TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[abraxasmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to the very first test drive meme for Abraxas! This meme is run a little bit differently than most in that you'll be asked to choose one of the two different arrival scenarios below for your character to take. If you have any questions about this mechanic or anything else related to the TDM, please take a look at the questions below or ask one of your own here. For general game questions please still use the FAQ.

Arrival

You awaken suspended in the abyss, silent darkness stretching out in all directions. If you try to yell, you'll find that the sound doesn't carry. If you try to move, you'll find it's impossible to tell whether or not you're actually getting anywhere. If you reach for an item you were carrying last time you remember being awake, your hand will only touch bare skin.

You're naked and floating helplessly through the void, and what little air you have in your lungs is running out.

There's a pinprick of light that almost looks like a faraway star but as it grows it becomes clear that it's actually quite close. Through the opening you can see a bright room, but it's hard to make out any individual objects, as if you're looking from beneath rippling water.

A hand plunges through and you realize water is just what it is. Whether you take hold of the hand or not it will grab you and yank you up through the surface, lifting you out until you're sprawled on solid ground. Once you catch your breath, you can get a better look at the surroundings: tall trees and even taller stone pillars surround the platform you're laying on. Behind you is an ornate fountain, the base of which is so deep and so dark you might be compelled to scramble away from it lest it suck you back in to that endless abyss. Ahead of you are the walls of a large castle with several tall towers reaching up towards the sky.

If you had any powers, they feel unusually weak. Attempts to use magic or enhanced strength or powers of any sort fizzle out without any effect, but they don't feel completely gone, either.

Set into an indent on a marble slab behind the fountain is a card baring the image of one of the arcana.

An apprentice mage - the one whose hand lifted you out of the fountain - brushes the water off on their robes and runs back to join a group of three others, who all stare intently at a mage with highly decorated robes and a large, heavy book. He peers up at you for a moment and starts flipping through the book.

"I beg your pardon," he says, so absorbed in the pages of the book that he doesn't bother to look up, "I am Ambrose Rhett, the High Mage of the Kingdom of Thorne. One of my apprentices will explain everything in a moment, but please refrain from yelling and thrashing about until then. You're quite alright, and screaming gives me a hell of a headache."

Regardless of your response, he keeps flipping through the heavy tome, until he stops on one specific page, stares at it for a moment, and then exclaims:

"Aha!"

Scenario One: Welcome to Thorne

Ambrose's expression brightens, eyes twinkling with delight. He waves one of the apprentices over with a fine silk tunic, pants, and some basic sandals and with a wave of his hand they reshape to fit you perfectly.

"Success! It's a success!" he exclaims, slamming the book shut and scurrying towards you.

Now that he's not hunching over the book, he doesn't seem quite so stuffy and inapproachable. The apprentices all seem quite relieved at his jovial outburst, and the one that handed you the tunic stops to take the tarot card down from the marble slab. If you show any curiosity about the card, they'll let you take a longer look, but won't let you touch it.

"Please, come with me, you're an honored guest here," he says, motioning for you to follow him towards the castle, "As promised, my pupils will explain your current situation. And, ah - if you had any magic of your own, or other special abilities you can't access right now, fear not, they'll return within the week. The summoning takes a lot out of you."

One of the apprentices steps forward and rattles on and on about the castle, Thorne itself, the names of a bunch of royals and nobles, and of course, your reason for being here. The Kingdom and the world itself is in great peril, and tales of your exploits have reached far and wide across universes. If asked about these exploits, the apprentice will simply smile and shrug. The High Mage was happy to see you and that's good enough.

Once inside the castle you're taken to the North Wing, which has been set up as living quarters for you and your fellow newcomers. There are four people to a room, but each generously-sized bed has opaque curtains that can be drawn around it. You can meet your roommates here and discuss your shared situation (everyone appears to have arrived within the last few days), or you can wander around and meet the others.

