multiversallogs | Entries tagged with @ aspic

Who: The Militia, the city, and you.
What: The Arena Riots.
Where: The Arena, Griss Twist.
When: Newdi, Eliaderen 1. (Monday Oct 1st)
Notes: Companion post for questions and plotting is here.
Warnings: Violence, police brutality, disturbing content and imagery, graphic death.

It's apparent even before dawn that something out of the ordinary is happening. Canton sheriffs are roused from their sleep or pulled away from their work to be told that on no uncertain terms, today will be a day that they do not leave their neat lines on the map. That their individual offices will be responsible for all crime and unrest within their jurisdictions, with no help; the powers that be offer no details, but the creeping feeling in their presence suggests no questions would be tolerated anyway – the implication that they'll all be watched is a strong one. In Mog Hill, Sheriff Norrington proceeds as he always does under such orders. In Mafaton, leadership is stoic but one deputy laughs, sharp and bitter, while the Emissary of the Council merely checks his watch, unseen underground. Sir Hellsing is pulled away from her dinner in the Guild Hall, a Sobek Croix deputy anxiously relaying the news. The sound of shattered glass disturbs the pre-dawn silence in Flyside, a brick hurled by some faceless figure into the front window of Thames – and nothing else.

From the Spire, hooded Militiamen move quietly and uniformly south, to Griss Twist. They are followed by wagons, full of prisoners.

goodsoldier

Who: Adam and Jason
What: gambli— hey it's that guy (that other guy)
Where: a den of gentle iniquity in Aspic
When: after fight, but before hanging out with Bruce
Notes: is poker even a thing in Baedal? LET'S PRETEND.
Warnings: boys

By the time Jason shows up in a late night poker game in Aspic, his hair is dark and haphazardly styled, and his eyes are brown and behind thin-rimmed glasses; his clothing is different too. Obviously he's not dressed to head into the ring, but he has the rakish, not-quite-professional attire of a criminal turned businessman or a businessman turned criminal (and isn't the line so hard to see sometimes, anyway). Pissing the wrong people off here is also possible, just less so, and not nearly as worrying. The day he can't kick over a gambling hall and disappear into the night, he should just retire. The whole point of trying to make money by taking it from other people via certain patterns of pieces of cardboard is the avoidance of physical labor, which is not to say there aren't people capable of doing both, or people like him. But then, that's the whole point of scouting a place out before going.

It's not exactly a gambling hall, anyway, more of a dive where cards have taken over a large part of the premises and its income. And while it's not exclusive, there are some signs, some right things to say with which one can indicate they know how this racket goes and they're good for the money. Jason has shown his face twice before to prove he's a good prospect. Tonight he hopes to get to one of the bigger tables and see what happens. Poker isn't just about picking up on tells. No one likes a card counter, but a bit of that is necessary, and it's also the tells he himself gives off. This Jason isn't the easy, confident fighter from the other night, but a demure, almost shy young man with good instincts, yet perhaps, not quite enough experience. Someone more like one of the spectators at the underground fights, one foot in, one foot out. He even looks smaller, somehow — the cut of his clothes and the way he holds himself, by turns nervous-excited and sly, a decent player who is cultivating a warm welcome among one of the table of regulars for his apparent mix of both challenge and manipulability.

byrightsinhell

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Jr.)
What: Fulfilling a request
Where: Sebastian's former flat, Toivo and Shada's temples in Aspic
When: About a week after Sebastian's departure
Notes: Longish?
Warnings: none

( And we find we're alone. )

agrat

Who: Steph & Lea, later Benny.
What: Two militiamen come calling; will a stranger interfere?
Where: Aspic.
When: Dusk.
Warnings: Police violence; TBA.

( your mouth is moving but you don't speak. )

cestrumnocturnum

Who: Benji Ryans and You!
What: The city is rebuilding itself, and as does everyone else. Benji about town.
Where: Various places!
When: Many times!
Notes: An open log! Refer to the post content for starter ideas. Hit me up if you'd like me to set up anything! Otherwise, go for gold. Suggestions: daylit Mafaton, Aspic, Badside, Brock Marsh, but you know, wherever is clever, Trevor, ask if you're unsure. (Also dream things are welcome, if you are keen, but let me know first in plurk or PM.)
Warnings: Dead eye stares, and teal deers below. Will add as they occur.

