( semi-closed )

[heelies]

CHARACTERS: Achilles and pals
DATE: Shorty after arriving in Perdition's Rest
WARNINGS: Homeric levels of violence and gratuitous man muscles
SUMMARY: Miscellaneous adventures in the days following the crew's arrival. Subjects range from shopping for pants to flaunting gently used sexy clothing to slaughtering bandits.


[Assorted closed threads shall follow. PM me if you wish to plot together!]

Comments

( Haise )

[heelies]

[It is in the afternoon of their second day in town, when the sun sits high over the horizon and the daily traffic that treads the roads has beaten a lingering cloud of dust into the air, that Achilles explores the sundry shops that line the main thoroughfare. Being that he is the son of a worthy king he has never before had any need to venture to market, and so the array of goods displayed upon shelves in the dim and cramped stores is rather a curiosity to him. He finds little to his liking in the munitions shop, since for all his wisdom in warfare the firearms that the locals so favor are utterly foreign to him, but the timepieces that tick from every corner of the clock maker's shop capture his awe for their novelty and fine craftsmanship.

From the moment he strides into the tailor's shop, the seamstress is upon him like a fly fluttering over ripened fruit. She insists that his ensemble of tunic and cloak is no way for a man to dress, and swiftly do her words darken his countenance.]

What is this you are saying? Such is how the long-haired Achaeans have clad themselves for many a generation of worthy men. Can you not see how finely woven is this tunic? Or have you no skill at all in weaving, as is a woman's art?

[Presently should someone interfere, for rarely is it a good idea to allow Achilles to speak to anyone when stirs his ire.]

[ex_adept136]

[As any dutiful investigator is first inclined, Haise is quick to set about the task of gathering information. The dossier with which they've been provided gives them the most elementary of understandings where this world is concerned, but it doesn't address enough to give them clear directive. With his experience in Nalawi a sober reminder of what a lack of information — and options — may result in, he's spurred to do all that he can.

His investigations carry him from one business to the next, interviewing patrons and shopkeepers alike. These exchanges yield little by way of fresh information, mostly rumors that seem to be unfounded, or at the very least tell him nothing he didn't already know. Still, he persists, because he will never forget the price Nalanni paid.

Eventually this brings him to the tailor's shop, just in time to catch the beginnings of what he can't imagine to be a conversation that's going anywhere pleasant fast.

He's quick to approach the two, insinuating himself into the conversation as easily as one might slip into water]

Achilles, it's good to see you. [This he offers politely, as is due his associate] Sorry for intruding, but I think she means our clothing won't blend in with the locals.

[Though his clothing isn't at all like Achilles' either, Haise thinks to soften a more pointed observation by including himself]

Their world seems quite different from our homes.

[heelies]

[Like water that douses a fire to relieve its heat, so too does the even keel of Haise's complexion seem to temper Achilles' crackling irascibility. Still his frown makes grave his countenance, but he turns his attention from the cowed seamstress to the young man who stands now beside him.]

Haise, son of Sasaki, well met. There is reason in your speech, for I find myself ignorant to the customs of this land which are so different from those upheld by the Achaeans and indeed seem rude to me for that. Yet already I must give coin that I may have a bed to share with my wife and food enough to sate my appetite - why should I give coin too that I may dress in these strange garments, when already those of ALASTAIR have gifted me with a fresh sweet-smelling tunic and cloak?

[Indeed he stands out with his body clad in a tunic dyed a deep red and woven through with rich purple, hues that only the wealthiest of men may boast in their clothes, and his shoulders draped with a finely woven cloak of vivid blue.]

[ex_adept136]

[Haise won't deny that their resources are limited to start with. It's the first time that he's been provided with any sort of allowance for a mission, and while it was initially a strange provision, he sees the reason for it by now. Unlike previous dispatches, everything here does cost them in currency, or at least can't be gained so freely]

As we are now, we might attract more attention than we want...especially while gathering information. [This strikes him as the most immediate of reasons, though far from the only one] It's true we should be careful with the funds we've been supplied, but shouldn't be also be careful with our apparel? It'd be a shame for such a handsome tunic to be damaged while we're dealing with bandits.

