duskofthegods_logs | Mingle Log

Entry tags:

Mingle Log

Who: Open to all characters.
When: Time really has no meaning right now, does it?
Where: Ariston Nikas' brownstone.
Other information: Feel free to start your own threads in the house or elsewhere.

People may have arrived here because Nikas himself found them wandering the street and, realizing that there has been an influx of new kidnapping victims, began gathering them and leading them to the safe haven of his home. Others may have arrived because one of the kinder natives saw them and told them where to find "the physician". Maybe they already knew him, having been in Vernos Bay for some time already.

Whatever the case, Nikas now stands in a sparsely-appointed sitting room, looking for all the world like he would very much like to bolt for somewhere less occupied. Beside him on a console table is a line of mobile phones, along with maps of the city. For the past twenty minutes, he has been trying to calmly explain the situation without mentioning that anyone in the room could choose to become a god.

He doesn't want to mention that part. Oh, he explains that the gods are gone and nothing works, but he doesn't dare tell these people - these strangers - that they can claim the empty thrones.

That would be disastrous. No, he skips over that part.

Gone rather paler than normal, he draws a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his forehead. "I would refrain from bringing our plight to the natives of Vernos Bay. They have reacted poorly in the past. I have these - these mobile phones. Someone like us has done the work to make them secure lines so that we can use them to contact one another."

A beat passes and he adds, "It would be very helpful if - if I needn't do this next time people like us arrive here. If someone else could..."

That would appear to be all that he can manage. He licks his lips, eyes flickering from face to face...then he bolts from the room, the sound of his footsteps thumping up the stairs causing the phones to vibrate along the table. Someone else is going to have to handle answering questions for a while, it would appear.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

“Oh dear,” Tatra mused to anyone who cared to listen. It was a lot to take in, especially when she had only moments ago been aboard the Bravada with her dear sister Tarta.

Suddenly she clapped her hands together with a sense of finality and smiled brightly.

“It does seem rather hopeless, doesn’t it?”

Dom watches Nikas flee with a pang of sympathy and also not a little envy; she'd love to run and hide somewhere herself, but that seems kind of rude in someone else's house.

She shrugs, picks up a phone and inspects it. "Seems easy enough," she says out loud, not really to anyone, but whoever happens to be nearby can respond.

Tatra peers at the devices over Dom's shoulder.

"How does it work, do you suppose?"

For a moment Dom is startled into speechlessness, because how do you not know phones? Then she remembers the whole thing about people being brought here, all that stuff. Maybe this woman comes from a reality without phones.

(If so, lucky her.)

"It's ... a phone. Have you not used one before?"

"A 'phone'." She repeats it to be sure she'll remember the word.

"It's for communication?" That's what Ari had implied, anyway. "It's so cute!"

"Never thought of them as cute before," Dom says with a small laugh. "But yeah, I guess. Here's how you use it."

She tries to give a decent explanation as to how the thing works, but as she does so, realizes that she's got all the blind spots and assumptions that someone who's used these things their entire lives would have. So it's a bit of a halting, stumbling sort of overview, which eventually devolves into Dom saying, a little helplessly, "...clear as mud, right?"

The playfulness falls from Tatra's face as she focuses on the lesson, which may prove very important. Once it's finished she smiles brightly again.

"I thought it was very nice! What a useful little device."

Dom smiles. "Yeah, I guess it is. Oh, um—I'm Dominique DiPierro, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"A pleasure to meet you, miss Dominique. I am Tatra."

Just Tatra. No surname.

The miss makes her visibly uncomfortable. "Just Dom, please. That's what pretty much everyone calls me ever." A pause. "So, uh, where are you from? Apart from somewhere without phones, lucky you."

She nods her understanding. A princess must be polite first, you understand.

"I'm from the kingdom of Chizeta, where my mother and father rule. Where are you from, Dom?"

Dom's brain quickly flicks through her internal database before turning up dry on Chizeta. Well, okay then.

