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multiversallogs2011-07-11 03:38 pm
spawnofgod.livejournal.com) wrote in multiversallogs2011-07-11 03:38 pm
(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.
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.
no subject
By the time they are passing nearby Deucalion's path, conversation has temporarily lapsed - such rides are an excellent opportunity to share their thoughts on the current situations, but at times there is only so much to say and silence has its own value - and Nuala is only half paying her surroundings attention.
Her voice comes startled in that silence, "Dlúthchara?"
He does have a very distinctive silhouette.
[ one of two. ]
no subject
When Nuala startles, Integra slows her horse, though she puts herself a few paces in front of the Princess. As usual when the two of them are out riding, she stays quiet, and merely observes the figure ahead. An acquaintance?
no subject
However, he did and does not expect to actually be recognized before a verbal introduction.
While Deucalion has studied various classics and their languages (Greek, Latin, and Chinese for example) Gaelic had not been one of them. Regardless, the note of familiarity in the stranger's voice is recognizable in any tongue.
He turns to face the newcomer, a momentary flicker of lighting coursing through his eyes as he studies her. Unfortunately, to Deucalion, she is still a stranger. Despite his rugged and intimidating appearance however, he does possess (something which he had to teach himself to relearn constantly over time) compassion and tenderness. And as such, does his best not to harshly disappoint her.
"I apologize," he replies, the faint hint of a Germanic accent coming through as he spoke. "But do we know each other?" He's met many people throughout his 200 years of existence, but an intriguing face like Nuala's would have been memorable.
no subject
Finally, diplomatically, she says, "In another life, perhaps. I am Princess Nuala, and in another place I knew a man like you." They feel similar, even at this distance; a man, perhaps, but something other. She resists the impulse to reach her hands out to his mind to see. "He had no name, so I called him my friend."
A pause. "My companion, Sir Hellsing."
Her companion...who looks significantly less delicate. Integra is not riding side-saddle, as the princess does.
no subject
no subject
While Deucalion is extremely cautious in regards to who he confides his trust in, he does not fear necessary interaction. He prefers to keep to himself, yes, but he has learned that throughout time, as comforting as solitude is, nobody can survive on it. As he traveled the world, he realized that not every human was as cruel and merciless as the ones he encountered in his first few years of life. The trust and faith he had in humanity had taken many years to build and furthermore, the rage in his heart took longer to quell. He had finally mastered it and now interaction, despite his awkward dialect and strange philosophy, came much easier to him.
"It is a pleasure to meet you both," he replies, giving an acknowledging nod to both of them. "I've gone by many names," he paused and then added, glancing over to Nuala, "And at one time, I did not in fact have a name at all. But you may call me Deucalion." The coincidence was curious and he realized that perhaps bringing about the subject of a former friend might be painful. However, he needed to ask.
"May I inquire as to what this man you knew was like?"
no subject
Literally, in fact; she rolled down a snowbank into his arms. She remembers having been affronted at the indignity of being so weakened by elements that shouldn't have been capable of as much, and grateful for a warm, safe place to weather the rest of it until she could return to Integra and Alucard.
(She sidesteps the memory of how abashed she was for her own foolishness when she did return. That part is irrelevant!)
"I believe he was from an earlier period, as some here are as well. You and he feel...alike to me," she lifts a hand, "but I believe I couldn't mistake you twice."
Psychics. They're wily.
if chrome crashes my tag again i will poop in its face
He certainly did enjoy poetry, as it tied in with both his love for philosophy and history. Poetry after all, was one of the oldest forms of both writing and storytelling. It provided fantastical portrayals of ancient civilizations and their beliefs.
"I am very old," he starts again, a small hint of weariness in his voice. No, he hadn't grown tired of life but every time he looked back on when it all started, he recognized just how long it had been. "I've dabbled much in the study of quantum mechanics throughout my years," he continues, "And earlier, a woman proposed the idea of alternative dimensions." He paused, considering his next words. "I believe it is a likely possibility."
a chilling threat.
There's an implied question, there. She'd presumed as much (in both cases, now), but she's never known the reasons why, and curiosity is a great vice she rarely believes in not indulging.
no subject
"I did indeed spend time in the Arctic. I had committed many crimes in my early life. At the time," there is an emphasis on these words, "I believed I had just reason. But despite what I believed then and what I often consider to this day, my actions were inexcusable." She didn't ask for those details, but he felt it was necessary to elaborate on them since they were half of the reason he fled to the Arctic. "My maker, Victor Frankenstein, at the time sought me out to destroy me. I fled, seeking both seclusion and solitude to find peace and hopefully, eventually, atone for my sins." The ending of the story that had been made famous by Mary Shelley, was of course, a fabrication. Victor never died and Deucalion never sought him out on a ship trapped by ice in the North Pole. Though, that (naturally) was a much more romantic conclusion.
He had caught Nuala's implicated inquiry and realizes that (if in fact it was) an earlier version of himself might have been less open about his story. Especially to a stranger whom he apparently found companionship in. Something that he had longed for for much of his early life. So he indulges her.
"And as I noted before, I was created. Never born. My body was sewn together from various corpses taken from a prison graveyard. I was brought to life in a laboratory, via a strike of lightning."