There is a morning where she brings her violin with her. The case gets laid out on the street, and her first attempt at playing levels off into obscurity; that no one wants to listen to mediocre musicianship for long at least saves her from the agony of completing the piece. She never necessarily performs; she sits on the stone steps of some building that's being advertised for lease, lanky legs together and aside, ankles crossed, a demure shape in black and grey and an aura of unkemptness that speaks more of habit than it does being windswept and interesting. She thinks of Victorian literature with unusually talented orphans busking for bread, and remembers her cousin playing the piano with her to an audience of three to five, cigarette smoke in the air and then slightly condescending applause, and quietly attempts to play again.

She won't earn much even then, but at least this time, the music winds complete over the cobble stones, mewling out its stilted melody.

Her errands take her to different reaches of the city. She has an allowance for cab fare and train rides, but likes to walk; it's a good way to get to know the city, even if it means setting aside a couple of hours for slower travel. Since signing up with the Personification Initiative, she's been able to earn wages for the first time in her life. Frivolous forays into playing music on the street corners have been exactly that: frivolous. She teaches literacy to adults, those who arrive in Baedal without the necessary skills to survive. She hears about the Spatters, as well, and the House that offers similar services, and occasionally winds up walking those streets, attempting to avoid the ones where it seems like the Fog is thicker than usual.

Food is bought in outdoor markets in early mornings, contributing a little to what she takes from Njoki's pantry. Sometimes she will even sit down somewhere and buy some tea and a muffin and feel incredibly indulgent for it. Clothing is primarily bought from second hand places, judged by its practicality and comfort and whatever aesthetics she's feeling that day. Books are usually borrowed from the Library, dependent on their availability, and usually not for herself, but those she tries to teach. She is not an expert, but knows that people will only do things if they want to do things, and she selects nonfictions of vivid interest, slim short story compilations, things she thinks those she tutors would find interesting.

At night, she sleeps. Sometimes she dreams.

goodsoldier

Who: Will! Kaitlyn! Fauxlivia! and Jason!
What: by their powers combined, they are VAGUELY CONSPIRATORIAL AND ANTI-MILITIA
Where: assorted places
When: assorted times
Notes: did I forget anyone help I have a brain like a sieve. ALSO don't feel like pressured to immediately sign them on, this is possibly more like "so this is how Jason meets your characters and takes interest in them" thing. Presumably he'd also stalk them for a bit, to the best of his ability (UNSURE) let me know how you feel about that possibility.
Warnings: captain planet; spinach dip

There are a million things to do, which is really how Jason prefers life to be. He's all over the city talking to people, some of whom he returns to, some of whom he never sees again; he buys things, steals things, stores things, moves things. It's not all carefully planned, either. Some people and things he simply comes across in his travels, and he keeps his schedule flexible enough to accommodate these opportunities.

His funds are limited. Criminal conquest is more fun with more money, but sadly, Talia isn't here and if she were, she wouldn't have the al Ghul resources with her. Of course, she could actually be here and simply declined to contact him. Or she could be here, just a version of herself that never became involved with him, or from before such things happened. He tries not to think much about things like that, primarily because it's pointless and he has so many more important things to be thinking about. Still, there are empty, waiting moments on the train or the streets where his brain revisits these ideas, for reasons beyond his comprehension or capacity to care. But he reaches his stops, he finds something else to observe.

molotovmartinis

Who: OPEN
What: cheap Tarot card readings
Where: Aspic, on the edge of the bazaar
When: all day!
Notes: Balthazar's permissions, especially important if your character has any supernatural aspects
Warnings: Balthazar is a creep! But he is also pretending to be someone else so he may be less creepy. Who knows.

Divination is an industry in Baedal: seers and those with farsight are fairly commonplace, and if you're looking for reliable, there are better places to go than Aspic's bazaar.

But if you're looking for cheap, or just for entertainment, then this teeny booth is promising. Many of the props Balthazar is using are real; for example, the tent, table, the chair, the deck of Tarot cards, and the sign with the prices ("past/present/future - ₭2") are all real and exactly as they seem. But the person lounging behind the table is covered with illusions. On the outermost surface, which is a thin glamour, it's a young lady with long red hair and dark eyes. She's wearing a heavy, shapeless black dress made of wool with tights, an overcoat, and a bright yellow scarf.

Beneath that layer is a middle-aged woman with fading red hair and tired eyes, in the same clothing. It's a much stronger illusion, more realistic than the pretty top layer, and has its own scent of bitter tea and harsh soap.

Beneath that layer is Balthazar as he often appears, a businessman in a three piece pinstriped suit, perhaps in his mid to late thirties. And beneath that, of course, is his true self, the rotten face of a demon. Anybody able to see that far in may pick up hints of sulfur. He's sure there are people who can see him as he is; some of them hurry past, some of them don't care. Some of them can only see the aging woman. It doesn't much matter to him. He huddles in the scant protection the tent covers, though of course he's never cold, watching those that pass him by, and tapping his fingers next to the worn deck as he waits.

