EVENT ★ TEAM BONDING

[futurologists]

TEAMBONDING TASKS Early in the morning, all characters will receive a message in their personal inboxes encouraging them to help with various tasks around the castle. Characters may either volunteer or be randomly shuffled into a group by accident; once assigned, they’ll be expected to show up and harangued by the castle’s animated suits of armor until they cooperate. The teams are as follows, though all groups besides the Training Center are open to sign-ups until the caps are reached. This OOC post may also be used for questions and plotting! LIBRARY: Anduin, Sigma, Rin, Keats, Papyrus, Adrien, Gumshoe, Sorey, Archer, Rosalind, Mikleo GREENHOUSE: Koltira, Julius, Sieglinde, Alice, Hellboy, Aqua, Dipper, Edna, Rodimus, King, Jekyll STABLES: Undyne, Khisanth, Mabel, Rey, Graham, Dezel, Olivia, Steven, Yata, Saber, Anakin TRAINING CENTER REDS: Shadow, Gintoki, Luciola, Gilgamesh, Ban, Melan BLUES: Kylo Ren, Pearl, Masamune, Poe, Barry, Lancer The Training Center will have a catch-all subthread below, but anyone in any of the other groups (or not in a group at all) is encouraged to make a top level and tag into whichever area you'd like to play in. TRAINING CENTER Once recruits step foot into the Training Center, they’ll find themselves suddenly outside. A voice coming from their jewelry informs them that this is a simulation of the world Asharion. There’s swamp for as far as the eye can see, and it’s dark and… sort of squishy in here. The two teams arrive at opposite ends of the swamp, where their respective “base camps” are located. Each of them will find themselves dressed head-to-toe in the color of their team, red or blue, and will see that a flag of their team color flies above their heads at base camp. There’s no concealing what team you’re on. If you look down, there’s also a HP bar plastered across the front of your shirt. Each time you’re hit, your HP goes down. (Remember, no one is actually getting hurt -- this is just a simulation. Once you run out of hit points, you’ll be kicked out of the simulation and offered a piece of cake from the kitchen as a consolation prize.) All powers are still around, but use anything too powerful, and the game will view it as a “cheat” and detract from your HP bar. A timer, floating in front of your eyes, starts counting down and the voice speaks again: ”There are three artifacts hidden within the swamp, and we’d really appreciate getting them back. The objective is simple: be the team with the most artifacts when the game is over. The game is over when all of a team is kicked out of the game or when the timer runs out. Good luck! Oh, and be careful with the artifacts. They have some… interesting magical properties. The aforementioned artifacts: THE STAFF OF INVIGORATION The staff is very plain and easy to miss. When you touch it, however, you’ll know. You’re suddenly filled with energy, flowing through your entire body. At least, for a little bit. It runs out of charge in about five minutes, and if you’re still holding it, you’ll find it actually starts draining you of energy until you’re too tired to walk. VENKAN STATUE A small, very delicate statue from the world of Venka, made of crystal. Try not to drop it. Whoever holds it will find themselves easily irritated, however, even by their teammates. The longer it’s held, the stronger the effect -- it starts out with mere annoyance, making you almost comedically ornery over small things, but if you hold onto it, you’ll find yourself becoming paranoid and aggravated. The statue is actually of the Goddess of War, and it turns out it might have started a few wars itself. THE RING OF… PUPPY LOVE? A beautiful sapphire ring in the shape of a heart. Once held or put on, the wearer will get an extremely awkward crush on the anyone they see, and be unable to do anything but giggle like a schoolgirl in their presence. The effect will only fade if they drop the ring. How embarrassing. The artifacts can be found anywhere in the swamp -- almost like they’re moving around on their own. Knowing ALASTAIR, they just might be. The countdown hits 0. From this moment forward, the voice tells you, you have exactly two hours. The blue team will end up the victors, but only by a hair. Cherenkov will be available for any questions and feedback afterwards (see subthread below), provided she's not napping. REWARDS: Both teams will receive a pocket watch, with very specific instructions attached. Both are capable of a one-time spell. The blue team’s pocket watches will administer a shock to stun the target when opened for the first time and the first time only, so don’t waste it. The red team’s pocket watches will create a barrier around the character that will shield them from any incoming attacks for three minutes. LIBRARY The library is enormous, with stacks that rise nearly to the vaulted ceiling. Rolling ladders lean up against the sides of the stacks, ready to be climbed, but the burly librarians that usually frequent the library are not found today. They have left only a single note behind, in neat, cramped script: Please clean up after yourselves. Thank you. There is a long wooden table in the middle of the library. Two closed books rest upon it: Escarpan Gardening And You and A History of the Hurricane of 62.516-18 A. Opening the first book will cause vines and flowers and other greenery to sprout up from nowhere, blocking the shelves and making traversing the library quite a difficulty. Opening the second will cause the entire library to be engulfed in wild winds, throwing books off the shelves and perhaps each other across the room. Opening them both will cause both things to happen, simultaneously. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the rest of the books do the same sort of thing. Open a book about medieval weaponry? Suddenly there are swords flying through the air. That murder mystery novella? Everything is now black and white with deep shadows. The encyclopedia? Nothing happens. Encyclopedias are safe, for some reason. How do you make these book effects stop? Shelve them in the proper place. But beware -- every misshelved book will cause another to pop out of place. Try to catch it before it hits the ground and opens, or you just may have a disaster on your hands. HINT: The solution is to shelve the books in order by size, large to small. REWARD: All participants will receive a fountain pen, with instructions: write a character’s name on any surface and you will be able to see through their eyes for thirty seconds. After using it once, it will become an ordinary (but fancy!) pen. Crowley will be available to contact for any general inquiries, though responses may be tardy since the cat NPCs are likely to be asleep on a high shelf together. GREENHOUSE The greenhouse and surrounding courtyard should be tranquil, but more often than not it ends up just as absurd as the rest of Oska. Recruits will be tasked with cleaning one of the giant glass domes that houses a massive, archaic tree at its core. Surrounding it is an entire biosphere teeming with life, but the fauna is limited -- that shift in the corner of your eye? Probably a slithering vine. The snapdragons here will take off a finger if you’re not careful, and the stinging nettles will leave worse than a rash. Some examples of the more fantastical plants are listed below, though players are welcome to create their own: Noxious Nightweed: the bright, glowing flowers of the nightweed are beautiful and full of nectar that smells of berries -- catching scent of it will cause drowsiness, lethargy, and thirst. As enticing as the flower