ABRAXAS MODS (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abraxasmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxasooc2021-05-20 09:20 pm
abraxasmods) wrote in abraxasooc2021-05-20 09:20 pm
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE MEME #1
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.
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!"
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).
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.
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.
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.
return to main navigation
no subject
He abandons his impatient vigil of the bars, bypasses her to climb up onto the top bunk, and there drops himself into some splay of rest. She doesn't know him - if she did, she would have recognized him, even without his golds and scarlets. Wherever she came from had no appreciation for the histories of the realm, clearly. ]
You haven't had the courtesy to ask. You wouldn't know my name, otherwise you'd have known my face. [ Curious, though - this may well be the first time since his youth that he's had the dignity of introducing himself, instead of bearing the name he was so visibly branded with. But she gave him hers - she gave him a name, at least - and they had mutually revoked their chokeholds, so perhaps this is necessary for their ongoing balance. ]
It's Jaime.
no subject
[She pronounces it just a little oddly, eliding the J in a way that someone listening (someone from a world that neither of them are from, of course) might recognise as almost Spanish.]
Queer kind of name. Ye're right, I don't kennit.
But you think they will?
[They, of course, meaning their captors. She leans forward where she sits, wincing a little as her ribs crackle at the effort, and drapes one hand over her lap, the other still twisting her braid idly. Now that Jaime's out of sight, she returns her own gaze to the corridor beyond the cell, wrinkling her nose.]
no subject
Jaime. They'll know it. [ They'll know his last name, if they know nothing else. Even now his father will be scheming a way to win back his son's freedom, and this thought broaches another. He turns onto his back, finding nothing of fascination to look upon in the ceiling above, but searching the blank span anyway. ]
You'd be wise to tell them you're some kin of mine, if you want to see daylight anytime soon. [ His House was known for its alarming fertility, after all; she could easily be some twice-removed cousin or niece or sister or otherwise forgettable Lannister. She had the hair, not to mention the imperial and unpleasant attitude. If their captors were interested in riches, as most captors were, they would be quick to barter with that golden name. Lannisters always paid their debts, and how would they know she wasn't one, in truth? ]
no subject
[She's glad, frankly, that he's on the top bunk and can't see the look on her face, because it would definitely piss him off more.]
I'll keep my own name, say thankya. I've not forgotten my father's face so much as to claim another.
Where is it ye think we are, Jamie?
that icon is hilarious and perfect
[ And really, wouldn't any scavenged name be better than the one she had? A lie was more useful in instances of such lean hope. What could she think to accomplish with a name that was approximately as valuable as pissed-upon dirt?
Then again, she does strike him as exactly the sort to cling in all valiant faith to her father's legacy, regardless of the fact that said legacy is cold and dead and of no service to her now. She would die as all peasant stock did, proudly clutching her mud-smeared name and little else. He takes on a lighter tone for her exceedingly philosophical question. ]
A prison cell, I'd wager, judging by the stone and bars and sorry excuse for amenities.
why thank u made it myself
Sure. And a cell's a cell, wherever it might be.
But wherever it might be may still matter. In what land? In what world? Where is it that ye'd say ye are, in relation to what that name can bring 'ee?
'Cause I know for damn sure we ain't in Mejis, and if they can bring me here, there's naught in any world to say we're anywhere ye'd be known, either.
no subject
It matters a little, I'll grant you. [ It mattered in terms of where his father was in relation to this cell, for example. Aside from that, gold was gold, and their captors were sure to be hungry for it. Rarely was it more complicated than that. Wherever they were, his name meant wealth, and men were uncomplicated creatures at their core. ]
I'd say we're on some rather godforsaken swathe of map, judging by the company. [ He leans to study her from his higher perch, eyes flicking over her face and hands and hair. ] Never learned the art of wearing your hair like a real southron lady, did you?
[ If she'd had a more noble aspect, that would've been more promising. Or if she spoke of anything he was familiar with. ]
Don't flatter yourself, you couldn't have blundered us into a place where they don't know me. They know my name in this world and they'll know it in hell, too, if there's any distinction between the two. I'd never be so lucky as to be no one.
no subject
[Thee's tart as unripe lemons, and twice as bitter, Aunt Cord would have said. But she can't help but snap a little, at such a time of this, even knowing he's baiting her. Is he really going to sit and snipe at her for not wearing a hairstyle to his satisfaction, in some prison cell where she's not even got a comb to her name, much less pins and ribbons to hold anything together?]
[Of course he is. Fucker, she thinks, with some relish. Oh, you self-conceited old fucker.]
This ain't hell. But it ain't my world, neither, and I'd lay money it's not yours. Not if we're branded the same and set in the same stable.
no subject
[ He grimaces at the thought of her combing her hair sleek and shining, anyway - more likely that she'd be at home with hay and burs tangled in, and something insolent dancing on her tongue. Not that her hair was going to signify anything useful to them, much as each and every observation proves futile. Make some play at harming her? There was no guarantee that the door would open. Have her present herself as a hostage of some nobility? Even less likely.
