropriate, he fishes one of the cigars he'd gotten back in Bete Noire for special occasions, cutting its tip with his knife and lighting it up with a wooden match struck off of his Right Hand.

It's only once he's got the cigar lit, glowing in the evening air, that he notices Lyla. He tries to be nonchalant and not stare, but he side-eyes her curiously all the same. Only once he's at least moderately sure does he finally turn and address her directly.

"Hey. Sorry to bother you, but you look familiar."

Holy fuck, there's a giant red dude with a cigar. She tilts her head to the side, squinting at Hellboy just a little. Well, she's seen weirder, and she appreciates fellow nicotine addicts.

"You don't. And, uh, I think I'd remember..." But she can get a magical vibe of some kind off him, and that is relevant to her interests by a lot. "Where'd you live at before here?"

She just assumes they'll be sticking around for a while. It's how it goes, right?

"Huh. Maybe not, then." He'd assumed that whoever he'd seen around Hell House had probably seen him too, but then he also sometimes seemed to pass oddly without much notice.

"I spent about a month in a different kidnap city, called Bete Noire. Before that, back in my own world, I'd been... traveling. Long story." He extends his left hand. "Name's Hellboy."

"No shit? I came from there, too." To be fair, whenever he saw Lyla, she was probably looking hungover or in a k-hole. Her coping mechanisms got a little strange, in Bete Noire, not that they're likely to be markedly superior in Baedal.

"Lyla. Sick name." That's...sick in a good way, Hellboy, she's like that. Handshakes ensue!

"Uh, thanks." He kind of gets her meaning from her tone, but it's still odd enough to him that leaves him a little uncertain he's got it right. "So, yeah, you worked for Hellsing, right? I... well, I guess I was a senior field agent." He fishes his badge out of his coat pocket and shows it to her.

"Yeah, I was like, a trainee." And their in-house oracle, complete with visions of God. She's still not sure how she feels about that, or why she ended up here--maybe it's like another level. They're gearing up or the boss fight. Like a video game.

"Have you seen anybody else from Hellsing here...?" Not that she's invested. Or anything.

Well, that clears up that little mystery. Hellboy shakes his head. "Not yet, but I hadn't really thought to go looking. They gave us new communicators, though, so I guess one of us could put out a call once the party's over."

"Yeah. Yeah, we definitely should--I mean, just because we left the universe doesn't mean we quit the job, right?"

This is more responsibility than she ever exhibited prior to her eighteenth birthday, which was not that long ago; bear with her, Hellboy. And her tiny determined face.

Hellboy rubs his chin with an uncertain expression. "Well, sure, we didn't quit, but unless by some chance this place happens to have a Hellsing or a BPRD or some other local equivalent, there's not much we can do about that. I'm certainly not the guy to start something like that from scratch."

Of course not. He's only the Rightful King of England, after all.

"...BPRD?" She sounds less certain about this--Hellsing as she knows it is defined more by the people involved than the concept or organization itself.

Hellboy gestures at the patch on one of the sleeves of his coat. "Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Sort of my world's equivalent to Hellsing. Travel the world, investigate weird stuff going on, usually end up having to punch it in the face until it stops bothering people."

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satrinah.livejournal.com - 2011-05-07 04:03 (UTC) - Expand

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hehaseatenthepancake - 2011-05-08 03:39 (UTC) - Expand

It's late by the time Integra gets to the Inn - it was already late when she left Dean at the Hall, and Mogg Hill isn't just next door. But the walk and quick train ride has calmed her nerves, at least, so when she comes up the walk to pull the main door open, she's actually just walking and not storming about with hellfire at her heels. (Only people who know who she is 'eep' out of her way, now, versus ... everyone with eyes.)

She'll check the front desk to see if Lyla's stayed put, for starters, though the thought of her tucked away peacefully in bed is admittedly ludicrous.

Lyla has remained in the Inn, but is being chased out of a hallway by a weary-looking staff member, presently, with a cigarette in her hand.

"I didn't even burn anything," she protests, but she stops in her tracks when she sees Integra. And she grins, too, obviously pleased.

"...holy fuck, hey!"

Oh. Good.

Typically stoic, Integra's version of "relieved and happy" is notably milder than another person's would be, but it's still there. She sends a sharp look at the staff member. "You've hosted entire beings on fire before," she says, and quite suddenly, the two women are alone. She refrains from rolling her eyes as she steps closer, but only barely.

"All right?" She looks like she's in one piece, at least.

Lyla looks discreetly smug, though she had nothing to actually do with that dismissal.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Okay, she was actually pretty fucking alarmed when she turned up, but she hid it well, and then that weird state where nothing could possibly faze her began to set in--apathy, maybe. Or she's just getting used to this.

"I saw Dean. How long have you been here?"

Integra doesn't look like she believes Lyla is quite so impervious to fazing, but she believes she's all right now, anyway. It's good enough; it isn't as if either of them can go back in time and make her arrival less jarring. So Lyla gets a nod, and that's that.

"Two months. It was only Alucard and I, then."

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