[And their arrival assured that at the very least, the were going to be dealing with plenty of brigands during this mission]

[heelies]

[There follows a pause in which he ponders Haise's words, and the seamstress takes this as her cue to assume the well-worn mantle of her sales pitch. Thus does she sweetly chime in.]

I can even knock down the price a bit if it's for you, handsome. [To which she adds under her breath:] My husband runs the shop - I'm sure it won't be too hard to win his forgiveness. A woman has her ways, you know. [And smoothly she forges forward.] I can't have a customer leave unhappy, no sir. Take a look around, won't you? If you see something you like, I can take it in or let it out for you in a jiff. You'll have it by the time you sit down for supper tonight - that's the Cactus guarantee!

[Achilles regards her still with pinched brow but his ire has ebbed. It is Haise moreso than this obsequious seamstress who sways him, for he remembers well the inconvenience of having only one set of garments: throughout his time upon the shores of Nalawi and again across the wilds of Zeta-12 he had had only the tunic upon his back, which became shabbier with every passing trial through which he toiled. He would not wish for his new garments to follow the same fate.]

Very well, I shall look.

( olivia & gaius )

[heelies]

[He sits together with Olivia at a table that is tucked into a quieter corner of the saloon. At the height of the afternoon, the room is all but empty while half of the town toils still in the mines: a lone customer leans against the bar, adrift in idle conversation with the barkeep who is in no great rush to dry the mug in his grip. Achilles has ordered a jug of the local cactus wine, beside which sit three tin cups, for although this is not his house over which he is lord, it is right to treat guests to what food and drink one can share.]

Lovely-haired Olivia, where is this companion of yours whom you hold so dearly?

[As he speaks, his gaze moves from the woman beside him to the door of the saloon.]

[winces]

[ olivia, too, has had her eyes on the door for a majority of their stay here. in fact, it would probably be more accurate to say that the only other things she's bothered to look at is achilles himself, as well as her own reflection on the surface of her cup. she feels strangely like she is about to embark on some strange interview or test, though she knows it's a silly thought the moment she thinks it.

still, she cannot help how her nerves jump at every sound within the currently cozy saloon. she feels fortunate that gaius should be one of the first to arrive here, for his somewhat lackadaisical and easy-going nature would mesh well with achilles' passion, she thinks. not that she worries any of her friends would disapprove (perhaps maribelle, at first... but she would warm up quite quickly upon hearing of achilles' status, she's sure) — but her overall desire for this all to go well makes the idea of failure that much more daunting, regardless how possible. ]

H-He should be right along...! [ she has begun to twist one of her braids in anxiousness. absently, she looks over to achilles and reaches up to tuck a lock of his own hair behind his ear. it's less for fixing, and more to give her hands something to do. ]

We're a little early...

[ try ten minutes early. she just wanted to be sure okay...! ]

[heelies]

[As her fingers flutter from his hair he takes her hand to clasp in his. Then he presses his lips to her knuckles and there he lingers as if to allow her skin the chance to absorb his reassurance.]

For what are you so nervous? Why, look at how you fret and fidget like a bride who shall for the first time meet her husband, when already he sits beside you.

[These words he speaks with a teasing lilt as he brings their clasped hands to rest upon her knee where against it brushes his own. Although among his people it is rare that man and woman should engage with one another beyond the framework of either courtship and marriage or family, he knows well that the customs upheld by the Achaeans are scattered to the winds in other lands, and so it is easy enough to think of this Gaius as a brother to Olivia - if not in blood then perhaps in their hearts.]

If you seek some manner by which to keep occupied your hands, then find it here in mine.

[stickyfingers]

[And honestly, while Gaius is definitely no great bastion of goodness nor is he anyone who would judge this Achilles person Olivia has taken as her husband based on his status, he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about the guy. Anyone who could win over the shy heart of the gentle-handed Olivia deserved some sort of respect--even if Achilles was going to be on the receiving end of getting respect from an ex-convict.

Achilles wouldn't be terribly wrong in his assumptions about Gaius and Olivia--the Shepherds had become something of a family to him in the last few years. Something he's never had, and therefore he was still unsure to exactly how protective he should be over the other members. It wasn't anything like a normal army, so...