sap may be to drink, it’s deeply corrosive and will burn on contact. Don’t fall asleep handling one! Kukichas: These large, puffy, red fungi are harmless to other plants and tend to grow on just about any other flora. However, they’ll stick to anything that brushes up against them and detonate some time later. Once they explode, characters will be plagued with itchiness, tickling sensations, and sneezing fits. Characters can remove these by quickly finding another person to stick them to. Beware though: kukichas reproduce by budding. Quickly. Mandrake: these plants appear to be normal, tiny shrubs, but when pulled out of the earth will become animate and let out a horrible, piercing wail that only increases in volume over time. They will cease when fed a drop of blood. But none of the compost should go to waste! After gathering trimmings and various plants, herbs, and flowers, recruits will be shuffled off to the greenhouse labs to make use of them. There are gargantuan, dusty grimoires full of recipes for various potions and all the necessary cauldrons and equipment to brew them. The directions are laid out thoroughly, but are quite complex -- one character may have to read an incantation while the other stirs, others might require careful handling of volatile substances, and so forth. The only thing they have in common is that none of them can be properly made without a little aid from someone else, so work together! Worse still, the books are old. Text in some places is washed out and requires quick, smart improvising. Or guesswork. ALASTAIR is not responsible for any toxic fumes, poisonous bubbles, or other strange side effects that may arise from randomly throwing ingredients together. Dagny will be available within both the greenhouse and the labs to offer assistance, feel free to snag her with any questions! There will be a thread below where you may drop links to threads you’d like her to briefly appear in. REWARD: All characters that participate may keep a single, one-use potion of their choice: mandrake potions are essentially magical molotov cocktails, kukicha potions cause euphoria and ease mental status effects (hallucinations, berserker rage, etc.), and nightweed potions will instantly evaporate into fumes that force anyone who breathes them in to tell the truth. STABLES The stables are a mess. It seems like all the stalls have been left open, and there’s animals of every sort everywhere, through courtyard, grounds, and castle. Most of them can be seized by the halter and led back into their stalls easily enough, but there are a few species that are a little trickier than that. Lucky for you, Uruz has a checklist of exactly what’s missing. On it, you will find: Spiked Horkles: These things are enormous, it’s unclear how people are even meant to ride them. They’re giant, bipedal, white-furred monstrosities, with spiked ridges all down their back, intimidating tusks, giant horns, and one single, central eye. The tallest of them are almost fifteen feet high, they look like they could snap you over one knee with their massive hands. They don’t seem to be inclined to violence, but they’re also utterly uninterested in following you anywhere, and impossible to budge. That is, unless you’ve got an instrument or a good singing voice. They’ll happily and docilely follow anyone putting on a musical performance, straight back into their stalls (sized accordingly), if that’s where the route takes them. Sixers: A sixer isn’t really all that different from a horse… except for the fact that it has six legs, and each of its hooves strikes sparks whenever it lands. This is fine if it’s taking a stroll in the wake of a light rain, or over stone, but entire fields have been lost to a herd of sixers. And unfortunately the whole lot of them seems determined to go sightseeing into the castle itself. They’re relatively easy to lead around, all it takes is any sort of food a horse would be inclined to eat, but the route you lead them on is the important part. Try not to cause any more property damage than necessary, please. Boxing Peters: This creature looks like its closest relation might be a giant anteater, although this version is several times larger. Also, nearly hidden along the long, hanging hair of its stomach is several more pairs of legs, tucked neatly into its body as it walks. They’re content to snuffle about in the courtyard, but will resist tugs at their halters, and utterly ignore any attempts at herding. The only way to catch the attention of a Boxing Peter is to challenge it. Drop into a fighting stance in front of it, take a swing at its side (not too hard, Uruz would remind you), shout insults -- whatever it takes. Upon being challenged a Boxing Peter rises up onto its hind legs and unfolds all ten of its hidden limbs, each of which ends in a large, padded hand, ready to fight. You don’t actually have to fight, but it’ll pursue a challenger wherever it might lead, until mutual bows signify the end of the match. Webbed Gliders: These are ALASTAIR’s aquatic environment mounts. And, oddly enough, they’re just tiny frogs with webbed limbs like a flying squirrel. They don’t need to be very large to be useful, as it turns out -- each one secretes a special slime which, when touched, shrinks whoever has done the touching to a size small enough to comfortably ride it. You’ll have to get these little guys back into the tank inside the stables without touching them, and they can be found anywhere outside where it’s damp. Any shrinking will wear off after 5 minutes without contact with the frog-slime. Ferrets: That’s it, they’re just ferrets. They’re enormous rideable ferrets, but still just ferrets. They’re just as energetic and playful as their smaller counterparts, and they have way too much energy to want to go back into their stalls. You’ll have to wear them out first, and it’s suggested you do so by playing with them. Did you know most of these ferrets are trained to fetch? Uruz is very proud of that. Uruz is happy to give pointers for the trickier species, but she’ll have to be found before she can be asked. She’s off wrangling some of the more volatile mounts, and can be spotted throughout the grounds madly galloping after something or another. If you have any interest in snagging Uruz for part of your thread, feel free to drop a link in her thread below for a tag-in! REWARD: As thanks for their assistance, each recruit will be sent away with a small, silver whistle. Blowing it will entrance all animals within hearing range, putting them into a placid trance for about a minute. This whistle will work for about two months before its effect begins to wear out. OTHER If your character isn’t signed up for any of these tasks, you are still welcome to tag into other characters carrying them out! The Training Center will be locked for the duration of its event, but the Library, Stables, and Greenhouse are all open to visitors. Characters are free to stop in and help (or mock) their friends, but they will not be receiving the same rewards as characters specifically contacted for help. You are also free to create open prompts within Oska at large, or your own logs. This log covers the next 2 weeks, so feel free to set them at any time within that timeframe! UNIFORMS: Every character will also find their official uniforms when they return to their rooms, accompanied by a note from Dagny: A reward for being you! :) - Love, Dagny. There is a gold star sticker by her name. The uniforms are instantly respawning, no matter how damaged they get. Whenever a character opens their closet, they will find a brand new one.