There is a sliver of steel in her voice, and in the absence of all else, he is pleased to have that. Pain and frustration will always be preferable to dull silence, to sea-vast emptiness. He sits up, the better to disdainfully regard her. What could she know of hell? ]
So much money you're laying about when you seem to have precisely none to speak of. [ A bright smirk attends this quip before he continues - ] We aren't branded the same, make no mistake. This is some fool's folly, for which he will hopefully lose both hands. And whatever glorious notions you have of hell, I'd advise you to put them aside. You'll find that the gods are rather unimaginative, compared to the miseries we make for ourselves.
no subject
In the space of a day, sai knight, I've lost my lover, my child, and my life. And on top of that, I find myself stuck in here with a man who'll mock me for laying money I don't have, but think nothing of offering me a horse rather than quit gracefully in a fight he started.
Don't talk to me of miseries.
[She stands, restless, uncomfortable with how much has just spilled out of her. He isn't going to be sympathetic, and he doesn't need to know all that she's been through today, and she shouldn't have said that - but it's been burning like smoke in her lungs, waiting to be coughed up, to momentarily dislodge the pain held breathless in her throat.]
[Folding her arms, she begins to pace. There's no goal to it, only a deep restlessness that grows by the minute. After that first harsh glare, she doesn't look at him.]
Better still, don't talk to me at all.
no subject
That she thinks herself so privileged in her misery would be laughable, if only he did not share in the utter convenience of those agonies. He hops back down off the bunk, with the annoyance of a lion who has just had his tail tugged. ]
Is that all you know of misery? Did I not also lose my lover, my child and my life in the space of a day?
[ He had been separated from all three longer than that, in fact, but his imprisonment seems to have significantly worsened. Now he doesn't know where he's held, or by whom, and her urge to toward motion only tempts him to approach her again, to hinder what progress she can make, which is, even without his interference, considerably none.
Her request to leave her in silence, in particular, is one that must be answered with its opposite. It's not as if she can walk away. ]
You've never known misery and you've never known the cost of quitting gracefully. Tell me of all the gods have taken from you, or better yet, tell me of all the things you've let slip through your fingers, and then we'll take a measure of our miseries.
no subject
[You've never known misery, he tells her. He, who's done naught but brag about his name and his knighthood and his strength. He, who's never been a girl, never known how men's eyes and hands can burn, how someone's prettiness can be turned into a stick to beat her with. He who jokes about her father's death, who never had to feel that sick uncertainty of a death that could not be, who needn't live knowing that she talked and joked and trusted in men who had taken everything from her. Have you starved, sai knight? she wants to demand (and her fingers are trying to curl into fists again, digging into the flesh of her folded arms. Have you sold everything you loved for bread and a roof? Have you sold yourself, let an old man fumble you with crackling knuckles, had a whole town know you for a whore in all but name? Have you been spat on, hands dripping red as everyone you called a friend cursed you, noose on your neck as they drew you to the Charyou Tree?]
[She doubts it. She doubts it very much. Such a man as he seems has no doubt felt some stings in his life, some miseries - a soldier, she supposes, must - but he is a rich man, and a strong man, and most of all, he is a man. Men and boys, she supposes, must have a very different view of misery, for certainly few enough of them seem to understand women's.]
[Her lips press tight, and she scowls at him.]
To hear it of 'ee, ye've lost naught at all today but time. After all, ain't you gonna tell 'em your name and let 'em bow and scrape as they pull you, apologising all the while for the trouble, out into the light? Ain't they gonna set 'ee on a fine steed and sell 'ee back to whatever father ye're so ungrateful of? Ain't that what ye've been telling me?
no subject
She is, he's sure, making a tally of every misery she's encountered in her paltry life, and he keeps bright, cutting eyes on her face, daring her to go ahead and list them all. Enumerate the wrongs perpetrated against her by an unfeeling universe, by cruel and unjust gods, by her own failings and general inadequacies. Relive the stab of each one, weigh it for pain, and make from her memories the champion of her misery. He is not deterred, certain as he is that he can recount terrors darker than any she has known.
But she doesn't, she only gives him that baleful glare, and he takes another crowding step, ready to relish any ground yielded. The same satisfaction of corralling a dog or a horse, finding in retreating steps the evidence of his strength. ]
You'd have me decrying all my losses, would you? Only a fool bares all his steel before the fight has begun. What will you do, beseech them to free you sooner because you've so woefully lost your lover, because you weep for your child, because your life is wasting away before your eyes? It sounds to me like you've already halfway surrendered. They won't have to take anything from you, you're so willing to give it.
no subject
[But there's also a part of her - the part, perhaps, that spat in Eldred Jonas' face - that balks at the idea of stepping away, least of all when he's speaking to her of surrender. Accusing her of surrender. Never, in all her life, has she felt more furiously opposed to the idea of backing up even half a step. Her lip curls back from her teeth, and not in a smile. Her tone, to her own surprise, is even.]