There's also a dining hall stocked with all sorts of fancy food to meet every possible dietary need, and a library filled with epic tales and legends and the history of Thorne. Given that this is the Thorne library, it may be a biased account that makes the Kingdom look a fair bit better than the rest of the world sees them. Last but not least, there's a study hall where a few junior mages (younger and less experienced than the apprentices from earlier) might be willing to teach you some simple elemental magic. Think holding a small flame in the palm of your hand, or blowing a door shut with a gust of wind.

You may also notice that your sign is embroidered on your tunic: the same image you saw on the card from before with the name of the sign itself beneath it. If you ask the castle residents, they'll tell you a little bit about your sign (and will mostly stick to the positives, although some might point out the negatives).

Last (and, if you ask anyone else in the castle, least) there is a worn stone staircase leading underground to the dungeon. You can go there, if you wish, but all powers are restricted in the dungeons and spending too much time with the prisoners will lead to some suspicion being cast upon you. If you ask anyone why the prisoners are being held there, you'll be told that they pose a great threat to the Kingdom (and, by extension, the entire world).

Scenario Two: Imprisoned

The High Mage scowls, grinding his teeth as he slams the book shut. "Another failure!" he barks at the apprentices, "You lot wouldn't know your ass from a hole in the ground, would you?"

All four of them lower their heads, and two of them mumble an apology that Ambrose either doesn't hear or refuses to acknowledge. "Well, don't just stand there," he says, waving a hand in the air, "We've put all this effort into getting this wretched creature, we may as well put it to good use."

One of the apprentices drops a baggy, rough-feeling tunic, a pair of pants, and some worn sandals in your lap and glares down at you until you put them on (if you refuse, they'll tell you they can kick you back down that well if you don't want to cooperate). They're glaring at the High Mage as much as they're glaring at you (when they're sure he isn't looking, anyway). You might catch one of them long enough to ask them why they're so upset with you, but all they'll say is that the High Mage knows something they don't, and he's awfully upset about it.

Once you're fully clothed, another apprentice clamps some heavy iron shackles around your wrists and leads you on. The High Mage is far ahead of you already, muttering some long string of Thornean curses before he stands up straight and pauses, spinning to face you.

"One more thing," he says, holding one hand in the air and chanting something under his breath, "Can't have you getting too troublesome."

If you had powers, the slight connection you still had to them slips away completely and you're left with nothing as the four apprentices drag you towards the castle. They may answer a few of your questions (with some insults and curses peppered in), but they won't tell you anything important.

Once you arrive at the castle you're brought to the dungeons and thrown into a locked cell. There are four people to a cell, and two sets of bunk beds with a thin and lumpy straw mattress. If you're over six feet tall, these beds are going to be awfully uncomfortable. You might as well meet your roommates. Once per day you're dragged out to an enclosed courtyard for one hour of recreation (with some crude weights, benches, and balls lying around but not much else), where you can meet the rest of the prisoners, but you can also talk to your immediate neighbors in the cells on either side and across the hallway. Just don't yell too much or the guards will snap at you to be quiet.

Everyone in the dungeon is fed one meal a day, and for a prison meal it's decent: a bit of meat, a bun, and a salad. It would seem that the Thornean chefs take too much pride in their craft to send bad food to the dungeons. The meals are all served in equal portions, though, so the smaller prisoners may be overfed and the larger ones may be getting hungry. Feel free to fight for food or share with your cellmates.

Crudely embroidered on the back of every prison tunic is the same image that was on your card and the name of the sign beneath it. A guard may explain a bit about the sign, and tell you some negative stereotypes they hold about yours.

You may be blessed with a visit from one of the more welcomed newcomers, and they may sneak you some extra food or a small book to read or they may share some of the information they've gathered. However, rumors travel fast and some people believe the honored guests in the castle above are somehow responsible for the lot of the prisoners below. And although you may hope for kindness, there's nothing stopping them from being cruel to you if they wish. The guards will certainly turn a blind eye if one of them wishes to take out their frustrations on you.

---

Questions

How do I choose a scenario for my character?
Pick whichever situation appeals to you most. Whether your character is honored or imprisoned has nothing to do with their personal morality, or how highly they regard themselves and their own accomplishments. Anyone can be put into either situation.

Can I try out both scenarios?
You can! But please keep in mind that only the one you eventually choose can be game canon, if you decide to keep any of your TDM threads.

