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kore_logs2013-05-21 02:11 pm
unsanguine) wrote in kore_logs2013-05-21 02:11 pm
Entry tags:
if i stay here, trouble will find me
WHO: Hal Yorke and yoooooou
WHAT: One very nervous, very cranky vampire just got here and I don't want to subject everyone to another intropost; pls be gentle. (Or don't. Or don't.)
WHEN: Day 73, eveningish
WHERE: In/around the woods, but probably not far enough in to encounter direwolves or tigers unless someone wants that, and lbr it would be pretty great.
NOTES: Warnings for excessive prissiness.
By his own declaration, Hal cannot live anywhere without central heating, carpets, and Radio 4. So why he has decided to begin the investigation of his new and less than voluntary surroundings in the woods would be anyone's guess, except--he can't do this alone. He's almost sure of it. Has to find someone or something familiar, something grounding before he tips over into the inevitable itch in his teeth, the jagged scraping edges revealed when his routines are flipped on their backs.
To all appearances he's just a pale young man in perhaps his mid-twenties, black jeans and short sleeved black shirt, more buttons done than necessary--in fact that's his general ambience, expression on down, he looks buttoned up, and obviously new.
Also obviously not an outdoorsy person at all, given the faint to ...less faint disgust that blotches his features when he's obliged to like, touch a tree or something else repellant and gross. If Tom is to be found anywhere in this Godforsaken wasteland (which to be fair, that tiny corner of South Wales also was, hence its suitability as a hiding place for Hal) it will be in the woods, he suspects. Retreat to what is normal, that's what most people would do. Hal would take refuge in normalcy too, were it to be had, but he doesn't think he can click his pen or spin the trusty domino in his pocket a single time further without going absolutely mad.
Every sound makes him jump; he is not sure whether that's nerves or hope, the latter of which is surely one of God's little jokes.
WHAT: One very nervous, very cranky vampire just got here and I don't want to subject everyone to another intropost; pls be gentle. (Or don't. Or don't.)
WHEN: Day 73, eveningish
WHERE: In/around the woods, but probably not far enough in to encounter direwolves or tigers unless someone wants that, and lbr it would be pretty great.
NOTES: Warnings for excessive prissiness.
By his own declaration, Hal cannot live anywhere without central heating, carpets, and Radio 4. So why he has decided to begin the investigation of his new and less than voluntary surroundings in the woods would be anyone's guess, except--he can't do this alone. He's almost sure of it. Has to find someone or something familiar, something grounding before he tips over into the inevitable itch in his teeth, the jagged scraping edges revealed when his routines are flipped on their backs.
To all appearances he's just a pale young man in perhaps his mid-twenties, black jeans and short sleeved black shirt, more buttons done than necessary--in fact that's his general ambience, expression on down, he looks buttoned up, and obviously new.
Also obviously not an outdoorsy person at all, given the faint to ...less faint disgust that blotches his features when he's obliged to like, touch a tree or something else repellant and gross. If Tom is to be found anywhere in this Godforsaken wasteland (which to be fair, that tiny corner of South Wales also was, hence its suitability as a hiding place for Hal) it will be in the woods, he suspects. Retreat to what is normal, that's what most people would do. Hal would take refuge in normalcy too, were it to be had, but he doesn't think he can click his pen or spin the trusty domino in his pocket a single time further without going absolutely mad.
Every sound makes him jump; he is not sure whether that's nerves or hope, the latter of which is surely one of God's little jokes.
no subject
She wasn't going to mention the fact that they might have used their chance or luck or whatever it was up in being 'chosen' in the first place, not that she'd attribute anything towards being here in the same category as luck unless it had another word in front of it that would get her a dirty look from her mother for using.
no subject
He nearly smiled at that, the statement definitively lacking the bitterness or fear another person might employ when casually outline the circumstances of what he expected for his own death. At home there was no one who checked the times he burst into suicidal ideation with the frequency and cheerfulness a Disney princess burst into song--it wasn't that his flatmates didn't care, that was largely just Hal, and what Hal was like. He knew the things he'd done.
So if Riley had been trying to suss out exactly what he was, that was uh, probably kind of a clue. The whole. Death by staking thing. Meanwhile, the mention of different worlds and times more piqued his interest than phased him; he'd been told of not unsimilar (totally insane) circumstances back in Barry, though he hadn't witnessed himself. The future was, to summarize greatly, definitely not bright enough for anyone to bother wearing shades, including the vampires now running things. Horrifyingly.
no subject
Riley had an overwhelming urge to poke at him to see if he was real, but she kept her hands to herself. He seemed remarkably skittish for a vampire, if that's what he was, and she didn't want him turning into a bat and flying away. Haha, a bat. Really? Maybe. She'd read all sorts of stories about vampires, and Dracula could turn into a bat and a wolf, right? Who knows what kind he was? Dracula could also go out in the sun and Hal didn't look like he was a shining disco ball or like he was bursting into flames.
She'd never actually met a vampire before. They were as much myths to her kind as her kind were to humans. Maybe they did exist in her world, but if that was the case, she'd never met them. Have a werecat giving you a look, Hal. It was full of awe and curiosity and made her look about five.
no subject
So what he did with a look like that, he wasn't sure. He was marginally distracted by freezing up and then allowing a modicum relaxation when she didn't poke him, but not distracted enough not to respond. "Have I said something funny?"
Not funny-haha, although of course his brilliant joke could have been that.
no subject
That was putting it mildly. She'd never even heard of vampires being real before, but she supposed she should be used to that here. New creatures, different worlds. If angels could be real, why not vampires?
"You're my first."
Oh boy. That came out wrong.
no subject
It was impossible for him to miss the unintentional connotation, given that in his last life (and several before that) he'd been uh, a connoisseur of virgins. All kinds. "Well."
Right, he could focus on the implication that rested on pure fact, although he did it staring fiercely at the closest tree as if it were about to sprout an escape route. "I'm sorry to hear that, you could--"
Really. "No, it would be a misnomer to say you could have done better." Just. Because frankly Hal had only ever met one other vampire so bold as to call himself one of the 'good guys', and that gentleman had been an unmitigated mess.
no subject
Not that she found him trystable. Oh god, this was all going so horribly wrong in her head. Her cheeks flamed redder.
She looked up when he spoke, trying to will the red away. "I don't think I could have done anything. It's not like either of us had a choice here, right? I guess I'm just glad you're not the kind that bursts into flame or likes to rip heads off for no reason."
no subject
He looked with great concentration away from her blush. His instincts understood that her blood would kill him the same way certain other predators knew to stay away from poisonous butterflies, but blood was blood. It threw him off at the best of times, and tonight was not ...the best of times. Frankly speaking.
The laugh he jittered back was brittle at the edges. "I don't," he began, somewhere between incredulous and lame, "burst into flame, no." After a pause. "Or rip off heads as a general rule."
....There had been exceptions. "If we're exchanging impossibilities now, you don't seem like--" he waved, vague, "any of your sort that I've ever met. Although it does explain why you didn't declare us mortal enemies at first glance."
no subject
"Good. I mean, about the head ripping and non-flamey parts." Her lips pressed in a thin line as she gave a half shrug this time. "There's a lot of 'my kind'. A lot of different types. At least, there are where I come from. But it's kind of just my kind. Nothing like you." That she knew of, anyway. But it made her curious that he knew of her kind, period.
"You, um, have others like, uh, me?"