deernet | Text | un: big ben

What is the difference between a Vampire darkness and a Werewolf darkness? Besides the obvious. It looks like perfectly acceptable and reasonable darkness to me.

[You know, like a normal planet should have.]

Get new glasses.

No.

Werewolves and Vampires are the kinds of dangers we face and how to prepare for them. The darkness itself is fine.

Suit yourself.

In that case, you want to be on the lookout for blood spilled, as a general concept. You'll be the beast sooner rather than later if you're not careful, according to the literature. And, admittedly, people broadcasting it on here every now and then.

So, wolfish? In broad strokes? I haven't been around to witness any other everlasting darkness or that which lurks, but if I had to guess.

That's worrisome to consider.

How can you identify spilled blood in this world, when everything is a different color and some aren't even in a tangible form?

Mine is green, so that's easy enough. But, what of the types that dissolve into sparkles?

Also, is there any way to avoid this or guard against it?

I'm trusting your judgement as a Warden.

Mine is the glittering type, I know what you mean. And your body will change, or your mind — you'll notice. They call that one corruption; there are various treatments, it would depend on what you prefer, I suppose. I've read that tea helps, might depend on the type of tea.

So no, I don't believe it's avoidable in the long-term, but you could get luckier than most.

What do you know Wardens for?

[Because he would know if this were someone from the Sixth, so it's Different...]

I know a Warden as someone who ensures that rules and regulations are being upheld, usually at a school or nature reserve. Either case applies here, correct?

This isn't the first I've heard of tea being a remedy. It's a common source of comfort and fortitude where I'm from. The wealthy even have elaborate means of serving it.

I'm just looking for something simple.

Have you ever had any?

Edited 2022-04-04 23:30 (UTC)

Well, specifically I'm Master Warden of the Library and it's not the library here, but you're right about the rest of the job.

I haven't had any therapeutic tea, no. I haven't had too many problems with corruption, yet.

[And. Dying resets the body back to zero, but he doesn't need to mention that yet.]

Are you new? I could help you look. We can even have a fancy tea party, if you want.

no fancy tea parties. Just because I know how the wealthy act doesn't mean I like it.

We can have a regular tea.

... Thanks. I appreciate the outing. All of my clothes are either too big or a sodden mess in need of a solid wash. This will be a good chance to get something new and not get lost.

Fair enough. Regular tea it is. I don't think I've ever had an actual tea party, I'm not Third enough.

[Whatever that means. It means these Third people are smug, probably.]

Not a fan of the robes they hand out? Don't worry, I know where to buy ordinary shirts. You'll have to endure my limited tour guide skills, though.

[Unseen, Waver rolled his eyes.]

I'm not posh enough. Extenuating circumstances were what dragged me in.

[Blackmail, it turns out, was a helluva drug...]

The robes leave a lot to be desired, but they have their uses. Frankly, a poor tour guide is better than none, and I'm familiar with archival work. We can trade notes.

[...When Palamedes stopped laughing at him for being barely taller than a chihuahua with that attitude of his.]

Edited 2022-04-05 00:16 (UTC)

I don't know what posh is. Third parties are mostly about who's trying to kill who, as far as I'm aware. Is that posh?

[haha. but really is it.]

I would love to trade notes and buy things that aren't robes. I'm Palamedes, by the way. Where do you want to meet?

You know the definition better than you realize, Palamedes.

[After all, in many ways Waver found that his life had just been described in a single sentence by someone who was wholly unawares. It was chilling.]

Call me Mackenzie. I've found an apartment in Cellar Door near the person who fished me out of the sea, but I can meet you anywhere. The lamp network isn't hard to navigate.

I'm a quick study like that.

But great, that's close. Willful Machine is where the [...] less eccentric shops are, you're right across the way. I'm in Gaze most of the time, so give me a few minutes — meet me at the canals?

[...oh yeah]

I'll be the tall one with the glasses. And, forgive me, the robe.

[It's more like a poncho.]