23rd

Who: Laura Kinney & OPEN
What: Laura leads a busy life. Also, fuck the police.
Where: Specifically mentioned are Aspic, the Arena in Griss Twist, and the Spatters, but she can be anywhere.
When: Ruudary 19th-22nd
Notes: Laura is a highly unsocial character -- I WANT YOUR CR /GRABS HEADS but like, she won't strike up conversations with strangers and she won't say very much at a time if she does speak, so uh. There's that. Doing Stuff she can respond to is probs better.
Warnings: Violence is very possible! Otherwise, to be added as needed.

( so destined I am to walk among the dark, a child in keeping secrets from. )

aviophobia

Who:

doctornota and YOU!
What: A week in the life of the good doctor.
Where: All around town: Hellsing, Main Street Park, the streets of Baedal, various bars.
When: All week.
Notes: Just tag in under the appropriate comment!
Warnings: Bones' mouth, probably.

See the threads for openings!

obscuredvision

Who: Ava Lockhart and YOU
What: Helping the sick while stealthily engaged in The Worst Plan Ever
Where: one of Toivo's temples
When: this afternoon
Notes: If you'd like to catch her on her way to or from the temple, that's fine, just say it in your tag! Also the Worst Plan Ever, not that she will admit to this any time soon, is to get herself sick on purpose in hopes that it induces a fresh set of visions. GJ AVA :|
Warnings: N/A, will update as needed.

Six times Ava has come to this temple and things have been uneventful. Sure, she sticks out like a sore thumb, between the complete lack of medical knowledge or training and the fashionable outfits and three-inch heels, but she genuinely wants to help and does whatever the other volunteers, the doctors, and the attendants tell her to do without hesitation or question. And when she doesn't have directions she busies herself tending to people, draping a blanket here, getting a drink of water there, holding hands everywhere.

Six times, things have been simple.

But today, the seventh day, she glances down at a man stretched on a bench as she spreads a blanket over him. And when he smiles up at her she recognizes his face from an old vision.

He's here to die. He'll die before she leaves today.

She steps outside, hand pressed to her mouth, and she manages to keep her composure all the way down the front steps and around the nearest corner. There, leaning against the temple wall, she lets herself sob, all her pent-up frustration and lack of direction pouring out in the wake of that shocking moment.

It's not fair. She's so used to knowing what she needs to do, being able to help people. Save people. And she can't do that here, not properly, because she's not sure anymore that the visions she had at home apply here. She needs new information, needs to trigger that dormant ability anew.

She just hadn't counted on being affected so much, personally, by what she's set out to do. By the real people in there, relying on the help of others.

When she's sure she can hold herself together again, she comes back inside, chin up, glancing around at the people working in the temple to see if anyone has anything for her to do.

amourpropre

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and Severus Snape β
What: The older generation have some catching up to do.
Where: Aspic.
When: Misdi late afternoon.

He hadn't been kidding about the mulled wine, because to joke about alcohol is a sorry state of affairs. The scent of it, rich and spiced, permeates the air and almost lends it warmth in contrast to the chill of the outdoors. Presumably, the comfortable tavern offers other things, but everyone has a niche.

Already there before Severus can arrive, Lucius does not put on the appearance of a man preparing to spring a trap. He would probably not be visible if this were the case. He sits in one of the low wooden chairs not far from the hearth, a leg folded over the other and observing the flames and cracking splinter of firewood within them rather than the clientele. He is, perhaps, not as Severus last left him, while also being exactly that; aged a little beyond his years, wearing the resulting weariness and injury of the final wizarding war as something visible if difficult to name. Despite his recline, he is not comfortable.

He is also dressed in Muggle sensibilities, with only the compromise of being a little dark in his colours and overly formal for his surroundings. The tavern boasts a somewhat low ceiling and a bare trickling of clientele; Lucius' occupation of the hearth-side is remarkably quiet, and no one has approached him save to make sure he didn't want anything more to drink.

Cane rests, black and silver, against his leg, with his hand on the hilt as his only but very significant sign of vigilance.

alan_shore

Who: Alan Shore and some brave souls
What: A day in the life.
Where: Everywhere. (The El, Flyside, Aspic, the locale of your choice.)
When: Sukkardi
Notes: Format essentially stolen from Samm. Except for the part where I can't get that box thing to work.
Warnings: Smugness. Legalese. Gratuitous discussion of pie, probably.

