multiversallogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Deucalion, OPEN

What: Arrival shenanigans

Where: Outside of the Valhalla Inn

When: 7/11 in the evening

Notes: your face

Warnings: my face

Deucalion’s arrival was spontaneous, unexpected, and unexplained. Once again, he’d been thrown out of the womb of the world he once knew, and into someplace entirely unfamiliar and strange. While there were certain similarities to the world he called “home,” he realized that it was not identical. This was not home. It wasn’t New Orleans, Austria, Tibet, or anywhere he’d been for that matter.

Prior to his arrival, Deucalion had been in "a mood." Jonathan Harker had been killed and after a quick visitation to Detective Connor’s home, he had move on. Back to the depths of the cities, back to the shadows. It wasn’t exactly a life he regretted or brooded over, but it wasn’t one he reveled in either. He existed, he explored, and he controlled his rage. The last element, the most important, as difficult as it was. Finally, by doing all of these things, he worked his way closer to bringing down Victor Helios, Frankenstein. The process was long and strenuous. 200 years had gone by and he still hadn’t achieved his goal, and now, more than ever, he was moving closer to it.

But also, now there was a setback. He’d been torn from his duties, without reason, without explanation. His instinct was far beyond the extent of simply being “upset.” It was maddening, there was no doubtin that. However, he almost instantly realized there was nothing he could do about it. Not at the moment. His only explanation he could currently give was that this was a result of fate. It angered him, yes but if he let the anger overcome him, he would begin this life as he began his last. The overwhelming sensation of fear, images of the mob, and triggered flashbacks enveloped him.

It wasn’t worth it.

Furthermore, Deucalion didn't feel it was necessary to waste his time on the communicator. He had found very little merit in using a cellphone and hardly saw it necessary to spend his first moments in this new world, talking to an inanimate handheld device. After keeping his hood up, head down, and generally too himself whilst roaming the halls of the inn, he headed outside. It was conveniently nighttime and for this reason, he almost instantly felt more at home. Though, the shadows of this world were hardly as familiar. A hulking silhouette of a figure would still be easy to spot in his current position. The alleyways and darkened corners of New Orleans were so far, preferable. Perhaps in time, he would grow accustomed to this place.

Assuming everything he'd learned in the provided pamphlet wasn't a lie.

Only time will tell.

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Njoki snorts, not because she's disbelieving, but because she's been startled.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude. I just came off a long run and my mind is a good forty feet back behind me." Still breathing heavily from the run, she seems a bit confused and curious. She saw the lightning and knows what she can scent off him, but it's still not adding up into anything she's ever come across. In the dim light, he might notice her eyes reflect green like a cat's would.

"I'm 'Ki from Earth."

Deucalion, never one to pry his eyes from someone he's speaking with, certainly does notice this. And it intrigues him to further carry on the conversation. Not that he would be so willing to drop it, especially after the sincere response he received from Njoki.

"I'm Deucalion, from Earth," he mimics, holding out one grossly oversized hand. "And you're not intruding. Given my recent arrival, I would assume that role belongs to me."

"I'm new here too," she says accepting the handshake without hesitation. Njoki shudders briefly as the hair on the back of her neck stands-up, but she controls her surprise and transformation; halting before her teeth are too sharp or her eyes too wide and dark.

"...I think I oughta be upfront here. Just to keep this easy, eh? I work in a very specialized trade and while I don't know what you've got going on, I'm picking up something that I know is none of my damn business. I'm not gonna ask, I'm not gonna do anything about it, and it's not personal." While he's considerably larger than her, Njoki is reasonable confident that if he takes this revelation poorly she'll be able to either out-run or out-fight him. "We still good?"

Perhaps 200-some years ago, Deucalion would have reacted to this encounter in an entirely different manner. Well. No. Not "perhaps." He certainly would have. However, he's almost certain that nobody back then would have used the words "none of my damn business." In fact, even in modern times, adhering to somebody's personal space and privacy is a relatively new concept.

He withdraws his hand, maintaining his steady, calm, and unflinching composure. "I'd like to know what 'specialized trade' you speak of," he calmly inquires with a distinct note of sincerity. "And I will be more than willing to accommodate any questions you may have. I can guarantee that I've likely already answered to whatever's on your mind at least once in my lifetime."

"S'fair. Most of what I do is just basic conjure -- hoodoo if you know it? -- but I've a knack for working with the dead and undead. Repairing old injuries, things like that." When you can live a few hundred years, some vampires get a bit miffy about old scars, missing limbs, and so on. "I don't raise the dead, I don't raise anything, I can just work with what's already dead and there."

Njoki is wary, but appreciates that Deucalion is taking this well.

Deucalion had never dabbled in forms of hoodoo or folk magic himself, but he knew of it. Spirituality in all its forms, had been something he'd invested great amounts of personal research on. Furthermore, spiritual practices and beliefs based around the paranormal and supernatural. After all, spiritualism was, in his own opinion, much purer and much more respectable than science.

Despite its criticism and mockery of the occult, humanity had proven to be much more destructive with its use of science.

"And so you recognize what I am?" He asks.

This is a first. He assumes Ki isn't a member of the New Race. Victor likely wouldn't have found any merit in casting a role like Njoki's in his master plan. Nevertheless, Deucalion is curious to find out just how much Ki knows about him.