That sounds easy enough. I'll be there.

I'll be the not-so tall one with a ruined sweater and glasses. No robe, but I could use new shoes, too.

Now you've got me running all over town. I'll see you soon.

[Haha — no, they're going to Willful Machine, it won't be hard to find a merchant selling some shoes too. Palamedes is as quick as he can be in taking a lamp from Gaze to the canals - he has to stop and decide which of his Notes are the best to bring along for show and tell, because it was mentioned, so - but sure enough: he's there soon, a great monochrome moth in his Trench-issue poncho-robe over his Sixth grays. In the swimmy green moonlight of this new darkness he blends in with the scenery more unfortunately than most, but he's got an eye out for not-so-tall guys in sweaters and glasses.

He raises a hand to wave when he thinks he's spotted the right one (how many new guys could be skulking around in ruined sweaters, really?). He is, indeed, Tall, but not so tall that it's intimidating in any way, helped by how the poncho likely doubles his overall mass to begin with.

Anyway: here they are.]

Mackenzie? You weren't kidding about the sweater. And if you aren't him, never mind, it's lovely.

[hey bud]

[For a wild yet brief moment, Waver found himself angry at being faced with such a height. Although not nearly as tall as a Certain Someone, Palamedes was indeed taller than Waver himself would be in proper form. As it stood, he was short by nearly thirty centimeters and felt appropriately dwarfed.

He had worked hard for that height-- and, now not only was he lacking, it was being thrown in his face!

Thank goodness the shadows loomed even with the aid of the lanterns surrounding them. The night did gleam with an eerie green-- and, with dark hair and a penchant for dark, cooler colors, Waver himself was little more than one of the multiple shadows.

~~Perhaps he should have brought his robe. He might be a tad warmer.~~]

Hi, Palamedes. You don't need to make stories up for my sake.

[He had said the other's name properly, even though he had only seen it written. Three syllables with an even tempo, perhaps erring on the side of Greek rather than English as he knew it.

Waver shrugged. His sweater was a thrifted item-- it wasn't worth much, but it was comfortable. Rather: it had been comfortable.]

Edited 2022-04-05 02:26 (UTC)

[Really, what they need between them is a reflective patch in case anybody with a horse and cart barrels by all of a sudden. Palamedes quirks an eyebrow just for a moment - there's certainly an accent there that's unexpected, but hey, it's not "huh that's a lot of sounds, how about Pal??" — he'll take it.

He takes a step towards the road proper, away from the lantern, gesturing for his new buddy (whatever his name is) to join him for this spooky midday stroll.]

What happened, exactly? When you first awoke? This is my second turn around here, actually, but I... woke up on a couch.

[Long Story. Tell him about the sweater damage as they head for the busier market streets.]

[After a recent debacle with a woman claiming the name 'Hephastion' in a false pretense, he was fairly fresh on his Greek even though he was as English as Lord Byron. Not helping was the multiple pronunciations-- he had heard multiple different ones with that combination of syllables, and he took the lack of correction as permission to keep going.]

Waking up on a couch would have been kinder, [He complained, already walking towards the nearest lantern for safety's sake.] I woke up at sea, clinging to some flotsam before a band of pirates picked me up.

They threw me into a holding cell for a while before they were boarded by the Dread Pirate Captain Amaranth, who saw fit to free me and bring me into town.

[But, by that time the salt water had soaked into his sweater and had ruined the finish on his leather shoes. There were some things that could be recovered from, but not an impromptu dip in a foreign ocean.]

[Alright, well.

That's way fucking cooler than waking up on a couch, no matter whose couch it happened to be, which was not so cool after all, anyway. Palamedes purses his lips and does not express this "way fucking cooler" thought, out of politeness, but he thinks it at least twice.]

It was sea ice the first time, for me. And a very specific kind of parasite, [for which he makes a gesture with his hands of what appears to be something wiggly bursting out of his chest, because that's precisely what it is.] Not in me, mind. But around.

