ℬ. ℱᴏʀᴛᴇsᴄᴜᴇ (
blackmagus) wrote in
kore_logs2013-04-23 02:27 pm
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only listens to the radio to see who's alive
Who: Fortescue, and you
What: Now that things are slightly less dangerous, she's going to have a better look around. And find the bar. As you do.
When: Day 64, whenever.
Where: Anywhere in town.
Warnings: Nothing yet. Will update if necessary.Shameless flirting.
It's been a few days since Fortescue's arrival. Her arm's started to calm down, though the swelling at her wrists is still present. According to the little wristband, people are returning to normal. Which should be promising, of course, except that Fortescue can't help but wonder what's in store for the next time. Her mind has plenty of ideas — she's seen too many laboratories and camps for it to be quiet. So, to help work that off, she slips out of her hidey hole and back into town, determined to at least get her bearings. Now that she's at least half sure that she won't have to defend herself on every corner.
Jazz trots at her heels, the little black cat's eyes alertly taking everything in, as she learns the layout of this peculiar little town. It isn't large. She's not sure what to think about that. But perhaps that means less space to cram more subjects into. A smaller sample pool? Whatever the reason, Fortescue soon uncovers the bar. That, at least, she can be pleased about, if only as a space to escape to when the alcohol runs dry. (A frightening thought, which she tries not to think too much about.)
Her cat jumps to her shoulders as she wanders in to take a look around.
What: Now that things are slightly less dangerous, she's going to have a better look around. And find the bar. As you do.
When: Day 64, whenever.
Where: Anywhere in town.
Warnings: Nothing yet. Will update if necessary.
It's been a few days since Fortescue's arrival. Her arm's started to calm down, though the swelling at her wrists is still present. According to the little wristband, people are returning to normal. Which should be promising, of course, except that Fortescue can't help but wonder what's in store for the next time. Her mind has plenty of ideas — she's seen too many laboratories and camps for it to be quiet. So, to help work that off, she slips out of her hidey hole and back into town, determined to at least get her bearings. Now that she's at least half sure that she won't have to defend herself on every corner.
Jazz trots at her heels, the little black cat's eyes alertly taking everything in, as she learns the layout of this peculiar little town. It isn't large. She's not sure what to think about that. But perhaps that means less space to cram more subjects into. A smaller sample pool? Whatever the reason, Fortescue soon uncovers the bar. That, at least, she can be pleased about, if only as a space to escape to when the alcohol runs dry. (A frightening thought, which she tries not to think too much about.)
Her cat jumps to her shoulders as she wanders in to take a look around.
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There are fae associated with his own world--not necessarily quite the same thing, but analogous--but as far as he knows they prefer to avoid the issues humanity creates for itself. "I suppose evil elves are easier to swallow than cannibal Nazis. Still, you have my sympathy."
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"What are they like, then, these elves? Where I come from, they tend to be quite aloof and it's rare for humans to run afoul of them. Most people don't believe they exist, or that they exist any longer."
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Fortescue chuckles and pours herself another small drink, shrugging.
"Well, they're bloody stuck up. Nocturnal. Slightly taller than most humans. They live in pocket spaces piggybacked to other objects, like trees, that they call Hollows. ...And they have this odd obsession with birds. Owls, in particular. Killing one in front of a Mahr is like killing a child in front of most people."
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Well. No more than anyone else has, anyway.
He's getting fond of Meg, though. He'd prefer she not be attacked by mistake.
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Regardless, she's never sat down and really thought that... demons might actually exist somewhere. Her surprise glints on her face for a moment. She wonders what her parents, staunch atheists, would have to say on the matter.
"Really? Hm, no. No demons in my world." She quirks a grin. "They don't have horns and pitchforks, do they?" she adds, jokingly.
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He chuckles and shakes his head. "No, although where I come from they do occasionally have all-black eyes." Or yellow, or white.
"The ones here...well, I'm relatively certain Meg won't cause gratuitous trouble. Not as sure about Crowley. But back home, they can be vicious. Very dangerous."
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They'd be infinitely horrified to learn that another universe had the beings they talked about so much, as crossing over would, in normal circumstances, require the Angel Gate. And the Angel Gate, despite its name — given, ironically, by scientists — was branded 'unholy'.
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He's also an angel, but he's still deciding whether that's a wise thing to admit to. "Oh, is magic widely used in your world? Witchcraft seems to be frequently tied to demons where I'm from, but there are other types in practice."
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'Little' was putting it mildly, perhaps.
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Fortescue considers the wisdom of telling someone from another world so much — Imperium has rules and regulations for this kind of thing. But this is an unplanned trip, and there are no specific rules for kidnapped void travelers. No precedent exists that she's aware of, and she has one of the highest clearances in the Empire. So, to the Gate with their rules. She doesn't exactly play things by the book anyway, and has given Darby plenty of small bureaucratic heart attacks.
"'Nautex' is technology that's been enhanced by Rune magic. Guns with less kickback, more stable digital connections... all kinds of things."
The latest big deal is a gun turret on airships that, according to specific Runic parameters, can fire itself during a battle. She's not sure how she feels about that, yet.
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It's exactly the sort of thing he worked on for his own garrison. Repairing it, anyway. He would never have been given clearance to make something new; his rank was too low. That, and nothing much new was made after the 19th century. "I've done repairs on weapons like that," he admits thoughtfully.
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((haha, pretend my last reply made sense, okay?))
He sighs, then adds brightly, "Of course, then I stole most of them."
<3
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He makes a mild grimace. "Er...do me a favor and don't mention that around town? There are one or two people I don't want hearing about it."
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It's not something she can do; if she defects, she doesn't trust what they might do to her little sister. She owes Mirabelle a chance at a good future. It's what a big sister should do, she thinks. And after everything she's been through, would taking up a stand do anything? Most likely not. She doesn't even know who her real superiors are, and they would be the linchpin.
"Don't worry. I won't. Can't imagine how it would come up, anyway," Fortescue reassures, grin tapering into a smile. "Shame about not having them. This place seems a bit desolate, as far as tools for breaking out go."
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"Mind you, I'm not in a hurry to go. If they would just let us be rather than playing with our heads, I'd be content to settle for a while. I like the ocean."
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"Not that I'm not enjoying our conversation, but I need to go meet someone about one of those houses," she adds. "I'm partial to a roof over my head."
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"Understood, completely! I hope I'll see you around, though? I'm in House 11 if you get bored."
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"Of course." She grins. "You'd all have to work very hard to be rid of me. And I hope you feel better soon. I'll be in House 15, unless I manage to make a terrible impression."
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