Comments

rude guests incoming (WARNING FOR GROSS BODY STUFF)

[conqueress]

[ There is very little Dany knows to make of in this new place, but she's survived on Drogon's leavings for long enough. The smell of bacon sends her belly to rumbling, and so without first attempting to find where she may scrub the grime and sweat from her skin, she leaves her quarters in search of the source. I must be dreaming. Perhaps some butcher is roasting his wares.

The pitmaster's whip is carried at her side, its cruel barbs punctuating the tails that dangle from her fingers. Her hands still ache, and one of her palms cracks open and begins to weep fluid as she closes it into a loose fist, but she scarcely seems to notice. She is hungry and weakened from a fever that has lately left her, and for now, finding food is all that matters.

Tap tap tap. The whip is tapped against her thigh as she wanders the halls, sometimes pausing to examine the foreign walls and doors. Ahead of her, Drogon ranges, battering black wings as his shrieks echo around the corners. When had he last looked so small? That troubles her. So, too, did the voice, which had presented itself without a face. Have I died and gone to the seven hells? If she is dead, at least she'd been happy. She must have been. She had flown upon Drogon, a queen of the skies, and for that, all her aches had been worth it.

Tap tap tap. Drogon finds the kitchens before she does, attracted as she is to the smell of charred pig. As she rounds the door, he alights upon a pile of bacon as though it's his own, hissing at Loki in warning. Only distantly aware of their host, Dany joins him in moments and lifts a pastry from the table, ignoring the sting as grease seeps into her burned and blistered fingers. Together, queen and dragon alike begin tearing into bacon sandwiches--one with sharp, black teeth and claws, the other only with a ravenous hunger. Barefoot, in need of a bath, and in a dirty shift, Daenerys Targaryen is far from queenly at the moment.