What happens if my character refuses to comply with Ambrose?
Prisoners will be dragged against their will. Honored guests will be forgiven for their moment of panic or anger if they have one, and Ambrose and the apprentice mages will try to calm them and persuade them further. If they put up too much of a fight and/or start actively attacking anyone, Ambrose will warn them once that he's willing to put them back in the well where they came from (see below), and if they continue to fight he will make good on that promise.

My character intends on causing a lot of trouble (destroying parts of the castle, murdering the castle staff, etc.), what would happen to them?
Characters who make too much trouble for the mages and other staff would be thrown back in the well (which will mean drowning in the void, not returning home). Brawling with other PCs and causing minor damage is fine and will be greeted with a cranky attitude (if they are an honored guest) or a punishment like denial of food or temporary solitary confinement (if they are a prisoner), and there will be plenty of opportunity for destruction and murder later, but for now the Thorneans have no desire to keep huge liabilities around.

Ambrose will take it especially personally, as this experiment was his idea and too much trouble would risk the summoning spell being scrapped and potentially result in him being demoted. Rest assured it does not take much for him to throw someone back in the well at this point in time.

Is the power loss for the prisoners permanent?
No, although honored guests will regain their powers first due to the lack of interference from Ambrose, the prisoners will be able to regain theirs soon enough as well.

Can the prisoners talk about anything private, or will they be overheard at all times?
There are guards patrolling the dungeon, but they aren't always within earshot. Most of the attention is being focused on the new guests, so the prisoners will have some opportunities for privacy.

Can my character leave the castle?
For now they will be prevented from leaving the castle, even if they are an honored guest. A bit of a gilded cage, isn't it? They'll also find that any powers they regain cease to work outside of the castle walls (this is also a temporary effect) so flying outside is not an option.

Can my character eventually side against Thorne if I choose to make them an honored guest/can they side with Thorne if I choose to imprison them?
Yes, characters in Scenario 1 will be able to betray Thorne, and characters in Scenario 2 can work themselves into Thorne's good graces.

How much will my choice of scenario affect my character's plot later on?
This choice will have a major impact on gameplay throughout the first few months of the game, and potentially a bit beyond that depending on where our players guide the plot. This decision - and every other major decision you make in game! - will also be used to flavor some mod surprises that will be coming down the line.

Don't get too anxious about this choice, though; this is just one choice you'll get to make in a game that has a lot of them, and every character in both scenarios can work their way towards many, many individual goals and outcomes. You're not locking yourself out of anything in the future via the choice you made on the TDM. It will primarily impact the immediate future with the far-reaching effects being up to each player.

Are TDM threads mandatory for my application?
No, you may use other samples, but we encourage you to post to the TDM and get a feel for this game and its mechanics before you join. If you do not have a TDM thread you will still need to choose one of the two scenarios on your application.

What if I haven't settled on a sign yet?
You can ignore sign-related prompts if you're undecided (or try out different signs in different threads).

Can a put a character on the TDM if their canon is less than 30 days old?
Yes. For this app round, anything that's at least 30 days old when the game opens on June 12th can be applied from.

Do the apprentice mages have names?
Their names are Jeffrey, Grigory, Noelle, and Jolene.

---

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Comments

Michael Ralston | Original Character | Death - Welcomed

[brittlest]

THE WOUNDED MAN - roommates;

[It has been a few days, and the fourth bed of this particular room has been empty for just long enough that those sharing space with it might have just cause to ask questions. The other spaces in the immediately surrounding rooms have all more or less been filled neatly in order, and so it is only reasonable to assume that this particular spot - with it's things untouched and its corners crisply pressed - is either being saved for someone or that its occupant is especially talented at remaining invisible, weightless, and generally incorporeal.

Should those questions - the reasonable ones which might occur to anyone - be asked, the answers range from 'There was trouble fetching him from the Well' to 'He's ill at present, but not to worry!' depending on how forthcoming Nameless Castle Occupant #47 who may or may not get retconned depending on how flexible the setting is outside the boundaries of a test drive meme is.