Tag into one of the threads below or devise a scenario of your choosing.

molotovmartinis.livejournal.com

Who: Balthazar and anybody
What: creeping, most likely
Where: here and there, hither and thither
When: whenever is convenient
Notes: Balthazar's permissions! If you don't have yours done, please do them before tagging me, so that I don't godmode anyone.
Warnings: Senator Ickyface is Chairman of Creepery, and generally unpleasant. Grossness could happen! ... it's kind of always a possibility with him.

His room at the Valhalla Inn stays, for the most part, empty and unused. Sometimes he puts things there just in case anyone is checking, and he drops by every few days to pester Fish at night. He's come no closer to figuring out what exactly Fish is, but he's wary of using magic in Baedal; nothing feels right, or rather, the way he's used to, and besides, it's more fun this way.

Day and night he wanders Baedal. He's been in most of the city by now, sometimes shielded from the general view by his illusory powers, sometimes layered in illusion, and sometimes, as he is now, out in the open. Adaptation of his image is absolutely necessary, which he is accustomed to due to his many years on earth; Baedal lacks the sheer volume of material greed that an industrialized society supports and maintains, but gold is still a motivator. He has not entirely abandoned the suit, but today it is less obnoxious. The tie, however, is still horrendous.

Today he moves among people, gently sowing casual chaos. Occasionally he utilizes his powers to pick a pocket, but only to transfer the money to someone else's. He looks at people hard, trying to learn the subtleties and nuances of their nature to determine what exactly they are. At home, he used four basic categories: celestial, infernal, human, and non-human. These are entirely inadequate even just out on the street. And, too, he knows that probably some of them can see him the same way he's seeing them — but he's hardly that weird in comparison to many xenians, so the reaction is muted. It's interesting and novel to him, and he's looking out for those slight and small tells.

count-to-nine.livejournal.com

Who: Altair and anyone who can read a map. Please.
What: Intro and learning the streets.
Where: Some street in Aspic
When: Some time in the early afternoon, I suppose.
Warnings: None, really.

Altair is lost. He was supposed to be back in Mog Hill, but obviously that wasn't happening. There had been a river? And now there wasn't?

He has a map (unfolded and held in both hands) and is looking... up. At the myriad buildings of Aspic. Altair is clearly lost- he's trying to orient himself to the map but is having problems. Lots of problems. He carefully avoids bumping into people, which is a little impressive, with the hood and looking at his map more than the street and the sudden stops and starts he's doing.

He slowly turns the map sideways, as if it'd help? He frowns- it doesn't. He looks up again- at the buildings, and mutters something about lumpy cities and terrible maps under his breath. There was precious little he wouldn't do for a real map by a real mapmaker and not this... thing.

At this point, he'll accept help from anyone.

manyshapes.livejournal.com

It's Shundi afternoon, and Raven is out in the city. Along with her plans to meet Kate at the coffeeshop called Queequag's (it's always a good idea to scope a place out before you go and apply for a job there) and drop by the University to register for a couple of classes, she figures some window shopping is in order. Until she has a steady income there won't be any shopping bags going home with her, but a girl can look. Maybe try a few things on, check out what's available for decorating her room once Charles has a house picked out, things like that. Fun stuff, and a chance to get away from the Inn for a while.

[OOC: ~~I'm going to set up some threads for encountering Raven at various locations, please wait to tag until I'm finished.~~ Finished and open!]

baedalites.livejournal.com

Who: The City
What: A Rally in Support of Cruorvores.
Where: Mercer's Square, Aspic
When: AT A CLEVER TIME
Notes: Everyone is welcome, including curious neutrals. NPCs available on request. OOC post.
Warnings: A general spirit of solidarity may be present.

Word has been spreading over the network and on the street. Leaflets have been available at open minded public houses and restaurants. A few of the city's more prominent inhabitants have organized a rally to show support for cruorvore citizens. It is going to be a public event; sanctioned, the leaflet assures, by the state. Speeches will be made, the true colours of the city will be shown. There is a lot of talk about standing up to the sowers of discord.

