Entanglement (Logs)

OOC announcement

Fri, 18 May 2012 08:18:57 GMT

Posted by: the_measurers

Alright, as of now we are currently no longer an app game. In light of the facts that we've been in an activity slump that doesn't seem to be abating and that there are still plenty of people who want to play here, we're transitioning over to a dressing room format. That means the following:

-Apps are closed. If you want someone to join the game, just send them an invitation. People joining, please tell us who invited you when you join the comms. Then comment to the taken list with the character you're taking.

-All previous rules besides activity are still in effect. Activity is now "between every 2 months and whenever we feel like it".

We may reopen as a formal game a some point in the future, if there's enough interest.

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The long awaited slumber party

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 01:40:41 GMT

Posted by: poorduck

Duck was at a loss. It was all well and good wanting to do something with friends, for a change, and a sleepover seemed to fit the bill. But she'd never had to 'organize' one before. Back home, when she lived in the girls' dorm, it was just a matter of crowding into Pique or Lilie's room (her own attic room wasn't big enough for the three of them) and just hanging out. This was more of a party.

She had cleared out one of the larger rocket bunks, and there was a bowl of brick-corn in a table on the corner. Now what?

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[locked to Cain]

Tue, 17 Apr 2012 16:55:00 GMT

Posted by: porcelain_perfection

Over the past few days Victoria's bedroom had mysteriously askew. Normally kept in pristine condition by it's owner's obsession with having everything in her life just so, the room as it was now was in disarray as small objects lay far from their intended place and the rather old sheet that normally adorned her bed lay on the floor in a ruffled heap. Though one could normally assume such minor pranks was the work of someone playing dumb, this simply could not be, as no one had entered her room as of late save for herself and Cain. Something was amiss, though she could not put her hand on what it was just yet. First, she thought, she would message her beloved Cain,for he typically knew the answers to esoteric questions such as these.

Then, till he arrived, she would be at work resetting the chaos instated upon her dwelling space by an unknown culprit.

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Backdated to MARCH 21 — Locked to Cain unless later stated otherwise

Tue, 17 Apr 2012 03:05:38 GMT

Posted by: fonewearl

Standing before the hatch leading into BSL Sector 2, Mirys stared almost warily at the console used to operate it. Coming here was her own choice, despite having some reservations about the whole idea, and she had a very specific idea for what she intended to do, though she didn't have the slightest clue as to if any of the creatures in this particular habitat would actually be suitable for it.

Before starting in, she turned to face the person behind her. "I told you what I was coming here for, right?"

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[mini-expedition]

Tue, 10 Apr 2012 13:11:29 GMT

Posted by: the_measurers

Those who are adventurous will find a rare sight: The station's navigator away from his normal seclusion. Up close, Kelred shouldn't be that intimidating to look at. Just a big old gassy orange muppet in a giant fishbowl. But there's something about him...maybe it's the glowing blue eyes.

He's taking you, reluctantly, to two places you've visited already, to finish up some business.

You are officially badass enough to have unfinished business on two seedy planets.

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Sat, 31 Mar 2012 23:02:26 GMT

Posted by: the_burnt_one

Despite having been to three so far, Therru had never gotten the hang of cities. The crush was too much for her. She'd never developed the social filter needed to live in such close cohabitation with so many, so she tried to study each face in the crowd individually, leading to mental burnout. So she went to an out of the way terminal to read the latest news...Their dolphin had been captured! And a merchant's cats had been impregnated! Both disasters, the first for losing a crew member and the second for the trouble so many litters of kittens would cause when they were turned over to the station, as they were now their responsibility. The rest of the day was spent with books.

Eventually she realized she was too hungry to stay isolated so long though and had to make her way to the cafeteria for her daily share of dreamfood. She consoled herself by reminding herself that someday she'd be big and magnificent and hunt for her own food far beyond The Western Reach. It made the avocados with miniature marzipan models of someone's childhood home inside instead of a pit more bearable.