"New York City. Well, originally New Jersey. Where, uh, my parents are retired." A pause. "It's in the United States. On ... earth."

Tatra is just smiling like she knows where any of those places are. But she perks up at the mention of Earth.

"Earth? You must be from Miss Hikaru's world! How wonderful!"

"Is it? Wonderful, I mean?" Dom has no idea what to make of this much perkiness. "At least I'm not the only one, I guess."

"Hikaru and her friends are dear friends of mine and my sister's." Though they weren't as close as the others, Tatra at least had fit right in to the efforts to rebuild Cephiro. Hikaru is a darling girl who has much the same cheery outlook as Tatra does.

"I've never seen their world, though they speak of it often. It sounds incredible."

"Incredible? I guess it might be. I mean, some of the shit that happens there definitely is. It looks a lot like this place, kind of. Just, no gods." A curious look. "What's it like where you come from?"

"Chizeta?" Tatra giggles. "My world is very small! It's much warmer than this place, too."

"Sounds nice," Dom says. "This place has all the ambience of Jersey City at 3AM." A pause. "That's a city where I'm from. Not, uh, not a very fancy one, to say the least."

"No?" Tatra considers their surroundings.

"The architecture is different than I'm used to, so I couldn't possibly judge."

i. general mingle... sort of... (open)
At first, all Jefferson does is observe. He hasn't been in this strange land for very long, but he doesn't have to have spent weeks or months (or years) here to have realized there's something deeply wrong in Vernos Bay. Really, it's obvious enough within hours, with the state of everything; there's a sense of stagnant dysfunction to the very core of this place. Perhaps that's why he appears so tired, eyes red-rimmed from a lack of sleep, clothes somewhat rumpled and hair looking like it hasn't been properly styled in a day or so.

He listens to the physician attempt to explain, but mostly, he's taking stock of the others in the sitting room. And, when the halting orientation is cut short as Nikas flees from the room, Jefferson takes a moment to watch him go, brow furrowed with concern, as if he's truly worried for the man. (Not that he's unsympathetic, really. But it is for show, to a degree. Be normal, be charming, wear that old mask that used to serve him so well as a thief, a con artist, a traveler... Don't let anybody see the cracks in the facade.)

Once others begin to murmur to each other, sharing their own knowledge and observations of this land, Jefferson finally moves to slip a phone into his pocket, before looking over the maps. All he wants is to get home, to find his Grace again. In order to do that... He needs to study this city and its ways.

A land abandoned by its gods. It's unlike any place he's seen in his travels.

ii. the physician (closed)
At some point, Jefferson breaks away from the others to head up the stairs, following in the physician's footsteps. The thing is... he can relate to the way the man's nerves seemed to have gotten the better of him. Maybe it's because Jefferson's something of an antisocial agoraphobe, himself. Being in something like solitary confinement for nearly thirty years can do that to a person. (Self imposed. Hiding was easier than having to play along with the curse, or dealing with being the town lunatic.)

When Jefferson approaches the doctor's bedroom, he lingers in the doorway, watching him carefully.

"Sorry to bother you." He offers a smile, perfectly friendly. Jefferson certainly seems a lot more relaxed than he actually feels. "I just thought... You seemed upset."

By the time Jefferson has reached his room, Nikas has at least stopped panicking. He now sits on the edge of his narrow bed, hands on his knees as he focuses on breathing slowly, steadily, in and out. He reminds himself that this needs to be done; he needs to go back downstairs and help acclimate these newcomers. There is no one else to do it. Not that he knows of, at any rate.

He does hear the footsteps coming up the stairs, but they don't register as such. In fact, it's only when the other man speaks that Nikas comes aware of his presence. He manages to look only slightly abashed, and even that he covers with a grim smile.

"I'll be fine," he assures his guest. "I simply..." Was feeling ill? Needed a moment? Laughable to suggest either. "I don't do well in crowds."