Daario would have joined her in an instant. ]

[selfimage]

[ for the sudden intrusion, Loki takes the whole thing in stride. there he is, minding his own business beside a pile of bacon of his own making, when a thin shriek pierces the air, accompanied by a pocket-sized dragon that beelines from the doorway to the meat. surprisingly unaffected by the hissing (there's a wave of his hand, as if to show that he's not entirely keen on fighting over his pile of bacon), he watches with mild intrigue.

Loki takes a sip of his coffee.

from over the rim of his mug comes another curiosity: a silver-haired girl, dressed in tatters who looks like she had returned from a trip through the Everglades on a four-wheeler. he watches her, suspended in a sip, but difficult to tell if he's watching her because of her manner, or because of something else. there's something familiar about her beneath all that dirt and grime.

...

ah.

for the moment he lets her eat, but when she starts in on her third sandwich, he speaks, his voice casual and with easy cadence: ] Did you want coffee with that? Cream and sugar? One or the other? Both, maybe?

[conqueress]

[ Loki speaks, and at last, it registers. Dany has the grace to realize she has been tearing through a meal that wasn't offered her, and she finishes her sandwich with as much aplomb as she can muster, resisting the urge to lick the lingering grease from her fingers. By now, Hizdahr would have been feeling faint at her manners, but her noble lord husband seems leagues away from this place.

Leagues. Worlds. ]

No, [ is the first word she utters with certainty in Oska, concealing her confusion. Unmistakably violet eyes are turned upon him, unaccompanied by a gesture of dismissal. ] Thank you, but it is water we require, not your drink. [ It's fragrant, to be sure, the steam rising from the cup he carries.

Her belly rumbles audibly, as if in protest that she has ceased eating. Three sandwiches, and still it wants for more. When had she last had the appetite for so much? When her stomach begins again, the queen sighs in resignation. There will be no dignity found here. ] Iced water is what I need, [ she admits. Will he fetch it for her? He would make for a queerly-dressed servant, if he is one. There's a strange nobility to his bearing, and the planes of his face are chiseled as though he is a statue come to life, comely and deliberate. She would flush in embarrassment, were she a shy maid still. Perhaps she is flushing all the same, beneath her filth. ]

[selfimage]

[ dark nailed fingers pick the cup up by the rim, and he sets it down on the counter beside him. (he's taking the coffee black today, but that may change on whim; cream tomorrow, perhaps, or sugar in the afternoon.) ]

Water it is. [ it's said curiously, half a question, half an echo. he pushes away from the countertop with a confident swagger, finding the pitcher for the ice water—that's accented with citrus—and pouring it into one of the delicate glasses. after a moment of thoughtfulness he pours another, for the dragon, specifically, let's not get on the dragon's bad side.

he's no servant, if his face doesn't give it away, his body language does. everything is easy and elegant, bordering on arrogance. yet he fetches it anyway, feeling more generous than irritatingly argumentative. Loki's all curves, long limbs and sweeping gestures. he's in a rather shiny pair of red pants (which upon closer inspection seem to be scaled), and a loose, olive shirt. his arms and bound by fingerless gloves with useless buckles. whatever his hair does, it does it well. there's no armor today, no diadem and no jacket, he was bound up so much in Chantes that it feels good to air out a little. he seems almost normal.

almost.

the waters get offered to her. ]

You look like you've either crawled through the sulfurs of Muspelheim after tea with Surtur or you've been stuck with the dwarves for the better part of the decade.

...

I hope it's not the dwarves.

[ tea with Surtur sounds better. ]

[conqueress]

[ She can tell that the query is whimsical, but the words mean little to her beyond a hint that she must look and smell a mess. (What might dwarves have to do with her state?) Dany stiffens, managing to accept her glasses with nothing worse than chilly look. He is too familiar to speak to her so, but he has answered her half-command, and so she responds, wryly. ]

Must my answer be only one or the other?

[ Drogon stretches out a scaled black neck at his glass as she places it at the foot of the bacon mountain, sniffing at the rim. As if curious to feel the cold, he tests the surface of the water with his nose. For a moment, ice meets fire as the chilled water laps at hot scales, and a faint hiss rises up from the glass as the smallest puff of water vapor is released into the air.

For her part, Dany drinks as befits a woman parched. She drinks until the glass is empty, too thirsty to care about the source, only distantly noting that the water tastes clean. Only then does she deign to answer the query further. ]

I have flown away to a far part of the world, and so I must subsist only on what I find. [ Which is almost nothing, it must be said. The Dothraki Sea is not habitable for queens who cannot even make a hat out of grass. She wisely omits any indication that her dwelling isn't of her own choosing; her struggles to bend Drogon to her will aren't for anyone to know. There is no mention, either, of the place itself. This man is from no place she's ever seen, that much is plain, but she isn't yet feeling forthcoming. The world is too full of enemies.