"Yes and no? There's something I can recognize, but I don't know or understand what I'm getting off you." If she had to classify him, she'd guess that he's some sort of flesh-golem but the scent is all wrong. Njoki can build a patchwork body and ask (never demand) a spirit to inhabit it, but those spirits are profoundly non-human and that is certainly not what Deucalion is.

"If you're not sure yourself -- which sounds off, but happens occasionally -- I might be able to sort it out over time."

"I am grateful for your offer," he replies. "But I'm well aware of who I am." There's a pause before he continues. He doesn't mean to come off as ungrateful or sarcastic in his response because he truly does appreciate the sentiment. But given the somewhat grim nature of his origins--

"I'm a living creature, like yourself. Though I am not sure classifying myself as 'human' is appropriate." Ki did say 'from Earth' and for that reason, may very well be aware of Deucalion's "origins." But that was a work of fiction based on fact and furthermore, not something he went out to refer to unless asked.

"But my creator is likely different from your own. And as such, the way of which I was born into this world differs greatly too."

"I'd guess it would have to be." Njoki shivers again and shakes her head; partly to clear her thoughts and partly because this is a very strange conversation. "I won't deny I'm wondering all sorts of things, but my professional curiosity isn't as important as your personal comfort."

It's just not polite and not done to outright ask 'what the hell are you?'

"Personal comfort is a luxury I've long since lived without." And that was his melodramatic way of saying he didn't mind explaining. It wasn't anything he hadn't answered before and something that he'd grown used to talking about.

"I was born of an assortment of bits and pieces of cadavers robbed from a prison graveyard." Deucalion rolled up one sleeve, demonstrating evidence of what he spoke of. Though throughout time, the scarring had grown fainter, there was still an obvious ring of scar tissue around his wrist. "These hands came from a strangler." There was certainly no note of pride in his voice. "An example. If you desire further specifics, I can provide them." There was a slight emphasis on the word can, as if he were informing Ki that he was capable of doing this but would prefer not to.

"While my creator designed what you see now--in the end, it was divinity that gave me life, through a bolt of lightning." He didn't like giving Victor any sort of credit for a soul. As he hadn't intended for Deucalion to have one.

The story may have sounded familiar, Deucalion never expected it not to. But he preferred to deliver it via his own words and personal account versus the option of referring to a fictional retelling.

As if to say 'that explains it', Njoki chuffs, an odd sort of sound coming from a human, but not outside the realm of possibility.

"Huh," she says, trying to process his history. Ideally, Njoki like to keep this conversation in professional tone, and while she feels that she ought to say something useful or emphatic in response, she can't think of what the appropriate phrase would be.

"I'm not usually so stunned, but I've never heard of that. Mind do, I'm self-taught and there's so much I don't know, so that's not really unusual."

He appreciates her silence in comparison to unnecessary empathy. It makes the atmosphere a bit easier to converse in.

"The technique spawned from the realm of science," Deucalion added. "And to this day, is unheard of and almost incredulous to most scientists." Technically, this now included Victor. Who was now more "capable" in his methods of creation. "Who," he adds, "I think are likely better off in their ignorance."

He pauses, deciding to try his hand at a question. "It sounds like your practices may similarly, if only minutely, reflect what I speak of. May I further ask what drew you into them initially?"

"Genetics, maybe?" Njoki pauses for a moment, trying to recall her history. "What year are you from? I mean, if I say it's 'genetics', does that mean something to you?"

"Either way, I do what I do naturally. I can sense out the dead and undead, I've done conjure for years, and then one day, a man came to me and offered me a lot, a lot of money to try and heal his face." It wasn't really an offer that brooked refusal. "I did it and got a reputation for tough cases."

"The year two-thousand-six," he replied and after a moment added, "... C.E.. So, yes. It does. But at the time of my creation, Gregor Mendel had not yet been born." Victor's recent techniques in developing a New Race were much more relative to genetic science and engineering, though even stating that much was a stretch. "While studying in university, my creator, primarily a biologist and chemist, was deeply drawn into the subject of galvanism. It became the driving inspiration for what he would eventually do."

Hearing Ki briefly cover her history was intriguing. For one, her talent was natural. It sounded as if she hadn't learned it, but was always gifted with the ability. Furthermore, she had earned a decent reputation. While it was not necessarily through charity, it was neither through villainy and deception. That in itself was admirable.

Coincidentally, Deucalion's own face had been maimed early on in his life. He went though an "operation" of sorts, but through a much more primitive method.

"It sounds like you use your abilities wisely. Gifted people rarely make that choice."

"Most of the people I've worked for are bigger, badder, and a hell of a lot less principled than I am -- if I wasn't on top of things, then I wouldn't be here." Njoki wuffs and shrugs her shoulders, the movement emphasizing that there's something fundamentally inhuman about the way her joints are put together.

"I'm still trying to get a feel for this city, to see if I can hang a shingle that says just what I do or if I need a euphemism."

Deucalion does indeed make note of her awkward movements. However, he chooses not to comment on it. Inhuman tendencies and physical attributes are something he has as well and it has been the subject of mockery many many times. He knows that people are self-aware of what makes them unique and pointing out the obvious would imply nothing but rudeness.

But that doesn't mean he isn't curious.

"How long have you been here?"

Not so much awkward, as unusual. The locations her muscles attach and they way they move and the shape of her joints are slightly different than a human's would be.

"Not long. A couple weeks. You?"

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