And then, as if nothing had ever been the matter, one day a man can be found occupying a comfortable chair nearest the window of the room. He is neither short nor tall, neither particularly thin nor fat, neither especially handsome or exceptionally plain. Above all, he doesn't have the appearance of a man who has recently spent a great deal of time in the care of healers. There is no bandage or scar, no wan and fevered quality to his complexion. If not for the cane hooked over the chair's arm, he might be anyone. He might still be anyone.

The man in the chair looks up when another person enters the room. His eyes are very dark.]

Oh good. I was beginning to wonder whether I'd have to go looking for an assistant. Come closer, [he says, crooking a finger.] I want to see which mark they've given you.

[Neatly picked out on his own tunic is a crowned skull and twin scythes: Death.]

THE AUDITOR - study hall;

[A little light sparks above a pretty young woman's upturned hand and the junior mages assembled about her make encouraging, congratulatory noises.

A table away from this lesson in progress, a man is watching it unfold with the wolfish intent of someone starving. One might easily mistake him for an eager student too shy to approach any of the junior mages or maybe simply a particularly dedicated observer of people if not for the fact that when a young mage sweeps forward out of the margins to greet him with a friendly 'Would you like me to show you how to do the same?', he bluntly chases her off with:]

No. You're blocking my view.

THE VISITOR - dungeons;

[He recognizes this. The unnerving shape to the air. How descending into this place is like carrying water in cupped together palms and trying very hard to close tight every crack between the fingers but watching as the pool drains away regardless.

It's been such a long time since Aterlacus, but he senses some element of that place's misery here. Just the ghost of it is enough to keep him at bay for a day. For two, even. But eventually, inevitably, that familiar sensation which had frightened him out of exploration is the same one which demands enough of his attention to at last bring him into the dungeons.

It's as they say: no one ever escapes the black prison.

Click, click, click, says the end of the borrowed cane across the dungeon's dark flag stones. It precedes the appearance of a sharp, dark eyed man before one of the cells. He has the pale, staring look of a person alarmed and makes no attempt to shield his fascinating as he looks in on the prisoners held there.]

WILDCARD;

(I'm flexible! Action brackets and prose are aokay. Feel free to PM this journal if you have any questions.)

[princeoflyres]

[Grigori is spectacularly not into this. He had finally gotten his grubby hands on a real Stradivarius back home, he had finally finally finally gotten his shit together, he was in college, all that magical shit his sister put him through and the devil put him through was (mostly?) over, he finally accepted the chaos in his life, and-

-and now he's here.

He has the hanged man, which feels oddly appropriate. He should, he suspects, be grateful that he didn't have the devil, which would feel a little on the nose.]

I suppose an introduction is too much, then?

[His eyebrows come up, one, and then the other.]

[brittlest]

[From the confines of his chair, the ordinary man with the remarkably dark eyes gives him a terse, lopsided smile. It's one of those bitterly practiced expressions that no one, including its self aggrandizing owner, seems likely to believe.]

That's what we're doing.

[There is a slim book in his lap. At this moment, the man in the chair consults the index and turns to the pages for the section titled The Hanged Man.]

[princeoflyres]

Are you. Stereotyping me?

[He asks as he finds his own chair, and remarkably, sits, slouching a bit. He is the Throne of Hell, he is the seat of all demonic and chaotic power in the Universe. He will not be boxed in!!!

Except apparently, he is. By this dude. He feels like he possibly should be offended.

He is too tired to be offended.]

Okay. Lay it on me. What am I supposed to be like?

[brittlest]

[If not him, then someone almost certainly will—be it their captors (that does seem to be the applicable word regardless of whatever relative comforts they've been afforded, doesn't it?), or others summoned from the depths of the Well.

Suffice to say, the ordinary man apparently sees no pressing need to make an apology. Instead, with a low considering hum he settles in to review the overview of the sign in question.

He takes his time, one or two minutes of study with one hand supporting the book in his lap and the other draped idly against his cheek and upper lip. Then, dry and rote, he reads aloud:]

'The Hanged Man. The sign of outsiders, be that a fate they have chosen or otherwise. Unwilling or unable to alter themselves to suit the world, and so relegated to its fringes. Resilient, they are creatures with a keen sight for truths both pertaining to themselves and others. Survivors, inventors, commonly misunderstood.'