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[Locked to Bethany and Marian Hawke]

Sun, 25 Mar 2012 16:43:34 GMT

Posted by: whenshesgone

Bethany sat in a secluded hallway, leaning against her staff and staring into the black ether outside the window. She was incredibly worried about Marian, but didn't know where to begin. So much seemed wrong, and it was rather ironic that the whole 'abducted and conscripted into some strange Space arm' was really the least of it.

How could she help her sister when she so clearly didn't want to be helped?

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[in which Sheeana gets a little over herself/backdated to Planck]

Tue, 20 Mar 2012 12:32:12 GMT

Posted by: worm_dancer

The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.
-Words of the Pre-Spaceflight Bards, Stationrecords

Sheeana could feel the awareness of the crowds tingle under her skin in the Force: Luke's gift to her. She could estimate their size to a high degree of accuracy: Duncan's gift to her. She could feel the ghost-of-a-ghost of the Baron Harkonnen straining towards the sources of pleasure, his hedonism the last defining characteristic of a personality five thousand years old: Alia's gift to her. And the ability to be dazzled by the bright lights, to want to play in them despite knowing their sordid true natures: Maryweather's gift to her.

She realized as she walked along the fetid riverbanks, ill used by dumpers, she was wasting those gifts. She'd retreated away into grief and coldness so far back that even Cain had thought her suddenly anal retentive. It was a comfortable place to be though, submerged in her duties (Bayvie, Boothead and Tess required an exponential larger amount of supervision now that they were all together, the Spice needed to flow enough for her, Murbella and the whole station, Freedom Deliverer Robin needed its artwork, there was enough to keep her distracted from her grief, hiding from herself, for the rest of her considerable lifetime). But what to do? She could not depend on anyone. What if they left too?

Heresy. Bah. Look where it got Darwi: dead, the Sisterhood fragmented, both her heirs trapped outside of their own universe and dependant on the wandering seeds of the Tyrant. Bellonda, that fat old witch, must have known better all along... Yet she knew this too: Bellonda's existence was, if not joyless, a continual losing battle against joy. She didn't wish to live like that.

How then to reconcile it?

The river flowed on, a powerful symbol for impermanence. Perhaps so stubbornly holding on to her Fremen heritage, she had never learned that. Fremen did not have an easy attitude to anything. They saved up grudges for years, decades, centuries, millenia, until they exploded in wild acts of revenge. They had no rivers to show them that time flowed on. Only the crawling sands. They did not let things go, ever. And neither had she, ever since her parents. She had never learned to grieve, only to transmutate her grief into vindictive anger.

She wanted to go out into the streets of the pleasure city and find a place to dance. That was her final release, and now she'd denied herself it too.

Sober, contemplative walking only for her. She hated it.

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Suiting a dragon

Mon, 12 Mar 2012 22:02:51 GMT

Posted by: elderspeaksfirst

On the one hand, Paarthurnax wishes to make himself of use to the mortals here; on the other, he could hardly do that holed up in a frozen habitat. Fortunately for him Therru had a clever suggestion, and so now the hangar bay is partly taken up with a rather old dragon and a brand new engineering project. Paarthurnax is glad that it’s turning out to be a feasible request. At least it seems to be feasible so far. The smiths are wandering around him with mismatched pieces of machinery and armour, trying to decide what works and where it will fit. And having more than a few debates over it, to his private consternation.

He likes mortals, so he tells himself. Certainly for a dovah. Still, he’s only just realising how uncomfortable it is to be surrounded by small scurrying people, especially when they’re poking at his hide and his wings and even his muzzle. His head curves around to follow them now and again, tracking their activities as best he can. Once or twice he shifts, calls back a warning when someone gets too close (or something starts to pinch). Otherwise he keeps very still unless he’s asked. It would be much too easy to batter someone in this busy and flightless space.

In the meantime, he occupies himself asking about the smiths and what they’re doing here. One is always only too willing to slack off the job, and he’s soon picking up new vocabulary by the minute: technicians and engineers they call themselves; that’s a shuttle, these are circuits…
Like the patchwork exoskeleton coming together around him, none of it means much yet. But it’s beginning to add up.