He's getting his new rifle hidden away in his room before heading out to meet with his comrade and her spouse, and maybe it's due to that laid-back and easygoing nature that he doesn't take no time to rush over at all.

When he does enter the saloon it's with a bit of a sketchy look-about, a usual sweep of a public place to get one's bearings before actually seeking out who he's looking for. It's pretty hard to miss that shock of bright pink hair, so the cloaked thief doesn't take too long before making his way over, a crooked grin on that usually plain face.]

Here I was thinking I would have shown up first. Looks like I was way wrong.

( lancer ) two dudes with spears waltz into a gunfight

[heelies]

[Achilles had been surprised and delighted in equal measure to cross paths once more with spear-famed Lancer, whose supreme skill he remembers well from the early days passed upon the shores of Nalawi, and of whom he has seen neither hide nor hair since. He is a worthy companion with whom to join in the endeavor of culling the bandits who infest the desert beyond town.

It is out of no loyalty to their purported hosts that he risks his life in this pursuit, for the friendship fostered steadily by the cloven-footed Nalawi is found not in the wild-eyed Qorral, so far as his traditions dictate. Rather, it is for the promise of prizes to be won by dint of his spear that he dons his splendid armor and secures his shield to his forearm. Even cloaked in the dying light of dusk as the sun sinks into the distant desert, his golden armor provides little in the way of stealth - but it is his godlike strength and speed that are his greatest weapons. What need has he to be covert of movement when he can so swiftly strike down any who might ambush him?

Along the rocky outcroppings they wind, until at last a cluster of huts draws into view. It is then that the first bullets rain down, soon followed by more, and swiftly does Achilles raise his shield to deflect their deadly path.]

There upon the cliffs they hide, and more yet crouch in wait by their huts!

[With his shield before him, he runs forward and lets fly his long-shadowed spear: in the shoulder of a bandit it buries its pitiless bronze head, prying forth a scream and blood that shall redden the sand.]

[riastraid]

[ Yeah, it was good to see Achilles too. Maybe they shared a manly back-pat before getting to work. And it is work—but Lancer enjoys having a job as much as he dislikes bandits, so it's two birds with one stone. Add in some company, and it's practically a party.

But for both being spearmen, Achilles's approach is... flashier than his, literally and figuratively. Lancer would've prowled, taken one man at a time, a trail of bodies rather than a pile. There's a moment spent just watching the other man's brilliant, golden charge, brow cocked curiously, but he'll get a response in just before another round of shots are fired.

At least it's more fun this way. ]

Gotcha.

[ Lancer knocks aside a spray of bullets with his spear, buckshot crumpling on impact and falling soundlessly to the sand. He leaves Achilles to his mark, leaping ahead in a blur. Landing by a gunners' nest, he slashes through its sandbag barricades in a flurry of grit, bandits sent scrambling out into the open like bees escaping a hive. Easy targets, besides maybe the fact that they all have guns. ]

[heelies]

[If it is prowling in the dusk for which Lancer wishes, then perhaps he should find a fitter comrade in either Diomedes or the son of Laertes. As for Achilles, he is as straightforward in battle as he is in speech.

The bullets from the bandits' shotguns ricochet off of his splendid shield, whose layers of metal were hammered by Hephaestus the god of the forge, and for all the broadness of his body his swift feet make of him a hard target to lock down. When he reaches the rickety fence by which the gunmen crouch, bolstered in their defenses by sandbags and emptied ale barrels, his blade leads the way. This glorious blade he had just lately been gifted, and already he is grateful for its sure sharpness as he slices the shoulder of a man caught reloading his weapon in precisely the wrong moment. With a cry of pain the man drops his gun to grasp instead his wound from which flows dark blood.

It is then that Achilles retrieves his spear from the flesh of the man he had felled, whose breath shakes still from his lips. The unwearying bronze he runs through a third man who in vain tries to aim his gun for Achilles' feet, below where fasten his greaves. And so flows the blood as the bandit is cast down into the house of Hades, or whatever dismal halls harbor the shades of the dead in this land.]