Do 'ee see me weep, pendejo? Are there tears in my eyes?
[Some on her cheeks, maybe, from wheezing when he crushed her ribs, and there's a suspicious, puffy redness to her lids that might suggest she's been crying before, but for now, her eyes are dry. She's making damned sure of that. All else he might have from her, but she's not going to give him the satisfaction of tears, no matter how they might burn and ache in her throat.]
I won't beseech them for shit. I ain't fool enough to crawl on the ground asking for what anyone with eyes can see they'll not give. I'm not the one thinkin' if I only cause enough hue and cry, they'll come along in a moment to open the door.
no subject
What in the seven hells is a pendejo? [ He has yet to come to any solid understanding of what her dialect is, or from where it hails, but the absence of clarity leaves an abundance of space for hilarity. And there is, despite the acid in her tone, proof of tears, her secret spilled: the angry red of her eyes, the catching of light on the dry trails of her cheeks. There might not be tears desperately blearing her eyes at present, but like the passage of a column of soldiers through the woods, he can see their traces. ] Near enough to make no matter.
[ The gods didn't care a whit for her tears, no more than their guards would, no more than he did, and she has given no ground, as if she still maintains that her pride is worth something. It will be the first thing to decay in this cell, she will find. He snorts at the thought, taking another step forward, commanding what space is his to command. ]
No, you're the one who's going to snap these bars with your bare hands, invoking your dead father's most valorous spirit as you claw your way back to daylight, dragging all your sparkling miseries along with you. You'll be beseeching before long, my lady. The gods have no tenderness for you.
no subject
[Any brief satisfaction, though, is quickly punctured as he goes on talking. (Gods, will he ever stop talking?) Her lips pinch, her shoulders tensing a little. He's close now, too close. She can smell his sweat, and has to force herself not to lean away.]
Fuck the gods, and while we're at it, fuck ka besides. [And you, of course, sai Jaime. Fuck you.] I never asked 'em for tenderness or aught else. And I never begged, nor ever will.
Ye've proved well enough already ye don't know me. Why not let it lie, and give me some peace for half a minute?
no subject
Who's ka, and do we behead him before or after the gods? [ At least she has some appreciation for the application of murder. He very much doubts she's worth anything at all when it comes to having an actual facility for murder, but this little outburst of divine defiance is more amusing than any devout whining would've been. ] Does your father know you're so irreverent? I bet he— [ a startled pause, for dramatic effect, and then - ] Oh, right. He's dead.
[ Her father, her gods, and probably anyone who could be bothered to show her tenderness. If she didn't fall to begging in these cells, she would hear herself pleading long before her days were done. This is very probably a perennial bravery, a front.
That she is so offended by his presence prompts him another step closer, pleased as ever to know his very existence can be so viscerally appalling. ]
And if I don't?
no subject
[He steps forward again, and it takes real effort not to flinch; by now he's close enough that the coarse cloth of his tunic brushes her folded arms, and she might be stubborn, but she's not entirely stupid, and she hasn't forgotten how easily he bested her just a few minutes ago. Nor has she forgotten the violence other men have done to her of late, even if her face may no longer be swelled and bloodied.]
[But the trouble is, give an inch, and he'll take a mile. Then again, give nothing, and he'll likely take the inch and the mile anyway. It's a tough corner to be in, with no way out.]
[She bites down on the inside of her cheek, aware of how she has to tilt her head just to look at him. One more step, she tells herself. If he takes one step closer, you can back up.]
If ye don't, I'd imagine we'll be at this a while. And I'm bored of it, and I can't imagine it'll stay sport for 'ee all that long, either.
Not to mention, if ye'll keep standin' so close, we'll both have cricks in our necks ere long.
no subject
The roughspun of his sorry excuse for a tunic scrapes now against her arms, and still she doesn't budge, so the next decision comes without thought. He will take another step and simply knock her to the ground, or she will step aside. He holds himself where he stands for a moment longer, giving the smirk on his face full rein. She has to tilt her head to even look at him, and if she continues to be mulish, she will have to look up at him from the ground.
He does, then, take that final step closer. ]
Go hide yourself in some corner, then, if you're bored. [ Or curl up on the floor, or wail through the bars; he didn't particularly care which, so long as she essentially removes herself from his experience of this hell. She is right, there is little sport to be had in flushing quail from one barrel to another, but what else is there? He has never known how to leave prey uncaught. ]
Perhaps you should be grateful that a cricked neck is all you've got to worry about. Thank your gods for the blessing of boredom.
no subject
[She's so tired of being toyed with. Of being run from one pen to another, of being pushed and prodded and teased, of people making her frustration and pain a game. She's so tired of the childishness of it, petty spite and sly smugness, little boys pulling the wings off flies. Is it so much to ask, she wants to snap - at him, at the whole world - to just be left alone?]