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[Final Post for Planck and Bhor]

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 13:05:44 GMT

Posted by: the_measurers

If you've paid attention, you've learned a few things: The Fay'lia Bohemians think they're a species fallen from grace somehow. You'll probably get to learn more because some of said Bohemian hipsters have decided to come with you, after throwing a party ostensibly in your honor.

That feeling of impending doom is probably just something you ate at a streetfood stand.

Anyway, you're moving on. Bhor and Planck are shallow places, good for a vacation but not to live in, unless you're greedy and shallow yourself.

[OOC: All in the threads. Post Planck/Bhor logging is now open again.

For those in the under-17 thread, the static flashes are actually nam-sheb, from the novel Snow Crash. Right now they don't do anything but make you stand still for a minute or so, completely blanked out..But if you don't solve the mystery, that might change.]

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Mon, 27 Feb 2012 10:31:34 GMT

Posted by: the_measurers

The crowd might be a new one to you. They're mostly Fay'lia, dressed in dark colors (at least some black is der rigeur). They're as jaded looking as most nobles, though most of them are the children of wealthy merchants. They've taken time off their educations at the various liytheo at the summons of one of their luminaries, the art collector and writer Deth'iderif, who refuses to give a last name. His is the darkest outfit of all, the cape seeming to swallow light. Vanity lenses hang over his eyes from a tiara,

Their music is hard edged and full of existential agita. Clearly the Fay'lia have conquered atleast one version of Earth that contains Kraftwerk and Bauhaus.

The atmosphere is a strange one for the celebratory planet of Planck. It's not that the mood isn't celebratory. It is and yet...people are putting on airs of ennui already. Some struggle to find ways to criticize ("it is gauche and childish to attempt to shock by showing gormless support for gler'aiful rebels..."). Others think the exhibition a much needed breath of fresh air and revel in its real or imagined subversive qualities.

The exhibits span the gamut: a series of holopaintings of famous station residents firings riflewands at bags of disgusting fluids in a variety of grandiose settings, a sculpture of Enitan being birthed from the head of the Infinite Hierophant like Athena made entirely out oflint and shredded paper, a series of "sexual terrorist explosive creations" that walk inside a pen, an infinite fractal blog containing shocking essays "written" in Georgia Mason's style, a wax tableaux of the station's doctors gleefully attaching poisonous snakes to the nipples of the head of the MHB and many more, often shocking, strange and/or abstract.

One Fay'lia stands out, taller than the others, with darkly grey skin, shimmering hair spiked and twisted with...lime? He has a braid which is thrown over his shoulders like a jaunty scarf. He's one of few people in the room who appear to be genuinely smiling. His name is Ae'ual Fiathe, pronounced in a way that's rather musical even for a Fay'lia. His clothing is not exlusively dark either, but decorated with strange spiral designs. He and Deth'iderif seem to be old friends and they maintain an ongoing and presumably old banter which can be summarized as:

Deth'iderif: Ai'ual my old friend, your attempts to revive the ways of our distant ancestors are adorable but reactionary.

Ae'ual: Deth'iderif, my old friend, your endless search for shock and novelty is nothing more than a subconscious striving for the type of deadly mischeviousness our ancestors were once known for.

They have been at it for some time and neither one appears to ever make progress with the other. What this means about Fay'lia origins, well you'll have to find a way to artfully find out, so to speak.

Some of the agents you were warned about are undoubtedly also here.

[OOC: Use the threads or make your own, it's up to you. Interrogate the Fay'lia Bohemians for information on Fay'lia history, culture, etc.]

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Trace, on! - wait, wrong traceur. [For A-Lung]

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 17:19:04 GMT

Posted by: fastestonnolegs

Planck, the planet of infinite earthly delights, is a place known for tall spires, bizzarchetecture, and large parks with lots of fiddly bits. Perfect place to practice the Traceur's art.