[riastraid]

[ can his dialogue really be called straightforward

More seriously, cutting down their cover seems to be doing the trick. It's a kind of strategy ('strategy') that's only working because they're both ridiculous. Still, always room for improvement—a line of glowing runes snakes out into the sand, boundary field rising like a shield of light. It repels their enemies by the huts, and walls a small battalion in with them.

In a way, it's a compliment: he fully believes Achilles could handle the foes left trapped here without getting perforated himself. But he lends a more direct helping hand too, covering his flank by throwing his spear straight into a bandit's chest (for such a grievous, gaping wound, it leaves very little blood—but who's counting pints?). He's got your back, go get 'em, tiger.]

( dipper )

[heelies]

[He had found the gift sitting outside his door when he stepped out, and Olivia had confirmed that the note perched atop the parcel attributed the deed to ALASTAIR. What she could not confirm is what purpose the strange object serves: it is small and shaped like a brick and gleaming silver and blue, and with it comes what seems to be some manner of circlet or necklace, as well as several small boxes in which wait rectangular tokens. Of all this Achilles can make no sense, and so he purposes to bring the peculiar object to the local clock maker, who seems to him a man knowledgeable in all manner of craft.

Before he can reach his destination, however, he catches sight of a familiar youth. It had been quite some time since last they properly spoke, yet the boy had left a favorable impression upon him, and thus he sees fit to acknowledge him.]

Why, if it is not brave-hearted Dipper! How fare you on this morning?

[twinpeak]

[ Dipper hadn't been out for too long yet—fifteen at most, probably—spending the short time wondering how to start off his day. He's seen most of the town by now... Perhaps he should start doing some digging regarding the mission ahead of them?

... Or raid the candy aisles of the apothecary again?

No matter the thoughts wandering through his mind; Dipper is jerked out of his thoughts when he hears his name called out. Well, his name following "brave-hearted"... He thinks that about him? Really? The dumbfounded look on his face breaks into a lopsided grin that he can't help but make as he pauses in front of Achilles. ]

Hey, man—long time no see. What's up?

[heelies]

[He appears to consider this question quite seriously, with his brow twisted in bemusement for he is yet one ill-versed in the slang of eras so distant from his own. Thus it is with light amusement that he gives his answer.]

Why, what could be up but for the sun which rises still in the sky?

[Translation: what are you talking about, young whippersnapper?]

Moreover, I hope that since last we met, you have found adventure enough to sate your young heart. Although I remember well how fiercely a man may hunger when fresh with youth. Doubtlessly this landscape so wild and strange is well to your liking.

[twinpeak]

[ Alas, the translation is lost on Dipper, who takes the literal answer as more of a joke. A very cliche one. He rolls his eyes—'cause c'mon, that's the oldest one in the book—before getting to the next topic. ]

Well, a lot's happened, at least. [ As usual, really. ] But I gotta admit, this place is pretty cool so far. It's just like the wild west! Just, you know, on an alien planet.

[ Dipper pauses briefly, hand to his chin. ]

Which is probably all completely new to you, right?

( olivia & lucina, shortly after the earthquakes )

[winces]

[ in retrospect, she could have planned this out much, much better. given each party more chance to prepare, perhaps, or — or something.

as it is, her emotions and the adrenaline of the day got the better of her, and an excitable discussion with lucina soon turned into a, would you like to meet him? and so here they now are, fluttering anxiously in the quieter part of town, by the arms shop (another thing that definitely lacked forethought), waiting as olivia fumbled with the magitek jewelry to send achilles a video call. ]

Um — Achilles...? Are you around...

[ she gives lucina a nervous smile, waiting for the man to pick up. ]

[tolight]

[ In the frankest of terms, Lucina isn't sure how to feel about any of this.

There's the childish part of her that speaks against the more rational side. This is her mother, regardless of what she remembers, and her mother must be with her father. The idea of her mother falling in love with anyone else is preposterous, because — well — it's her father, strong and proud and the most ideal man any woman can fall for, really. And Lucina's mother deserves no less than the absolute best; that much, she knows is true.

But at the same time, she knows that this Olivia hasn't fallen in love with Chrom yet, does not know of the events that are to come. It's a blessing in itself that Lucina was recognized in the first place ( sort of ). And it's obvious that her mother is happy with this... Achilles ( even if it's not her father ), and as a daughter, is there any more she could want?