[He glances up over the book's edge.]

Well? Would you call it an accurate reflection?

[princeoflyres]

[He thinks about it for a minute]

What does it say about you?

[A valuable and critical question, and not and even remotely an answer to what his roommate (?) asked. He tips his head a little, and shrugs.]

I mean I survived to 21, so that has to count for something.

[That is also not an answer.]

[brittlest]

[That's not an answer, seems to be a shared sentiment given the long dark look recieved in reply.

Nonetheless, with the air of someone taking on some heroic task, Ralston pages forward. He clears his throat. In that same sober intonation of a lecturer, Ralston reads:]

'Death. That which persists. Conscientious and clever. Individuals under this sign are known for their determination, an astute sense of humor, and remarkable good looks.'

[That's not what it says. He snaps the book closed.]

Twenty-one isn't very long.

hello, visitor

[sankt]

[A sharp, dark-eyed man, dressed in the same mangy rags as the rest of the prisoners (and far less suited to the look than others), is already looking when this visitor appears. He is pale, too, but not of fright; the tangle of anxieties pricking away at his insides are well shrouded in resentment.

But the cane belongs to a stranger, and so his stare loses some of its edge, moves from face to hands to feet and finally away.

Just before the visitor moves on completely—]

Enjoying the menagerie?

rereads my toplevel, finds typos. https://i.imgflip.com/zn8a5.jpg

[brittlest]

[That urge to drift onward is visible in some faint tip of the shoulder and the line of his attention; the scrape of the cane's end across flagstone. These are the parts which sharpen and still when addressed. Something in that pale face closes with them.]

In a sense. [There is a strange, incoherent kind of pleasure in existing in a dungeon outside of a cell. There is a liberty in it which sits both bitter and sweet on the tongue.] I wondered whether I might recognize something.

[Something. Not someone.]

rip

[sankt]

[There is a quiet liberty, too, in imagining their positions are reversed. It isn't so difficult, looking at only the bars—the sandals really stretch one's suspension of disbelief, but he'll deal.

Just after his head tilts, a bit of hair (no longer wet from the well) slips down his forehead. He doesn't correct it.]

Strange place to follow a memory.

[brittlest]

[There had been no bars in Aterlacus, had there? Maybe that's why he doesn't think to reach out and touch the ones here. He does however shift just a half step closer to them, a sway of motion punctuated by the tapping adjustment of the cane's foot. His attention skirts from the occupants of the cell to its ceiling - taking some visual measurement of the place by its height and corners, the arrangement of narrow beds and threadbare mattresses.

His hum is mild, dismissive. To say Not a memory would be a lie, and he is rarely that.]

The cages upstairs are prettier. [That fleeting glance casts away - up the length of the corridor to satisfy some latent paranoia that no one is waiting in the dark to listen, ear pricked for some reason to— He looks back, the dark of his eyes made more so in the meager light.]

Did you struggle when you surfaced? Is that why they fetched you down here?

[sankt]

[The prisoner follows that nervous look with one of his own—less movement, only a flick of the eyes. For the question, his mouth briefly suggests a smile.]

Something like that.

[Struggled is a charitable word for it. It occurs to him, then—]

You aren't native to this place?

[brittlest]

[The angle of his head tilts; the lines of his face say that someone hasn't smiled in a decade. Not really.]

No. [Simple, like the fixed point of his attention.] I didn't struggle.

[Or he did a poor job of it.]

the wounded man

[nexubait]

[ The fourth bed has been sitting empty for so long that she begins to wonder if someone did not miscount, if someone was not assigned to the incorrect quarters. The shadow of these unasked questions is the more sinister suggestion: their fourth roommate has been lost along the way, a misfortune of transit? Was this person's acceptance here revoked? What did that mean? The empty bed is an unsettling sight, and something slithers up her spine each time she must pass it, always glancing. Emptiness would not suit this predicament well.

