(no subject)

[spawnofgod.livejournal.com]

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.

Comments

[hexing]

Today has been an eventful day -- Wanda has also only recently turned up, and this is a far cry from the seaside house she was in just prior. She emerges from the Inn a few minutes after Deucalion, and stops outside its doors, the pamphlet in hand. She looks up at the Inn, and then over at the other pedestrian.

Whose appearance is fairly on the remarkable side, from what she can see in the dim light, but--really, no one is more accustomed to that than a mutant.

She considers him for a moment, and then tilts her head in a wryly affable sort of greeting.

"May I ask you a question?"

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

It's taking Njoki less time than she'd originally anticipated to get used to the ebb and flow of Baedal's energies, but she still spends a portion of each night running to reinforce her connection to the city. She's come to recognize the various hotspots of (un)dead activity and while investigating them has been shocked by the sheer variety on display.

Now, as she winds down on her run and approaches the Inn, she's able to scent out something new and unusual.

[fish]

Not too long after Deucalion is once again left alone, the nearest door opens to admit another body—this place is a bit like an ant farm, you get used to it—but this one doesn't immediately acknowledge him. Given that he stops just a few steps from the exit, it may seem at first that this gentleman of below-average stature is feeling unfriendly, but in actuality he only wants to get settled into his break first. He lights a cigarette with a wooden match, takes a long drag, and finally, after breathing smoke, offers an up-nod to yon hulking figure.

"Hey."

Also, he is wearing sunglasses. At night.

[cailisairgid]

The evening rides that Integra and Nuala take about the city are not quite scheduled or regular; often enough, one or the other of them simply hasn't the time or energy, the responsibilities of leadership weighing Nuala down to her desk or taking Integra out with her agents. Accordingly, it's always a pleasant relief when their schedules align and they've the time to take Althalus and the Phantom Queen (which is a lovely name for a horse, thank you) out in the lowering dark of Baedal.

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.


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