Now, that's an honest statement. A bit of an undershot, though; the whole situation and all the possibilities it represents are eating at him. The natives of Vernos Bay, for example, could very well lose their minds and capture all of the new folk and torture them. Not kill them, because death does not currently exist here - but certainly do terrible things to them. Death doesn't frighten him. Torture by mob, though - oh yes.

"I'm terribly sorry," he manages, and rises to his feet, albeit a little unsteadily. "It's all - But what was your name?"

Jefferson's smile fades into something a little more bittersweet. "Neither do I."

He moves further into the room, just to close some of the distance and offer his hand in greeting. "Jefferson. I've been here for about..." Well, it's hard to say, given time and sleep don't seem to be in play here. Which... honestly isn't a massive change for Jefferson. There were times when Wonderland was much the same for him. So, he trails off with a shrug. Days, at least, by his guesstimate.

"Anyway. Would a cup of tea help?"

TEA IS THE ANSWER TO EVERY PROBLEM.

Nikas' smile is one of genuine sympathy and understanding. His eyes flicker to the window and his brow furrows, as he, too, notes that it's impossible to tell how long one has been in Vernos Bay. The eerie, starless twilight and the refusal of the clocks to change, the fact that his own bed has been untouched save as a seat just now - it all contributes to the acute absence of time. Nikas, for one, has always been aware of the passage of time. Thousands of years gone by, every moment leaving a trail on his psyche, and now...nothing. Not a heartbeat, not a millisecond.

"Yes, I..." His gaze returns to the other man. "Yes. A cup of tea would be just the thing." Tea never solved this particular problem, but neither did rudeness, and so he straightens his clothes, brushing away invisible lines from shirt and trousers, and closes the space between himself and, "Jefferson. Is that your given name?"

Trying to deduce whether he ought to be formal - Mr. Jefferson - or whether they're to be friends.

He nods. "That's right. Just Jefferson." No misters, please and thank you. And though he could give the surname Regina bestowed him with through her curse, he'd really rather not. 'Hatter.' A cruel joke, as if he hadn't enough reminders of Wonderland in his tomb of a mansion.

Glancing back out of the room, as if bracing himself-- bracing the both of them-- for venturing out again. At least the kitchen may be unoccupied. Tea may be a small gesture, but it's always helped soothe him, just a little bit. Though, he's not sure how it will turn out, in a place as inherently dysfunctional as this.

"Where are you from? Before you were brought to this land."

It takes Nikas a moment to gather himself enough to take the lead in the venture to the kitchen; to reach it, they must descend the stairs and pass the room where the others have gathered, and he needs to steel himself just in case someone intercepts them and demands an explanation. Back home, people knew his peculiarities well enough that he was never placed in situations like this, much less allowed to reach the point of panic; he supposes eventually people will learn about him again.

But not today.

"This way," he murmurs, heading off down the hall before remembering that Jefferson did ask him where he was from. "Originally? I was born in Athens. Greece, not Georgia. I was in Louisiana of late, however, participating in medical research for the organization of a dear friend. Yourself...?"

If he keeps the conversation flowing, he doesn't have to think about the crowd just on the other side of the wall.

"How is he?"

Tatra cornered the man before he had a chance to slip away into the city. She had wanted to go after this physician person herself, but it didn't seem like a whole crowd of worried people was something he was interested in.

For his part, Jefferson's about at his limit for socialization, eager to escape to some solitude and drop the totally normal and just a bit charming facade. But he's stopped before he can sneak back out, and when he offers the young woman a quick, somewhat apologetic smile (as if to say "Sorry, gotta make this quick; I'm really in a hurry..."), it seems he's rather frayed around the edges.

"He seems a little better now." Jefferson exhales with a short, sympathetic sigh. "Being trapped in a place like this... It must be a lot on a person after a while."

Maddening, actually. Jefferson knows from experience.