Drogon laps at his own water, a reptilian tongue paddling about in clear depths. She watches him thoughtfully, her own mouth already feeling parched again. ] You have sated Drogon's needs well, it would seem.

[ Gratitude, of sorts. She'll get there. ]

[selfimage]

Exaggerations. [ Loki flippantly admits, draining his coffee and continuing his dramatic stride across the kitchen to find more. it's a luxury while she enjoys a necessity, and the irony isn't lost upon him. he doesn't return to his place, but finds another to settle, re-focusing his attention on her, mug in his hands. ]

Aye—well, it'd be best if he remains so. Happy dragons are good dragons. [ another admittance, he's feeling unusually honest, or, rather, he knows how to play his cards. ] It's lucky for you that what you can find is rather broad, at the moment.

Really lucky.

[ with a long motion, he moves the pitcher over. ]

Does this weary traveler have a name?

[ introductions are purely formal at his point: he knows who she is. ]

[conqueress]

Queen.

[ The correction comes just a hair too testily. It takes a certain kind of arrogance, a certain boldness, to speak her title while she's in rags, but Dany has fought for too long to be recognized as anything else. She will never be a mere traveler again; the time for obscurity is long past. ]

Daenerys Stormborn is my name. [ One that will mean little to him, she thinks. Grudging politeness wars with dismissiveness upon the tip of her tongue, but in the end, the former wins. Annoyed though she is to find herself here, she needn't be rude. ] Do you mean to give yours? [ He carries an irreverence about him, as though his manners fluctuate with his whims. As she holds out her glass, she thinks it just as likely he'll tell her to pour the water herself, or perhaps that he'll shift the pitcher out of reach again, as he is to oblige her wishes.

But he speaks as though he knows of dragons, and the bacon has revived some of her senses. Her curiosity is piqued. ]

[selfimage]

[ Loki has experience seeing his share of queens and others who would put themselves beneath such titles. of course, he knew enough not to doubt her. there was no first hand experience, but, ah, the second hand experience ... ]

Loki. [ a pause, as if he's re-thinking that. ] Of Asgard.

[ when she holds out her glass he looks into it as if he expects that some thrilling spectacle will emerge from its depths. he looks up at her expectantly, then down into the glass again.

...

when nothing comes of it, he sighs, swinging over the pitcher and pouring another glass of water. ]

Would you just like do drink from the pitcher? We can do that, too.

[conqueress]

Well-met, Loki. But tell me, where is Asgard? [ His reaction is so put-upon that it might have made her laugh, were she feeling more at ease. Perhaps it's the absurdity of her situation that sparks it: here she stands, naming herself queen while gorging herself upon grease, making herself even filthier as a small Drogon greedily digs his claws into another sandwich. He flutters his wings with a satisfied shriek, making to carry off his prey, and at this, she smiles faintly. It's a small gesture, but transformative: the pride is there still, but now she seems approachable. ]

You did not give offense. [ She gives him a flat look. He would make a poor cupbearer. ] You must have wondered that, surely?

[ Ah, a touch of dry humor. He cares very much about showing respect, she can tell. The glass is accepted again, and this time, she sips water in a manner more appropriate to the title she claims. ]

[selfimage]

[ the worst servant, really. he's far too cocky and proud to be anything other than what he was. coincidentally, all of Odin's brood came with the same warning sign: "we do what we want."

despite all of her fluctuation in hostility, Loki doesn't seem put-out. ]

Relative to where we are? That's questionable. Also loaded. Did I mention loaded? I suppose we can skim over the details, but Asgard—erm, Asgardia now, I should say—is the tippy-top of the Ten Realms upon the branches of the World Ash.

It has many names: Realm Eternal, the Golden Realm, and home to the gods. My dad sits on the throne ... he didn't, then he did, then he didn't, and he's back now. [ he waves his hand. ] That's a long story for another day. [ all your fault, Loki. ]

I'm sure we'll be able to hear his yelling from here. [ and he looks up as if they could hear it right now. ]

[conqueress]

[ Unconsciously, she follows his gaze. Am I mad? After this, how could she be otherwise? The thought frightens her only in the vaguest sense; she is presently too numb to be afraid.

But she does catch one detail. No man would sit upon a throne in a godsrealm, or so she assumes. ]

You would claim to be-- [ Her young brow furrows, her tone laden with skepticism, ] --a god?