Emi isn't entirely sure what to expect from her new sensei (Sifu, really, but she doesn't know the word). She came prepared, of course; full medical checkup of everything below her thighs, which pained her to endure, and an a-ok on her usual prosthetics legs, the ones shaped like legs with feet instead of like overlarge ice skates. She's warming up in a skate park when she begins.

[Let 'er rip, A-Lung.]

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[Planck, First Post]

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 11:04:03 GMT

Posted by: the_measurers

The pleasure planet buzzes with life. Here you can buy pretty much any service, from technomagic pleasure by the hour (like a glowing hammer to your hippocampus) to ecstatic mystical parlors (a thousand golden calves having been worshipped, profaned and worshipped again, ironically, by interdimensional hipsters who drop their visits here into casual conversation). The people are listless, promiscuous and life to them is hit or miss. Perhaps you remember the last visit here. Perhaps you're looking forward to the art exhibition that will be soon put up in your honor.

Sometimes you can see Fay'lia nobles, riding by on litters carried by muscular, oiled servants, or on fanciful groundcars, fantastic beasts that float or other, darker creatures, tamed by magitech collars. Everyone instinctively gets out of their way.

[OOC: All in the threads please]

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[Bhor, First Post]

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 11:02:34 GMT

Posted by: the_measurers

If anything, Bhor is even more dilapidated than before. Things are breaking down at a faster pace than they do on the station because there's no such thing as public services. Thus leaks are not repaired until they threaten someone's selling space and the air is only grudgingly filtered. Forlorn and skittish robots do their best, trying to keep the ancient systems running without being captured themselves and sold or stripped for spare parts. The black marketeers don't care. There are hundreds of such wrecks in the Hub Universe, and when this one finally gives up the ghost they will either make their customers come in spacesuits to them or move on to another, whichever they judge more profitable.

Every couple of months, the Fay'lia raid this place and everyone scatters to the solar winds, save those not fast or clever enough to get out in time. Those are captured by the Fay'lia and their stores seized. The Fay'lia are usually gone within a day, having got what they came for. The residents think of it as the Infinite Hierophant's way of taxing them.

In the meantime though you can pretty much buy any damn thing here, and through the largesse of the station's staff, you are free from the threat of being captured by bounty hunters.

[OOC: No threads on this post, go nuts for donuts]

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When they said you was high classed, well that was just a lie. [Open]

Sat, 11 Feb 2012 19:15:30 GMT

Posted by: questionablewit

[Teo? Is bored. Very bored. Horribly bored. The station is boring. The light is always wrong, the smells are always wrong, the surface under his feet is wrong, all of it is unalive and wrong. And boring.

He gets to hunt sometimes, and that's not bad. And Master certainly doesn't neglect him, even if he does get asked to leave their room once in a while when Magic Man is visiting. He and Master are almost always together, of course. That's How It Should Be.

Still, once in a while he'll go off on his own. To visit Dragon Girl, or follow Hunter Girl and her Bird That Isn't A Bird, or see if anything interesting is happening.

Right now, Master is busy with Training again, and doesn't need Teo's help, so he's seeing if anything interesting is happening elsewhere.

If nothing is, he'll just have to make something interesting happen.]

[ooc: Teo is a dog. A smart dog. But a dog. Tag at your own risk. Feel free to run into him anywhere, including places he has no business being, to bring in NPCs, to do whatever]

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[open to everyone but Cain]

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 05:17:12 GMT

Posted by: worm_dancer

No psychic value can disappear without being replaced by another of equivalent intensity.
-CG Jung, the raw proto-Kwisatz Haderach, Bene Gesserit archives

Sheeana wasn't a stranger to the worms coming to her in her dreams. Usually though there was an element of the destructive, the apocalyptic to them. She would relive the devouring of her village again, see each individual expression of fear as the body it belonged to slid in slow motion into the jaws of Leviathan.