But it is not really a true predicament, is it? She has seen no one mistreated, and has had no threats leveled against her. Neither has she been given a taste of anything that has the flavor of an honest explanation, but they must continue to tread carefully. They - she has not yet determined who is an ally and who is something other.

She pauses the moment she steps into the room, halted by the sight of an unfamiliar figure in an otherwise familiar chair. He is remarkable in that he is utterly unremarkable: rather plain to the eye, and in this way, impossible to place. As unassuming as wallpaper, and just as vigilant. The occupant of the empty bed? She reflects back his untroubled demeanor. ]

I was beginning to wonder whether they'd have to go looking for a body. [ His corner of the room has been left empty too long, if it is indeed his, and when her gaze flickers down to the emblem at his chest, she cannot feign surprise. Was he destined to be a corpse, or at least ever on the verge of death? It would explain his absence. She does step closer, more to steal a closer glimpse than to heed his bidding, and she does not make to conceal her own mark: the starry crown and scepter of the Empress. ]

I might be inclined to name Death the assistant of the Empress, actually.

you beat me to tagging your toplevel *u*

[brittlest]

How very imperial of you.

[There is some dry, unpleasant sense of humor in it - an impulse toward a curled lip which fails to further manifest there in the unassuming man's face as his attention lowers to the book in his lap. The slim volume appears to be a simple study of arcana, divided in sections by it signs and likely aimed at the very youngest of apprentice mages. It is clearly an artifact of the library. Perhaps someone had taken pity and lent it to him while he was elsewhere. Or maybe he'd made some brief stop between there and here to pillage a bookshelf.

(It's the first one; the walk this far had been fit to exhaust him.)]

But I'm afraid you'd find me a very poor right hand man. I've neither the character nor the ability. Do you have children? If we're to give this place any credence, this suggests you'd be good with them.

i could not resist!

[nexubait]

[ Imperial - he could, of course, not have chosen a more slanderous word, and the glint that answers in her eyes is a jabbing blade. Something he cannot feel, unfortunately, and perhaps does not even see, for how his eyes fall without further ado to the book in his lap. A tome on the arcana they all now bear, willingly or not, if a glance serves her correctly. Absent, and engaged now in the leisurely pastime of reading; she has not had even a passing introduction with this man, and yet his air of indifference rankles her. ]

Perhaps you wear the wrong sign. [ Death was not attended by assistants. This is not an argument she is granted the time to make, however, as she crosses the room, bristling also at the fact that he has taken for himself her own favored spot beside the window. His commentary interrupts her progress, stills her where she stands, and she skirts a glance at his face before she can comport herself with any detachment, which he seems to wear so easily. It is, in fact, so casual and natural a question that she is all the more gutted by it, and for a barren tundra of a moment, she cannot parse together the two halves of what he has said. It feels like a pointed accusation, and jarringly intimate for how she could not have expected it.

She restores herself as well as she can, giving her attention to the window and the view outside that is, in her distraction, nothing more than a watercolor blur, fingers skimming over the sill. ]

You have no couth, either, it would seem. I suppose neither children nor animals take kindly to a man who commands so little grace. Has your book given you any helpful insights to yourself, or will that breakthrough be delayed, too?

[brittlest]

A practiced aversion from both, I'm happy to say. Though I'd lately been considering a bird. I don't suppose our captors will allow us to keep pets, do you think?

[He nearly drawls it, a dry and untroubled thing while paging further into the book. That's not really what she'd asked though, is it?]

The book—or the magicians who identified my spirit [sarcasm]—has been very generous with its assessment. 'Patient and forward thinking.' My master would be so proud.

[Mother, he thinks after he's said it. Mother would have been a better word to use there. Rather than linger over that though—he tips his temple and lifts his dark eyes. He studies her where she stands at the window.]

You didn't answer my question.

[nexubait]

A vulture? That would seem a fitting sigil. [ A scavenger, a purveyor of death and decay? If only his own mark was so simple in its implications, and if only he had a more menacing cast to him. As things stand - or sit, as it were - he looks more like the sort to have an established camaraderie with a carrier pigeon or a talking raven, the kind to recite abysmal lines of poetry at family gatherings.

