And be it gash or gold it will not come again in this identical guise. [OPEN]

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

Who: Sebastian and YOU? (Also, Podder and Sol.)
What: Part open post, part wizard talk.
Where: The open post can be for anywhere in Hellsing Guild House or Baedal.
When: Newdi
Notes: I've been so slow about posting this open thread. *sob*
Warnings: None, yet.

Always adaptable, Sebastian has found it easy to settle into life in Baedal. There are times when he thinks it's the best of both worlds: he doesn't need to lie about his abilities (or lack thereof) and he's able to do useful, constructive things. Most of his days are filled with rebuilding and repairing the Hellsing Guild Hall and the evenings walking through the city or working through Malfoy's never ending reading list. It's not an ideal existence, but for as long as he's in exile from Britain it's the best he can hope for.

Comments

For Sol

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

After he and Lucius had been cornered by the crows, Sebastian knew he had to go and speak to Sol sooner rather than later, but even with that knowledge he put it off for a time. He can admit to himself that part of his delay was a reasonable allotment of caution, but another part was that he's frightened Sol will tell him that he's irreparable damaged. Contrary to popular belief, Sebastian can feel fear, but he has matured to the point that he can recognize it for what it is and won't let it stop him from doing what he wants.

A few days ago, Sebastian sent a short message arranging a time and place to meet Sol.

[ofminastirith.livejournal.com]

In the mid-to-late afternoon, Boromir is sitting at one of the tables in the mess hall eating a late lunch of whatever was warm and left in the kitchen. There are very few people around, most of them having eaten earlier or being busy with work. Therefore he's quite alone, and probably open to some idle chit-chat or being familiarised with colleagues he's only seen in passing.

[ironshodboots]

Nazca is in a clock shop, considering the wares with a critical eye. She's always been fond of clockwork, and is used to a fairly complicated version of it. Not that she can't find some quality pieces in the shop, mind, but the shopkeeper clearly took her for a woman who wanted a merely decorative piece.

"It's too bad there aren't any Verrari in the city," she says, to no one in particular. "One proper artificer could make a killing." Though it's more or less rhetorical, she addresses whoever happens to be next to her, from habit.

[obscuredvision]

"Good evening."

She offers a smile as she passes the man and his dog on the sidewalk, just outside a tavern. She's been out shopping--she has a small bag tucked under one arm--and she's headed back to the Inn.

She glances up at a sign over the door as she moves, eyes darting up and then back to the path ahead. Two more steps, though, and she slows, biting her lip. She knows that name.

...Responsibility rears its head again.

"I'm sorry," she says, turning and moving back, offering a bright, reassuring smile. "If you were considering a meal at this place, don't. The mussels are bad."

Contaminated. Not handled well, and people are going to get ill from them by morning. She can't very well barge in and announce it, though--she'll get tossed out. But at least she can warn one person?