This was different. The worm was smaller but more elongated, suddenly in its aspect of shaitan the malicious, not shai hulud, the magnificent. She stood rigid on the sands of the desert habitat while one twined about her. As it moved around she could see the ancient face of Leto 2, smiling at her from his bed of leathery, hard skin, a man trapped inside a worm, a monster thing.

"There was always much less choice than you thought there was." He said in a hissing sing-song.

She realized the sand was running in rivulets from underneath her suddenly bare feet. It was shifting and she had lost the knack of shifting with it, an amputation of an ability she'd never even had to think about. Leaning to one side or the other, she realized the worm was the only thing holding her up. She couldn't dive out of its coils if she wanted to.

Sheeana woke, catapulted forward from her dream. She found she was shaking and itching all over and had to use Prana Bindu to force her body to calm down. If she hadn't that training and were of a different heritage, she knew she'd be coated in fear-sweat.

Shaken, she pulled on a simple pair of sleep trousers and a shift, not even bothering to contain her hair, and set out for the cafeteria. It was lightly attended at this hour of the night and noone was in the kitchen to object to her taking from the small stash of fresh tea.

With a steaming cup into which she'd dropped half a melange wafer, she went to go find a place to sit and drink it where she could contemplate.

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Medical Bay meet and greet [open]

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 05:35:54 GMT

Posted by: makes_you_scary

True to her word, a few days after broadcasting her intent to the populace Fran had readied the station's medical bay for an informal meeting. With the intent of showing the many new faces that had come aboard as of late the ins and outs of the station's meager medical capabilities Fran had put together a makeshift lecture hall consisting of roughly a dozen chairs and a small table.

Fran herself sat upon the long table with her legs carefully crossed. While her face, ever covered from ear to ear in stitches, displayed a sweet smile meant to win the hearts of those who would someday soon become her patients. Then, her heart filled with the warmth of imparting practical knowledge upon others, Fran spoke aloud in a voice that rang in a informal yet authoritative tone.

"It is good to see you all here today! As many of you may know I am Fran Madaraki and I am the station's head surgeon and medical provider. That basically means that if any of you are hurt or sick that you just need to come to me and I'll try my best to make things better." Fran was rather cheerful considering the subject at hand, though there were few times when her heart was not aflutter with thoughts of bettering mankind and helping those in need.

"I also offer elective surgeries, though, as I am short of supplies for non-essential procedures, such things will be taken on a case by case basis. If you have any questions regarding this, or any other facet of my work feel free to ask afterwords. I will be more then happy to answer any inquiry you may have." Fran leaps from her table-bound position and smiled once more before continuing.

"Now then, as that is all for my introduction, I will open the floor for any questions all of you fine people may have."

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add up all the cards left to play [closed for Martin, Nathaniel, Anders]

Mon, 06 Feb 2012 23:46:22 GMT

Posted by: birdhousesoul

Two mages, a rogue, and a hippie walk into a bar —

Well, no. They don't walk into a bar. They walk into a cargo bay, the one that's sometimes used for target practice. Crates make decent chairs, and a taller, broader crate serves as a card table.

See, Anders has promised to get Nathaniel into a game of UNO, the new card game Anders has been learning. And it makes the most sense to have Moonshine teach Nathaniel, since that's who taught Anders. (The hippies are uncomfortable with Anders' habit of losing card games constantly, and have been trying to teach him progressively easier games, in the hope he'll eventually find his skill level.) And a game of three people seems somehow unbalanced, so Anders recruits his roommate to make the fourth in the party.

And Moonshine insists that the rules of this variant of UNO are such that it should be played somewhere more spacious and unrestricted than the Bucket.

Anders assumes this means they'll need to throw cards everywhere. Possibly throw them at people. Who knows? UNO is an extraordinarily informal game!

At this time of the evening, Bill and Ted the cargo bay guys are off duty, and the card sharps have the place all to themselves. Moonshine produces his UNO deck from a velvet bag, the kind more likely to carry Tarot cards than playing cards.