Tatra nods her approval. As long as neither of them is upset about anything specific, anything bad, she will do her best not to worry. She doesn't like to see people suffer, but as a princess that can't always be helped.

"Thank you for seeing to him. No doubt we could all use some comfort. I'll look around and see if I can find some tea."

to ariston: [ Liir has spent his life in the shadow of both of his parents, mostly because he resembles neither of them in a superficial way and both of them in a much deeper sense. He is not green, he bears no diamonds; he has a capacity for great kindness and also for great cruelty. In one sense, he resembles only his mother, really, as he is painfully, perhaps even sharply competent, and it is for that reason he intends to approach the man who'd organized this little get together and glances at the phones. He doesn't know what they are, other than a 'mobile phone', some manner of blasphemous tik-tockery that he has every intention of exploring utterly, but what the man says and how he says it reaches deep into him and pulls out the man who'd organized a massacre in between handling his officer's affairs and settling a sleeping dispute in the barracks with a proverbial hand behind his back.

Sorry, Ari, but someone is following you. And for someone as seemingly passive as he is, he's a terribly tenacious sort.

When they've reached the sort of place where they might be able to talk- ]

I'm someone. And I believe I could.

[ He's offering to assist, Ari. Apologies for the Ozian manner of his doing so, it's the only way he knows. ]

Also, what is a 'mobile phone'?

mingle: [ Aside from his brief venture into helpfulness, Liir's manner is not one that lends itself towards stepping forward, especially not when the only reward is social interaction. He's never loved solitude, but he's also never loved playing games he performed poorly at, especially ones that remind him so much of his earliest: that was the one where children threw rocks at him to see how far they might bounce once they repelled off of him.

Social interaction tends to be a bit like that, or it feels like that, leaves him feeling plumy and bruised and a little bit dazed.

Instead, he finds a corner with something to lean his empty tome upon, pulls out his quill and his lanternblack, and settles in to fiddle with one of the more difficult passages of his book. He's certainly had no luck finding his way around it in silence and solitude. Perhaps, he bets against his mind, he will find his inspiration in the presence of others, just to spite himself. It's the sort of thing his inspiration would do to him. ]

Edited 2018-01-02 21:56 (UTC)

[Ariston, for his own part, is overwhelmed by relief at having escaped the crowd downstairs. He stands in the hall with one hand against the doorframe of his bedroom, the other working furiously at his collar to unbutton the first, then the second button. Air. The sense of restriction vanishing slowly. Good. His forehead is beaded with sweat and deep in his gut there is a feeling of sickness that even his parasite - that ineffable creature that made him what he is - can't subdue.

He forces air in through his nose, out through his mouth, wishing Jaques were here.

And there is a voice, questioning, just to his left. With a start, he looks up to meet the other man's eyes; he hadn't realized he was being followed.

Ashamed at having been spotted in such a disgraceful state, he straightens - slightly, only slightly - and holds up a hand, one finger extended. One moment, please. The expression on his face is astoundingly an abashed smile, because reassuring others should come first. He is a doctor. He is older. He should know better. Be better.]

Forgive me. If you'll allow me a moment...

[ Liir is still at the request, asking nothing, asking for nothing. A moment to collect one's self is not at all unreasonable, especially given how uncomfortable he clearly is. Liir waits, patient, taking the time to straighten his own clothing, as if he too had asked for a moment. He hadn't, but even he can manage niceties to this level. ]

[Nikas can feel nothing but gratitude that this young man - for all men are young men to him - isn't fawning or coddling him. It makes him feel more as if he has the privacy to regain his self-control, and as though this is nothing to be ashamed of.

Mostly, at least.

After a few moments, he produces his handkerchief again and wipes his brow, straightening himself up just enough to be presentable.]

Forgive me.

[He says it again, painfully polite, painfully aware of how this looks. His voice is soft, gentle even; that is what he is to his core, after all. Gentle, but perhaps not as weak as this moment would make him seem.]

