Willard H. Wright (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alethiological) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-08-15 08:20 am
alethiological) wrote in undergrounds2015-08-15 08:20 am
Entry tags:
August Free Post; I'm on a Carr kick I'm sorry
[A; Till Jet Lag Do Us Part]
It's just one of the usual boring evenings on the stations, waiting for your train to arrive. The usual terrible conditions, unhelpful staff, and random hobos sleeping on the benches. Or random tourists passed out from jet lag waiting for the train. Maybe you're one of those people nice enough to stop someone from stealing a suitcase. More likely, you're the one stealing it.
In any case, you're immediately treated to the siren sounds of accented swears and the person you are hypothetically trying to rob glaring at you. Gold eyes are suitibly intense for that. "What time is it?"
---
[B; Behind the Crimson Blinds]
Hillingdon is known for many things, mostly the fact everyone in it is crazy, or assholes, or both. What is less known is that, like any proper association of crazy assholes, they keep records. Kills, assignments, random receipts, half-finished letters. A pit of madness no sane person would enter of their own free will. Said Will can be found in the pit of madness, surrounded by piles of organized papers and flipping through another one with the ease of a mindless drone.
---
[C; And So To (Almost) Murder - first come, only served]
Later in the month, Lewisham is now a safe haven to the Fae. Which is a total load of nonsense, who leaves overseas for a month just to come back to their claimed No Man's Land being filled with a bunch of flighty, irresponsible monsters? They don't even have the decency to be subtle about it. Which is surprising, considering how subtle the takeover itself was.
Someone else masterminded it, obviously. Getting a name is easy. All that needs to be done is follow protocol: get one of the abominations to confess, remove the sin as is required, track down the one responsible and Fix It. It's just another in a myriad series of mistakes, and Our Purpose is to fix mistakes.
The only thing you hear is a sharp shout, cut off far too fast, but no one minds one person missing. Unless you do, which means you find one (count, 1) Fae held out swordpoint by one (count, 1) psychopath, bright gold eyes and black roiling smog. It also means you get immediately glared at because, honestly now, who interrupts an Equalizing. Rude much.
---
[D; Wildcard]
> insert words receive subpar tags
((apologies for slowtags for aforementioned reasons))
It's just one of the usual boring evenings on the stations, waiting for your train to arrive. The usual terrible conditions, unhelpful staff, and random hobos sleeping on the benches. Or random tourists passed out from jet lag waiting for the train. Maybe you're one of those people nice enough to stop someone from stealing a suitcase. More likely, you're the one stealing it.
In any case, you're immediately treated to the siren sounds of accented swears and the person you are hypothetically trying to rob glaring at you. Gold eyes are suitibly intense for that. "What time is it?"
---
[B; Behind the Crimson Blinds]
Hillingdon is known for many things, mostly the fact everyone in it is crazy, or assholes, or both. What is less known is that, like any proper association of crazy assholes, they keep records. Kills, assignments, random receipts, half-finished letters. A pit of madness no sane person would enter of their own free will. Said Will can be found in the pit of madness, surrounded by piles of organized papers and flipping through another one with the ease of a mindless drone.
---
[C; And So To (Almost) Murder - first come, only served]
Later in the month, Lewisham is now a safe haven to the Fae. Which is a total load of nonsense, who leaves overseas for a month just to come back to their claimed No Man's Land being filled with a bunch of flighty, irresponsible monsters? They don't even have the decency to be subtle about it. Which is surprising, considering how subtle the takeover itself was.
Someone else masterminded it, obviously. Getting a name is easy. All that needs to be done is follow protocol: get one of the abominations to confess, remove the sin as is required, track down the one responsible and Fix It. It's just another in a myriad series of mistakes, and Our Purpose is to fix mistakes.
The only thing you hear is a sharp shout, cut off far too fast, but no one minds one person missing. Unless you do, which means you find one (count, 1) Fae held out swordpoint by one (count, 1) psychopath, bright gold eyes and black roiling smog. It also means you get immediately glared at because, honestly now, who interrupts an Equalizing. Rude much.