[Of course it is, and of course she isn't fool enough, in this moment, to actually say it. It would only be a joke to him. But she has to bite her tongue for a moment, short and ragged fingernails digging into her arms.]
I told 'ee, I don't have gods. Gods worth thankin', least of all.
And if I did, I'd not tend to thank them for seeing me locked up with a spiteful little boy in a grown man's body.
[Maybe she is fool enough, after all.]
no subject
She persists in her denial of her gods, though he is sure that too is a desperation that will return to her when the hour grows late, and she realizes she may well be trapped here, with no one to hear her. No one to answer, anyway, much like the gods. She is all withheld tension, bristling like a dog that knows better than to give into its agitation, and he looks her up and down, cruelly undisguised in his appraisal, and then barks a laugh. ]
Who would you rather be locked up with? You should be grateful I'm tolerating you standing here being an unbearably virulent weed when you are a confessed murderer.
[ He pushes past her, to punctuate her surrender with his victory, peering out through bars before turning to pace back. ]
Who did you kill, anyway? Some apple farmer for selling you wormy goods? Let's decide whose murder was more honorable. Whoever loses has to play Rock Finger Smash. [ This is, in fact, a game he has just now invented, and while he may be accused of a great many things, it cannot be said that he cannot make a game out of thin air. ]
no subject
[She doesn't like to say it, but she won't pretend what she did was honourable, not even to the likes of him. There's bravado, and then there's just plain lying.]
[And maybe, too, there's some truth in what he's saying - not about her being a weed, but the thing between the words, the suggestion that she deserves this. She rebels against the thought, but still, it's there. I traded my soul for 'ee, Roland, thee and the child, and now I have neither. Trades like that, may be no wonder we lost the horses.]
[Her lips press tighter still, a thin white line now, and she looks away, arms still folded tight around herself.]
I killed Dave Hollis, who was deputy at the jail, and Sheriff Avery. [And set her serape afire and burst into tears in the process, but he doesn't need to know that.] And I'd do it again without a question, for all Dave deserved better, but that doesn't make it honourable, and I don't plan to play your smashing game.
no subject
I never said the winner was the honorable murderer. [ His own contribution to this game would be judged cruel and craven and selfish, no doubt, and he isn't of the opinion that she has an enduring interest in discussing the finer points of killing and morality. Not with him, anyway.
But she is game enough to tell him her story, or to tell him a story, and he lets his mind conspire to paint an image of Dave Hollis and Sheriff Avery. Two witless cretins who may not have even been conscious? She isn't forthcoming with those details, but she does rally her resolve to swear she'd do it all again, and she is too haughty to have her crimes judged against his own. That's fine - he will judge them anyway, with or without a prize. ]
You killed two guards? Any boy worth half a turnip can do that. I'd hardly give you the glory of calling it honorless. How'd you do for them? Knife? Mule kick? Your wild little monkey fist to the throat? Or was it such happenstance that you don't even know how it was done?
no subject
[She shifts her weight, trying not to show her discomfort, trying not to give him more fuel to his mockery. Knowing that's a fool's game, but trying anyway. And there is a kind of relief in saying it aloud, to someone who wasn't there.]
I shot 'em. Dave through the heart. Avery through the head.
Made a hell of a mess. A mule kick might've gotten less brains on the wall. [For a moment, there, something almost cracks in her voice. She rallies herself, sets her jaw again.] But it was what I'd come to do, if it came to it, and so I did it, I guess. And I don't give a fuck what glory ye do or don't give.
Who did you kill? [A lot of people, she'd guess, one way or another. He seems the type - and again she thinks of Clay Reynolds, bitter and puffed-up and bloodthirsty. But she's curious, even so.]
no subject
Go berserk in your bloodlust, did you? I've known men to tear their enemies limb from limb after they were plenty dead. [ He'd also witnessed the repercussions of veering too near a mean-spirited mule, and a mess was indeed possible. In any case - ] Not a champion of diplomatic negotiations? Neither am I. Steel settles disagreements rather more quickly.
[ With or without the sheen of glory, which she would have him believe matters not to her, and he turns to lay his back against the bars, dropping without an abundance of grace to sit. ]
I've killed a great many men less fortunate on the battlefield, and I've killed pyromancers, a king, several deer, a horse that once snapped its leg under me, oh, and a boy, if he would hurry up and be done with it already. [ But the meddling young Stark went on persisting in his existence, so far as Jaime knew, to his great annoyance. ]
(no subject)