As the evening of the rally approaches, more and more people gather in the square. All sorts have come out for the event, xenians, humans and people who defy categorization mingle peacefully. A cat watches the proceedings from on top the stage has been erected to one end. The stage has been draped in banners promoting tolerance and acceptance, and small sign near the bottom proclaims it was built with the kind donations from Bloody Sunday, The Zygoda, Howl's Market and certain private citizens, of which there is a list. Some attendees have brought instruments and casually strike up a tune every now and then. Others have brought food, signs or torches as the rally promises to continue well into the night.

fuckrobertfrost.livejournal.com

Who: TOMMY SPEEDSTER MCBUTTFACE & JOHN ASSHOLE PYROBRO
What: a public opinion poll for the Samizdat newspaper
Where: Aspic bazaar
When: mid-morning to afternoon w/e
Notes: jerks (or if you really want your character to give their opinion to John, you can tag in!)
Warnings: jerks

If this is some kind of hazing ritual, John supposes it could be worse. It's only to be expected that the poorly paid new hire is the one who has to make the coffee and fetch lunch and conduct word on the street type surveys. Fine. He can deal with that. Aspic's bazaar is busy as fuck and no one really wants to talk to a scrubby dude with a clipboard, but he's managed to wrangle a few opinions out of people. So far, in a revolutionary turn of events, most everyone is against people dying. He's not exactly a journalist major but he's pretty sure the guys back at Samizdat would prefer reading something a bit less diplomatic. Maybe not something really inflammatory. It's just going to be a bar graph to accompany an article or whatever.

"Hi, I'm with Samizdat, what's your —" That's generally about as far as he gets with most people, who just want to get their shopping done. The rest of it is supposed to be "— opinion on the vampire sitaution?"

sailorofthefloe.livejournal.com

Who: OH GOD IT'S A BEAR GET IN THE CA- wait. Also you.
What: Asbjørn has taken a day off to go buy stuff for his new place.
Where: Around Griss Twist and Aspic, specifically The Bazaar. State where in your narrative or title!
When: Misdi late morning and afternoon.
Notes: None.

A sad fact of life is that while bad things happen and people can be awful to one another, life inevitably has to go on (or at least until the next citywide attack, and even then most people find a way to move on with things relatively quickly). Which meant moving, paying rent, picking up second-hand furniture and buying knick-knacks for around the house, which you weren't entirely sure you really needed but this is the first time you'd ever faced life without an IKEA kitchen starter pack.

Or at least that's how it is for Asbjørn. Today he'd struck out further afield than his new neighbourhood of Howl Barrow and he'd been ridiculously happy to find a stall in The Bazaar that sold a very similar candy to one that could be found back home. Some days you just have to take the little joys while you can.

baedalites.livejournal.com

Who: Open to all residents of Baedal.
What: Nasty signs.
Where: All over the city, but mainly near xenian/cruorvore positive establishments. Mafaton, Howl Barrow, Chnum, etc.
When: Shundi evening.
Notes: Players are welcome to spot the posters all over town and try to remove them -- some will come off easily, others will be held fast by magical means, no one will try and stop them, but there may be covert surveillance of postered areas. Should anyone need an NPC or mod, just give us a shout on AIM/plurk/email.
Warnings: Intolerance.

The following poster has been plastered to walls along the borders of Mafaton, outside known cruorvore bars, and near other, openly xenian-friendly establishments.

badge-177.livejournal.com

Who: Vimes and YOU?
What: Orly tries to get back into the game by having Vimes wander around.
Where: Around Aspic
When: Today, in the afternoon
Notes: n/a
Warnings: None yet.

In theory, he was off-duty. In practice, he hadn't really managed it. Defaulting to something resembling an on-duty state was one of his oldest habits, and it had been one of the first to reassert itself when he'd ended up here (after becoming mostly nocturnal and before risking smart remarks at superiors). It felt a little like a betrayal of his family, but his family wasn't here, and any old habits that could increase his chances of getting back to them were things he couldn't quite make himself feel guilty about. As long as he didn't go back to learning rude songs so that he could pass out in the gutter singing them, he should be alright. Relatively speaking.

He paused every now and then in this tour of Aspic, stopping on his unofficial beat to twist his feet against the ground. He was still learning the streets here.

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multiversallogs

Multiversal

Logs Community

Entries tagged with @ aspic

The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

people are strange when you're a stranger

Narrative - It's a New Game to Play

[closed] → your eyes are open but you can't see.

if one day is good, is a day sufficient?

hello welcome to the party. hi I've never met you before. I know.

I want my money back.

does it cause me scarring if the words stay true

the sky's so clear and the sun's so bright. how can anything go wrong on a day like this?

And on the seventh day

questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are

(no subject)

open log: mOuOm

The river was RIGHT THERE just a second ago.

the city called to me and i came [OPEN]

A Rally in Support of the Hungry Few

truly the start of a glorious relationship of ... some kind

(no subject)

Surely the churning of milk bringeth forth butter, and the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood

(no subject)

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