[ Perhaps it is Lord Scaled Trousers here who is mad. ]

[selfimage]

[ again, it doesn't seem to bother him. there have been plenty both here, and from Earth who put their faith elsewhere. for him, it hardly mattered, nor did it make him anything less.

he was Loki. ]

Is that really the strangest thing that's happened to you recently? All this multiversal travel and people get stuck on the whole divine ... thing.

[ from the ceiling, his eyes fall on Drogon as he viciously defends his pile of bacon (ah, a creature of his own heart). for the moment, he seems rather happy with his mortal coffee drink. ]

There's stranger out there, I assure you. Worse, too, most likely.

[conqueress]

The gods from my home are deaf to prayer and show no faces. A man can tell me he is many things, but I must be the judge of what I see. [ She imagines it's much the same for everyone else. The queen raises a silver brow, but otherwise makes no further appearance at scoffing. The fact that she is here and no longer in the Dothraki Sea is far more worrisome. That much at least is no lie.

She finishes her water, and this time she takes the pitcher in the hand that is wrapped in a makeshift bandage, a strip torn from her shift. Whether it's because she finds his service wanting or her own capabilities lately lacking, she pours her own drink. The cool handle is soothing against her burns. ]

My city's peace rests upon the edge of a blade. [ A blade I once held. Does Hizdahr think me dead, or does he only hope? Her tone sharpens. ] If even half of what I have heard in this place is true, what becomes of my people?

[selfimage]

That you know. [ Loki was hardly the spokesperson for divinity, but he knew how gods worked and he knew it was different than mortals expected. there was a big and small picture, with so many images scattered between. there were many states of existence that Loki would give the middle finger to, and above the gods was fate. ] The divine plan is like listening to every raindrop fall and wondering what it means. You'd go mad trying to figure it all out.

Maybe your answers are here. Maybe ... Those fickle gods of yours need to be usurped. Maybe destiny is the big problem. Ah, but then we get into issues of freedom.

[ he has to reach around Drogon for a sandwich. ]

I would find something other than your eyes to trust.

[conqueress]

[ He speaks prettily. That much Dany can grant him, but what she hears is poetic riddles without solutions. Dryly, she thinks that perhaps he is a god, after all. ] Then you know as little of ALASTAIR's whims as I do. [ She sounds disappointed; the thought is hardly comforting. Drogon hisses at the olive-clad arm, but makes no move to attack, temporarily sated by his food. A piece of bread is cast to the floor in favor of more meat. ]

I did not say I only trusted my eyes. [ A small sigh. She sounds sure in that, too. ] But you mean to grant me some wisdom, I believe. Very well. [ Drogon tosses a scrap of bacon into the air and catches it in his jaws, his long neck working as the feast is gulped down. ] What else must I trust?

[ The tone is authoritative still, more queen than girl, but beneath it, she's genuinely curious. The chill about her is fading, giving way to something that isn't yet friendly, but is more inviting. She has traveled quite a long way, and much as she's loath to admit it, she is lost. ]

[selfimage]

[ the statement is met with a non-committal shrug. Loki's solutions are generally not ones that anyone would like to undertake. he's a trickster, and a dangerous one at that. most of his solutions ended in everything from well-meaning regicide to two megaton explosions. when Loki has solutions, everything gets a little more convoluted. ]

Yourself, your intuition—I tend to trust my lies, but that's a story of a different color. [ his voice is a little candid. lies were generally his jam, but that line in moral grays was what he tended to ride. ] A novel, really.

Mortals think in terms they can understand. Time and space, stuff like that. Some of that is real, and some of it isn't, and sometimes you push the domino in the wrong way and it falls with all the other ones collapsing around it. [ his fingers twitch, and he watches Drogon with some lazy interest. ] To ALASTAIR it's a heavily guarded sorcerously-warded space in the center of this inter-dimensional pocket known appropriately as—[ his timbre lowers to fit the reveal. ]—the mechanical room.

It's where the fate of the timestream—and thus destiny—is decided.

[conqueress]

[ And what if my intuition tells me there is nothing I can trust? The way he speaks of them all as mortals is not lost on her, but though she doesn't find it particularly endearing, it has little other impact in the face of his otherwise theatrical presentation. In Essos, or even in Westeros, he might have made for a good mummer.

As it is, here she is interviewing a self-proclaimed god of lies for the truth. It's all so absurd, she almost laughs. ]

Then the faceless man who speaks through trinkets told me true. Or is that another lie for your book? [ The query is accompanied by a toss of her head. ] I am only a young girl who knows little of trickery, [ a lie, ] so you must tell me if I understand. We are forced to protect the fates of worlds woven by unseen gods in an unseen room?