Shame about your sweater, but you've got a story to tell and that's something. Do pirates accept thank you cards, you think? I'll help you pick one out. Have you seen stationery?

[This is half joking about buying a thank you card for a pirate and entirely serious about Have You Seen Stationery?, because his hometown is a tupperware full of oil paper and not a single Hallmark.]

A chestburster?

[It was an instinctive reaction. Although he didn't make film his vice, some were impossible to miss. Like Alien. He shuddered at the thought, momentarily feeling like he had been lied to about the genre they had found themselves in.

Truly, what was the difference between Gothic Victoriana and Suspenseful Sci-Fi?]

I'll need to warn the Captain. She, uh, might accept thank you cards?

[She was his neighbor, and had realized how useless he was in the domestic department.]

We can pick one out. Or make one. I haven't gotten a look at the stationary yet-- is it something fancy and hand-pressed?

[Waver had no idea what the full reasons were, but hand-made paper was always impressive.]

In some cases, yes. A variety of burstings, many chest-centric. Personally, I was investigating the long-deceased.

[Which is the polite way of saying he definitely stuck his fingers in a frozen corpse's ribcage, but he put it back when he was done.]

Your Captain might already know they're out there somewhere. Sorry— You want to make a card?

[Arts and crafts? Palamedes has never actually made something out of real paper, so this feels equal parts tantalizing and forbidden, like maybe he should sneak around so no one catches them illicitly making thank-you cards. For pirates. Out of real paper.

He's considering the handmade card idea very deeply for a moment, excuse him- until he snaps his fingers, a decision made.]

Let's make one. I'll treat it with the utmost care, regardless of how fancy the paper is.

It's... just paper, surely.

[Now the behavior is noticeable, and Waver cast Palamedes a puzzled loo. Arts and crafts weren't something he was necessarily above, but it also wasn't something to be treated with the utmost solemnity.

He had only planned to find a decent sheet of paper and use his best calligraphy for the task.]

It's not like it's a precious artifact or alchemic reagent. Paper is... paper.

Yes, for most of you, I've noticed. Not for me.

[Is he a little jealous, irrationally? Kind of! Oh, to grow up touching paper whenever he felt like it, although if paper were as abundant as flimsy, it wouldn't be nearly as precious.

He waves a hand; he isn't nearly as neurotic about real paper now as he was months ago, the first time he washed up on this beach. Somewhat, still, yes. But not as much. That doesn't mean he doesn't have a lengthy explanation for this, though:]

It is a precious artifact, where I'm from. Our real paper is ancient and irreplaceable and kept in airtight boxes full of helium and under light-blocking security measures so it doesn't fade or age to crumbling. Our House has other interests beyond the caretaking of old paper, don't get me wrong, but I told you: I'm the Warden. That means I have certain duties beyond the archival and personal research, et cetera.

[Like minding the helium boxes, or at least, making sure somebody is doing that. He shrugs. It all makes perfect sense.]

I'm into paper, if you like. [ha ha] So: let's make a thank you card, if you'll indulge me for a little longer than planned.

But-- what kind of world doesn't have paper?

[The notion of something he found so ordinary being held in such tight archival storage that the Vatican itself would weep with jealousy was mind-boggling. Waver looked askance as him, incredulous, grit relenting with a sigh.]

Very well. You can help me design and create an appropriate thank you card for Captain Amaranth-- although she might be embarrassed.

... Honestly, that might make it more necessary to give it to her.

Ask me about the Sixth as soon as we find a crafts table, [he says, with a smile for Waver's relenting. It's a purely childish want, this thank you card idea, but it's also fun and funky, so -

Well, so he smiles his luminous smile for something silly and childish like making a card with a near stranger is the best possible outcome, and that's how this afternoon is going to go now. Waver is welcome to sulk, but at least one of them is going to have a good time.]

Embarrassing one's friends is a time-honored tradition and I am happy to help, besides. Do you want to find something new to wear first?

[No offense, but there is a... sea odor.]

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Action!

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