She is possessed by the brief urge to knock the book from his lap, an impulse carefully resisted, flitting dark eyes once more over his face. There is, unlike the pages open before him, nothing there to read. She is more annoyed by that than she cares to be.

'Master,' though - that is a discordant note, and she narrows her eyes as she weighs the word for honesty. A title he has commandeered for some ulterior purpose? Or does he know, in fact, what it is to be enslaved? He hardly looks the part, and his unruffled, arrogant air does not befit a man indentured. ]

Your master? You have escaped one captivity only to be taken into another? [ His eyes are dark, as dark as her own, and she does not break from them as he impresses upon her again a question he had no right to ask. ]

Quite intentionally. You have no fondness for innocent creatures, but that book would have me believe yours is a spirit of devotion? [ She has opened a few of those relics: forward-thinking and resilient, he supposedly is. She gives him another measuring look. ] I think they were chosen at random, as all designs in the universe seem to be.

dungeons;

[sumptus]

[ The young man in the cell near the end of the row doesn't look to the source of the approaching taps. Limbs half folded, knobby ankles bared by too-short trousers, he sits on the edge of one of the cell's the shabby beds with his fingers curled round the frame and his gaze tacked to a nondescript spot a few inches beyond the bars. Unfocused.

Not unalert, however. Listening. Tracking the movement in his periphery with avian precision. Inventorying. A cane. Sandals. Silk hems. Not a guard, then — a spectator.

There is a certain tightening to his jaw, when his voice finally does rise to the stranger. ]

Are you a painter?

[brittlest]

[The click of the cane stops. The man in possession of it does too.

The question is so remarkably odd that it delays him. The venue for it is all wrong for it; it's the sort of silly thing someone asks at the cramped edge of a social function. But more importantly, when has anyone ever credited Maejyr Ralston with so much as a shred of creativity?]

Not in the slightest.

[sumptus]

A pity.

[ His eyes follow now, delicate as the finely crafted syllables of his accent, the bones of his jaw. ]

A picture would last longer.

[ Stop fucking staring, asshole. ]

that joke should qualify you for a pre-ban

[brittlest]

[A sharp, flickering thing rises in his face. Before it surfaces fully, the shape of it slants away—forms a lopsided smile that is equal parts reflexive and unkind.]

Doubtlessly so, yes.

[His grip on the cane alters, firming with the intent to keep the stick exactly where it is. An anxious animal loves little more than to be given the opportunity to bite.]

You'd make a fine subject, sulking there as you are.

you have chosen to rp with me of your own volition

[sumptus]

Is that what I'm doing?

[ Sulking.

--is a stupid thing to imply he is not, when he's taken pains to encourage no one look closer than that very impression, and yet. (An anxious animal loves little more than to be given the opportunity to bite.) ]

And what of you, peeping? Have they no finer thrills to offer upstairs?

deathmates

[omniavincit]

[ William stops when addressed, right there in the doorway. He takes in this new stranger, or at any rate his attitude in the chair. The presence of the cane and the depths of his gaze. Then he does as told, crossing the room without any visible reticence.

One might conclude he's in that habit—doing as told. ]

Same as yours. [ He says when he's close enough for a look at the man's tunic, something obstinate in it. He doesn't glance down at his own stylized skull, doesn't pick at it. He's had days to learn better. ] Are you okay?

[ A quick, sharp glance to the cane. ] They gave you that?

deathpact

[brittlest]

[To be biddable. In another place, the display of that habit would slip under the skin and rankle. But here, at the end of a long series of hours in an unfamiliar one, Ralston finds himself reflecting on the impulse with something like a shred of charity. There are worse things in the world. Take, for example, the humiliation of falling on your face after being yanked through some kind of tear in the visible arcane so hard that you break something.]

This? [His hand drifts to the head of the cane, fetching it up by a handful of inches from where it lies hooked on the chair arm.] Yes, our hosts are apparently rather eager to at least appear understanding.

[So long as they're grading on a very generous curse, he's perfectly fine.]

Who are you and where are you from?