[ There comes the sound of rustling across the kitchen as Drogon takes off, startling a small avalanche of bacon sandwiches onto the counter. ] You have made a mess for our captors, [ she scolds, holding out an arm as his wings beat lazily toward her. ]

[selfimage]

My lies are never that bold. [ an offhanded warning maybe, but he seems amused by it. in fact, he says it so enticingly, that he may as well be weaving poetry. lies came in all kinds: omission, rhetoric, and exaggeration. Loki's lies were the slight bends of truth, twists of logic to make bad ideas into good ones, and the omission of anything that may damn his ambitions. where Thor had his hammer, Loki had his words.

Drogon makes a mess, and Loki takes the moment to get more coffee. a little bit of a mess is always a welcome sight. ]

Gods may be pushing it. Fate is resonance-y—er, but ... yeah, in ways. What's stranger? Something that may be ontological subjective made corporeal and stuffed in a fancy closet? Or knowledge that we're all just slaves to destiny? [ does his nice voice get a little more bitter toward the end of that? yes, it does. ]

SORE SPOT, LOKI

[conqueress]

[ Ontological? Dany isn't certain what that means, but it doesn't seem terribly important. Drogon is fluttering for a landing onto her forearm like some beastly hunting falcon, his black claws curling neatly around the skin there. ] You're sated now, [ she teases, watching as dark wings fold onto a scarlet-ridged back. ] You would not be so gentle otherwise.

[ At Loki's description of their lot as slaves, she frowns. Once, the subject only stirred her righteous fury, but now it carries the sting of failure, as well. The Yunkish trade in slaves outside her walls to taunt her, the fighting pits are reopened. What had it all meant? She had freed thousands, but in the end, she had spilled their blood, as well. I am a queen of ashes and monsters. ] It may be we are slaves, but unless we are whipped, tortured, and made to slay infants, I will not hear that word. [ Her voice is sharp; what would a god know of slavery? ] My people are slaves, Loki. That is what they were, and they will be returned to their shackles now that I cannot go home.

[ Sensing her anger, Drogon hisses a cloud of black smoke into the air, tail twitching. Is that how I seem? She runs a finger down his neck, and he twists around and snaps at it. ] I have always thought I had a fate. [ The gods send her signs, and she makes use of them. But there's a rare note of uncertainty in her voice: ] Some things were meant to be, surely? They must.

SADLY HE KNOWS

[selfimage]

[ what would a god know about being a slave? ]

Coming from someone who's endured quite a lot in some more painful memories, being tortured and whipped aren't nearly as bad as knowing that your choices aren't yours—that they were never yours. [ and then, mostly to himself: ] Funny how the hopelessness always wins the battle against the physical, isn't it? [ as for slaying infants. children, maybe. himself, once upon a time. what sacrifice had he made for his freedom? he became a creature drowning in guilt, struggling to break the surface. now he was running from who he used to be, using the capricious nature of memories to erase villainous deeds. ]

Things are meant to be because they're expected to be that way. Stories are written in patterns, which are re-inked and re-prophesied by feathered quills and wrinkled old fingers and sold for new. [ his body language changes, his voice changes. being boxed in is anathema to him. ] There are two kinds of ways that gods are conceived: either they're bound to a linear story, one that plays out in roles and natures and comes to and end, or they're bound by the circular, that which continues to repeat endlessly into eternity.

For us, the Aesir, it was the latter rather than the former—our cycle was called Ragnarok. It happened in different detail each time, but the concise version is that everyone dies by betrayal, [ his betrayal ] and is reborn again to follow the same road to ruin. Over, and over, and over again. Centuries or millennia? [ there's a little bitter snort that follows, and a shrug of his shoulders. ] Hel if I remember. I only know that we were being used as fodder for a hungry universe, disguised beneath the word destiny.

It turns out that my father had plotted various schemes across that time to try and stop the whole things and end the suffering of the gods; most all failed, some came close, but there's only so much that can be done when dealing with the boundaries of reality. In the end, it was my brother that freed us and cast away the shackles of fate. [ a pause, and then a slight laugh. ] When it was all said and done and we were free from Ragnarok, all the gods wanted was to know the end of their story. They wanted to be chained again.

No one wanted their choices, or their free future. They had been bound so long that they knew nothing else.

[ the coffee goes down, and he reaches out to her, beckoning with dark nailed fingers for her to give him her hand. he sees that cut there. ]

Luckily for you time and space are mostly the same, so I would rest assured that you can go back to the time that you came. Consider this an opportunity.

knows better, slithers forth anyway: the loki story

[conqueress]

[ Were she in a more sour mood, she might have told him she did not ask for a history lesson, but sustenance and water seem to have revived her. She cannot stew in her anger; she has need of a bath, and Drogon will require her attentions now that he is small again. And so she listens until the warning that marks his web for a cautionary tale, silent in the moments that follow.

And what of my path? she wishes to ask of him. Why am I told again and again what I must do, but only in riddles? Is it a jape? A trick?