---
[D; Wildcard]
> insert words receive subpar tags
((apologies for slowtags for aforementioned reasons))
C obviously
The fae was staring in surprise at the point of the sword, his ugly face damp with sweat. And the man holding him at swordpoint turned his head to glare at Mab as though she was next on his list. How very interesting, and he wasn't human. There was something seriously off about his magic but he felt, underneath all the twisted magic, fae. Perhaps not pure fae but close enough. Black smog rolled around him and the fog that accompanied her seemed to curl around it seeping in.
Her head tilted a little and she raised one brow at the glare, if it bothered her there was no sign of offense. "Do not let me interrupt." Her voice was sweet, like a chime in the quiet of the night but low and warmer than she appeared to be. She lifted a hand to indicate he should continue. After all, if her fae could not defend himself he was hardly any use to her at all. Mab did not suffer weakness. "By all means, carry on."
no subject
It goes back in a second, but Mab is more than strong enough to feel when that magic undercurrent of 'something off' switches to 'outright wrong'. The reassessment is Correct. It makes sense, it's Logical, the hostage is Obsolete now, a disgusting monster in a world that doesn't want or need it. This is Correct.
The fog roils once, a presence strong enough to equal hers yet not forcing her own away. Merely standing its own ground. And this observation is a moot point anyway, since it's just a side effect of the previous decision. Through the neck, twist, behead, a death of the body and even the magic itself. Another unwanted piece of garbage removed, another problem fixed, and It Is Correct.
"You're not interrupting anything," with the air of total sanity. She didn't. As if something that useless was worth the time it took to corner it, ah, what a pain. Just as there was no hostility in the previous action, there's no hostility here. No advancing, just casual conversation. "Sorry. Court isn't my thing. What title should I be using?"
no subject
If he could be more predictable, the efficiency would be something that impressed her. But the wrongness, the unbalance inside him was ... concerning. "Lady is acceptable." She replied as though one of her servants (or one of the other's fae's servants) wasn't bleeding out on the sidewalk like a spilled bottle of pop. The heart slowed but the blood was still coming out in measured bursts with each beat. "And what should I call you?"
apologies for slow, Canada happened
No, wow, that's an overreaction. Investigate first, then disposal. For an instant, that wrongness slips off track, and the sword spins and changes to be pointed on the ground, both hands resting on the pommel as casually as a cane. The black smoke writhes and retreats, hiding back underneath white runes and blue robes, wisps still dissolving off his hands.
The feeling snaps away, like the disturbing power and presence wasn't even there in the first place. There is still no effort to advance on her.
"Wright." Short, simple, suspicious, "Were you the one who took Lewisham?"
And still rude as hell. There's an afterthought added of 'my Lady' a few seconds after, flat and dismissing. Eh, at least he tried. Good enough, moving on.
LOL n/p
"Wright." She replied, sounding it out in a perfect mirror of his pronunciation. He truly was rude, such a direct question. And sulky my Lady. He certainly does not have to call her his. "What business do you have in Lewisham, Mr. Wright?" Her reply is cool as well. Ice starts to sparkle on patches of water left on the sidewalk from the evening cleaning someone had done. There is an underlying curiosity as well. "And what has happened to you? So twisted, knotted and bent."
no subject
Yet that wrong undercurrent flashes by in a snap. It's not her business. You're all Godless abominations. Removing such unwanted filth is Your duty. Get some use out of yourself-
Then she asks her questions and the thoughts are smashed down, like so much ambient magic fizzling in the air. It's His problem, not Theirs, the thought that anyone else has right of opinion regarding it is infuriating. Even the Wrong burns off in the wake of it.
"What had to be done. One of us had to take responsibility," The glare doesn't ease off, the distance is closed by a few steps, and Will himself is too busy keeping eye contact to notice the sword is in-hand again. Or that her ice retreats slightly from his footsteps in hissing cracks. "One of yours attacked one of mine. Or have your Courts stopped giving weight to Debts?"
no subject
"What debt would this be, Mr. Wright? Each fae holds debts of their own." And if he was asking if her 'courts' kept to their favors owed, he was definitely outcast. "And who are yours?" So much impudence from an outcast fae. She doesn't particularly like anyone suggesting she does not keep her bargains. Invisible cold pushes against him as her power builds in response to his threatening manner.