multiversallogs | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Fair enough," she says, agreeably. She lifts the pamphlet, which has been folded and re-folded from her previous attempts to read between its lines.

"Am I actually supposed to be reassured by the welcoming literature?"

One might think that Remy's sense of humor is rubbing off on her, but no, she's really just learned to adapt to all this strangeness in her life with droll commentary and questions that are as information-seeking as they are wry. The question also reveals that she's just barely gotten there, too, so at least they've both got company in that particular boat.

She had a point.

Deucalion first read the pamphlet is nothing more than an informative digest of his situation. The somewhat Utopian philosophy it pressed was almost immediately apparent and like most tales of Utopia, was far more disconcerting than it was reassuring.

With that in mind, he responds, "Visions of Utopia often result in dystopia." After a beat and a moment's consideration, he continues, "The pamphlet seems to imply that via demands and threats, it will somehow be reassuring. Which it isn't."

"Have you as well, recently arrived?"

"Just now. You, too, I take it." She glances out at the night again, wondering what this particular city's story will be. There's always something, from clocks buried deep underground and guarded by monsters, to the constant flux and chaos of the nexuses. Wanda no longer believes she's ever sent to these places for reasons like coincidence; they're all chosen, deliberately.

"This is... very far from home. Dimensions away, specifically." That much she can feel, with her magical aptitude (however twisted it's become over the years).

Deucalion nods at her question about whether he just arrived. Like Wanda, he too believes that everyone here was chosen. Though, whether it was by some actual physical being of this earth--he's skeptical. Deucalion believes in a greater power. Whether or not it's the Judaic or Christian Almighty God, he can't say. But he is confident that it exists. And whatever it is, isn't of this earth. It distributes souls and drives destiny.

Destiny could be a very likely explanation for their arrival.

Her words certainly pique his attention, or more specifically, her wording.

"Dimensions?" He asks, not a hint of doubt in his voice. More so, there's intrigue. "How can you be sure?"