But he knows nothing of her prophecies, she thinks, and that is folly. Perhaps the prophecies, too, are all follies.

He gestures for her hand, and at first, she hesitates. But she sees no reason why she should pause, and so she gives it, her healing burns wrapped in a thin strip of rag. Drogon takes off from her arm at the movement, settling to perch precariously atop the water pitcher.

If what he tells her is true, then that much, at least, may be a small blessing. Perhaps she can learn new wisdom here. Perhaps she can change what is written--but that seems a dangerous endeavor. ]

Again and again, warlocks and shadowbinders alike have told me what I must do. I am told names and instructed in riddles. [ The remark is wry; she is tired of their half-formed prophecies and truths. ] Would that I did not require their wisdom, but I fear I must listen. Perhaps it is for the best that I scarcely understand. [ At least then she has some reason to suspect she's following no one's advice. But which is less comforting? Trusting that she knows the way, or trusting that she may follow her own path, only to fall into some trap of fate anyway? Dany isn't certain.

To her, it seems the stuff of madness. ]

[selfimage]

[ prophecies were just another form of manipulation. telling someone that they should be doing something will ensure two outcomes: that they don't do it, or that they piece together enough to follow. he hated them, not as much as he hated fate, but close enough to cause a little boil of his belly in response.

with a dramatic sigh, he takes her hand, making a show of peeking under the bandages before he casually unravels it to expose the burn beneath. ]

Maybe. [ Loki tips his head, thoughtful. ] It's always in the back of your mind, isn't it? Like someone's forcing you one way or another.

[ his fingers are long, like his limbs. he's all smooth edges and hidden curves. his fingers are neither calloused nor soft, but deft and thoughtful, like they're reading the creases and crevices that they find. sliding between her palm and her fingers, his thumb pushes up so he can take a casual look at the burn, curious, like he's placing a memory.

there was something he always wanted to ask her. ]

What do you want?

[conqueress]

Yes. [ The admission comes easier than it should. ] Always the same. A red comet in the sky, a betrayal, a prince who tells me I must sail home. Is it the omen I must fear, or only the voice who brought me the tidings?

[ Or myself. There's a curious note in her tone. She isn't sad, precisely, but she sounds distant, as if she's alone and speaking to someone who isn't there.

His hand is deft enough that she doesn't object to his touch. It's the first touch she's felt since Ser Barristan held her back, tried to stop her from vaulting over the wall to run to Drogon, and she doesn't want to pull her hand away. Perhaps it's that that prompts her to answer honestly.

To return to my people. That is what I must do.

But a stronger voice whispers that that is a lie. ]

To go home. [ Now she sounds sad. ] I have always looked for a red door, but it seems I will never find it again. Instead, I must go back to where I belong, and be a queen. And to do that, I must bring ruin.

[ She doesn't sound as if she wants that. But perhaps frighteningly, she sounds as if she's begun to accept it. ]

[selfimage]

[ the hand holding her wrist guides her over to the counter beside him, so she can have something to lean against. psychotically heavy concepts occasionally needed the physical load off to bear them proper.

though he knew that feeling well. he had always brought ruin: Loki the destroyer, Loki the bringing of Ragnarok, the catalyst of chaos. while he was tentatively beginning to accept his role, there were always those that demonized him for the acts of a prior life, and it was even harder to work out what was good from what was bad. he'd never been good at morality. ]

Ruin isn't always a bad thing. [ dark lashes fall over half-lidded green eyes, as if he's not only talking to her. ] You can't build a better structure on a house that's already falling to pieces. When change is denied, it will come again, violently, if it must.

It's the nature of chaos.

[ his brow knits thoughtfully as he takes her bandages, dunking them into a half-filled glass of cool water. ]

Change always brings hope.

[ even as he lifts the bandages to wrap her hand again, with the softening of his features, he still looks dangerous. he can never rid himself of that scheming face of his. ]

[conqueress]

[ One surprise follows another. She has only known this self-proclaimed god for less than an hour, but she would not have expected gentleness. Whatever the words may have been intended to do, Dany wears them like a balm.

Because they echo what she hopes, what she must believe. She hopes, after all the bones are burned, that enough will remain to remake the kingdom she wants. She will not be Aegon the Conqueror, perhaps, but she can be herself.

Fire and blood. The words come unbidden, but a disconnect still lingers.

Her fingers curl thoughtfully, then unfurl again as he replaces her bandages. ]

A god may represent more than one claim, I have always heard. [ More often than not, she's found it confusing. She watches his eyes as he works, so vibrantly green as to be otherworldly. In the end, he is either a god, a wise sorceror, or someone with great power who knows how to speak as both. ] I know your name now.

[ She doesn't speak the title (the word) she means; there is no need. ]