By the time he explains this is strip UNO, everyone's pretty well committed to the game. At least, Anders is. Strip diamondback was a mainstay at the Hanged Man, after all. There's nothing odd about this sort of card game. Means no one loses any money!

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Response to Threats/Bribes [backdated to day after Fay'lia annoucement]

Mon, 06 Feb 2012 01:24:03 GMT

Posted by: truthaftertheend

Georgia was quickly putting together a spot to interview people, using any cameras she could snag from FDR, and probably some set pieces (with sheets thrown over them to disguise the common use). She'd thrown up a quick response on the ansible confirming the Fay'lia message had been broadcast to the station.

"I miss having staff. I need to get staff for some of this."

At this rate, if she wasn't careful, she'd become the station's head of propaganda... funny, since she'd be equally willing to profile the resistance's screw ups as part of letting people know what was really going on.

[So, want to publicly tell the Fay'lia to screw off or explain their remarks about you? Ask Georgia and she'll help]

[or lie to get on TV, or ask what the woman in the funny suit is doing, or make a fuss about her borrowing equipment]

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Broody Elf + Mages + Sword = ...stuff?

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 23:19:16 GMT

Posted by: broody_elf

Fenris had planned on being early to train. He wanted to make sure that the area was free of anything that could be stepped on and had enough space. Someone with a few months of training would likely be difficult to keep in a small training circle.

Though, perhaps Martin would prove to be more skilled than most. He'd debated finding a crossbow or a "gun", but Martin didn't seem to want a distance weapon. Fenris himself was a bit fascinated with all the different types and specs. He'd have to find a way to start collecting.

Considering that he was early, Fenris took the time to warm up. He pulled his own weapon and went through passes to warm up.

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Bethany's Arrival

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 05:10:32 GMT

Posted by: whenshesgone

After having the state of things explained to her by the strangest smelling man she had ever met, Bethany found herself in a tavern of sorts. The man, who went by the name of Moonshine, had told her that Anders, Marian, Isabela and even Fenris were here, along with a few others from Thedas.

To say her emotions were jumbled didn't begin to cover it.

She sat down on the little stool, trying to keep her face passive, trying to get used to these surroundings. Trying to not panic. Marian was here, and whatever was going on, they could certainly handle. She was reasonably sure that Meredith still counted as worse.

Bethany was very keen to speak with Anders before Marian first. Partially because she had never spoken to him after Kirkwall, and also to gauge what had happened these six months to her sister. Knowing Marian was here and safe made seeing her immediately less vital. Without question, there was a great deal she had to catch up on, and Anders was the most likely man to help.

Provided she didn't kill him first.

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the post where your char can yell at Anders [open]

Sat, 04 Feb 2012 01:41:25 GMT

Posted by: birdhousesoul

[[ Was going to post a closed RP for Anders and Nathaniel, then realized, hey, the Fay'lia did just say some revealing things about Anders' terrorist activities, so other chars who know him might want to ask him some hard questions. Therefore: Have at it, provided you don't care about Dragon Age 2 spoilers ~~not that I haven't spoiled it amply already everywhere, but hey, the game's been out since last spring, okay?~~ Places you might find him — please tell me where, in the subject line of your thread:]]

1. Library

Anders is working on his manifesto, now more than ever! Manifesto v2.0 benefits from the use of index cards that can be re-ordered and sorted into new arrangements of ever more contorted argument. You know what's awesome? Pens that come with their own ink and don't require sharpening. You know what else is awesome? Rubber bands. They are very useful for binding together piles of index cards that are covered with your timeless scribblings about OPPRESSION and TYRANNY.

You know what's not awesome? The works of Homi Bhabha. Anders just doesn't understand. Homi Bhabha. Why. Why, Homi Bhabha, why. Anders is trying very hard to understand this writing. He is trying so hard. He wants to understand postcolonialism so badly. He's had a good solid education — one of the very few benefits of Circle training — and he's not a stupid man ~~even if he is an ignorant slut~~. This reading should not be so blighted difficult. Why.