I'm afraid I - had something of an episode. [To put it so very mildly.] How can I help you?

[ ...there's a sort of pause at the question, because it isn't one he's ever been asked more than perhaps... once? Especially with any sort of kindness. Perhaps there were nobility in Gilikin who heard the phrase every day, as common as such a thing might be, but while he was technically a sort of prince and technically a sort of Eminence and technically a sort of Elephant (included, purely for completion's sake), he has never been to Gilikin and the phrase was not one he'd heard as a young soldier in the Emerald City as much due to his lack of purchasing things as from other, more reasonable, reasons. As such- ]

I was actually here to ask how if I could help you. What small talents I have are in administration and organization. You seemed...

[ Put it politely? ]

...an Oz-damned wreck up there.

[ It's like Elphaba was alive and still with us. ]

I wouldn't mind handling matters in the future for you.

[Liir has hit the nail on the head: Nikas is an Oz-damned wreck. Certainly not a god-damned one: there are no gods here to do that to him.

With a slow inhale, he considers this offer. Here, after all, is a young man who seems confident enough to approach a stranger even under the discomfort of such a new situation, and offer his aid. He seems confident, level-headed, and at first glance, not a threatening or particularly unstable person.]

I would never turn aside such a generous offer of help. It's simply a matter of intercepting the pour souls dragged into this city before they encounter the native inhabitants. Helping them acclimate, giving them the mobile phones. Do you think you could manage...? I would be happy to provide anything you might need, so long as I could...

[Stay behind the scenes. Not do the talking. He gestures, indicating his inability to phrase either of these ideas.]

[Like a cat, Ryan's drawn to the one person in the room who's perfectly fine being left alone. He'd honestly been about to go inquire after their host, but decided that it was more interesting to observe the people down here.

After a few moments, he follows his potential new friend to an isolated corner. Uh-oh. Luckily he doesn't have his murder itch right now. Comes from popping into Vernos Bay just after a big heist.

So, also like a cat, he steals up to the man who's scribbling with a quill, dead quiet.]

Hello! [He says cheerfully from behind his black skull mask.]

[ Most people's reaction to such a startling event would be to jump or to scream or to throw either quill or book in the general direction of the noise. However, a childhood of torment and a lifetime of living on the run means that his response is instead utter stillness and a nearly inhuman focus on the source of the sound. He looks more like a bird before the storm, or, almost discordantly, a snake before the strike.

Possibly like both, or considering one versus the other.

Then, slowly, the book is closed and the quill is slotted into a small tube at his hip for safe keeping.]

Hello.

[Oho! An interesting reaction/not-reaction. Not fight/flight, fight/flight/freeze. The third one, the one they don't really talk about.

People are so interesting, aren't they? One little thing can tell you so much about a person. This is partially why he keeps himself hidden behind his mask, or at the very least his face paint. Can't read what isn't there.]

Taking notes? [He sounds just as cheerful as before.] Good idea. I would, too, but I left stuff to write on at home. [With Jack. ...Jack is the one who writes things down. Jack is the organized one. Ryan just keeps things in his convoluted little brain until he dredges them up for later use.]

[ The thing of it is, though, that masks tell a story all their own. Liir knows this better than most, and he doesn't need the seat of a god to listen to the mask if he chooses.
For the moment, he doesn't choose to. He's content to see what the man says behind the mask. That's revealing as well. ]

My own writing, actually.

[ And then he turns his attention on Ryan, content to watch, to listen, to observe. ]

[Well, well, well. No frightened stare this, not even unease.

Yes, he'll be fun to play with later.]

Oh! You're a writer? [He sounds genuinely interested, because he is.] Never had a knack for fiction, myself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mingle Log

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Jefferson | OTA | NOW WITH THE RIGHT CHARACTER AND JOURNAL jfc

Re: Jefferson | OTA | NOW WITH THE RIGHT CHARACTER AND JOURNAL jfc

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

apologies for the long wait ;a;