2. The Bucket

For someone who seldom partakes of alcohol, Anders sure does spend a lot of time here. Mainly losing at cards. His hippie friends are teaching him Go Fish. It's closer to his skill level as a card player.

3. The jungle habitat [for Nathaniel]

The hunt should've been a fun outing with friends. (Well, friends and Shirou.) It hasn't quite panned out that way, because Nathaniel is acting strangely. Anders wants to know why.

He gives his old friend some time to come around, and when he doesn't, Anders takes matters into his own hands. He comes stomping into Nathaniel's campsite early enough in the morning that the rogue still ought to be around, and waits outside the tent until the man emerges.

"Hello, stranger," he says. Not flirtatiously at all, for once. More like ... does it count as sarcastic? Maybe not quite. But he is trying to make a point. They're supposed to be really good friends, not people who are grumpy toward one another for no stated reason.

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All the cats to the yard, yo.

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 21:13:08 GMT

Posted by: soldier_from_surface

This was certainly an interesting thing to see.

The hallway was currently occupied by the little robot Quote, though for once, he wasn't alone. No, not even a little. On him, around him, and at his feet were countless numbers of cats, some kittens, some adults, and some old. Quote himself was sitting against the wall, holding a few in his arms and lap while the others mewled, rubbing against him or sleeping on his head.

"Please... do not... bite each other."

The offending kitten released the older one's ear, putting its own back and looking suitably chastised at the robot's glance.

"Thank... you."

It mewled in response, shifting in his arms to leap up and balance on his shoulder while yet another two swatted and snatched playfully at his scarf.

"I wonder... why Karagen... needs so... many cats."

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Ah, the wonders of a knowledge-castle.

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 21:05:53 GMT

Posted by: sabledreams

While not exactly avoiding anyone, Karagen had been somewhat hard to find lately, and there was a very good reason for that.

Not wanting to get rusty and having a rather off feeling about this entire place, the Grey Warden had dedicated herself entirely to various types of training, going from the various habitats to the library and back. While she had certainly stopped to talk, well, she hadn't gone out of her way for it. What could she say? Something about this place made her itch to keep her magic right at her fingertips.

For once, however, the shapeshifting mage was taking a break, as one could easily see. The library's shelves were missing a noticeable number of books, all of them piled up in one corner by said woman. She had settled on the floor with her back against the wall, buried in one of the history books and barely noticing a thing going on around her. The psuedo-"tower" she made by carefully arranging the ones she's done with (or hasn't gotten to yet) can almost be seen from anywhere in the library, and she seemed to have subconsciously arranged it so that there's no way to get over to her without knocking over one of the piles unless one could fly from above.

"Interesting..."

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Fri, 03 Feb 2012 11:22:32 GMT

Posted by: the_burnt_one

With most of the books she could comprehend at that moment dug voraciously through (her head rang and throbbed after reading them, as if the new knowledge was rattling around inside), Therru had moved on to music. After some initial experiments with headphones that caused her to almost fall out of her chair in surprise, she'd figured out how to work them and had started in on the selection of music pretty much entirely at random. Books were piled up in front of her and by her feet was music in every variety of storage format and genre, with no discernible pattern. She had simply taken a few from every shelf and fully intended to listen to them all. Some music, she found, helped her relax and concentrate on what she was reading with its quiet, uninsistent presence.

What she was listening to right now pushed its way forcefully into her conscious mind. When the opening drumbeat kicked in, she responded in kind, tapping her feet and playing phantom drums, unable to concentrate on her book anymore, looking a little ridiculous. She began nodding her head, which moved her hair back and forth, revealing the extent of her scarring on the left side.

This must be the 'rap' Tavros spoke of!

The line about 'toast[ing] death and pain like slaves on a ship talking about who got the flyest chain' reminded her of her father's tale of rescuing young king (then prince) Lebanen from slavers.

Absorbed in her headbobbing and air drumming, her normally constant wariness was relaxed. She did not yet realize she had company.

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