So she agrees to meet him, reassures her mother with a smile that if it's someone who has made her happy, he must surely be a good man. She's still apprehensive; she stands half a step beside Olivia, blue eyes looking for some kind of response. ]

[heelies]

[As the sun begins to sink into the distant desert and the day folds in upon itself that night may unfurl, Achilles sits washing the day's dust from his body. Long had been the hours passed at the collapsed mine, rescuing the workers from its dark labyrinthine depths and mending their wounds. Although he considers the friendship of the Qorral to be a meager morsel, far from rich enough to truly satisfy, his heart is not so hardened that he would refuse to help as he once so scorned the war-loving Argives: it had been Olivia's distress that stirred him to move, and so too does he consider that his aid may win him the respect he so deserves from the wild-eyed Qorral.

At his feet sits a tin wash basin filled with water, into which he dips the washcloth. He then wrings it out and with it scrubs at his skin to clean away the layer of dirt that all over clings. It is as he wipes the cloth along the length of his arm that he receives the message from Olivia. He has expected that soon she should return to him, and so the warmth that tinges his expression is plain when he makes his answer.]

Indeed, dear Olivia - here I wait in these quarters we together share. Where are you now if not here at my side?

[The flickering image projected by the jewelry provides a generous view of his bared chest, upon which glistens the water with which he washes himself. He wears his tunic girded around his waist but unpinned at the shoulders, although this the framing of the feed hides. Although he had purchased garments such that the Qorral clad their bodies with, he stubbornly chooses his own native clothes when the day winds down and he seeks comfort more so than a shield from the omnipresent dust.]

[winces]

[ ...or. you know. olivia could actually just die.

right there, where she stands, because the amount of blood rushing to her face coupled with the speed with which it does so is surely not healthy, nor humanly possible, yet there it goes, defying all laws of human biology, but it does, at the very least, offer another sight to gawk at other than her very seemingly naked paramour.

there are two full seconds in which all olivia can do is stare — wide-eyed and comical, with an expression that is both full of horror and grim resignation. because of course, of course, and also why gods couldn't she have just done audio instead?

two full seconds for her mind to simultaneously grind to a halt and kickstart in panic. two full seconds for the blood to drain from her face then come surging back. two full seconds for what little respect her future daughter might have had for her go slipping away into the abyss... never to be seen again.

because the magitek is what it is, there is no violent hanging up, no frantic tossing of any devices. there is, instead, a small dancer shrieking at the top of her lungs: ]

I'M SORRY WRONG PERSON GOODBYE!!

[ and the subsequent cancelling of the call with a hasty command of her mind. ]

( olivia, post-frenzy )

[heelies]

[Perhaps it is his wish to see her one final time, if truly this is how Fate intends that they part, that summons forth the jewelry's video function. The image projected for Olivia is one that should seize her heart as frost seizes the earth in the dead of winter: a disarrayed curtain of golden curls hides much of Achilles' face as he lies upon the ground, but what can be seen still is the grimace formed of his lips. His body shudders with breaths made laborious by pain, on which are carried his fragmented words.]

O...livia...please... O gods...

[So falls his plea, heavy like the stones with which men may mark graves. Included in the frame too are impressions of the landscape that surround him, but the endless stretch of sagebrush and cactus speckling the orange earth are hard to distinguish as anything special.]

steels self

[winces]

[ the video that answers him first is not, as he might have hoped, the sweet voice of his wife, or the tender looks she often reserves just for him. no, the sound to reach him instead if that of shattering glass, a pitcher courtesy of miz poppy now laid to rest in pieces at olivia's feet, and the look of abject horror and denial on a face that had hoped to greet him with relief and warmth. next comes the sound of her cry — a sharp, devastating thing that will no doubt rouse the tenants of the building, and linger in the minds of those with faint of heart. ]

No no no no NO NO! [ she cries, when words finally come back to her, because even in her terror and panic she knows what this means, knows the only thing that could have possibly transpired.

since koltira's broadcast, olivia has been on high alert. having been around for the previous incident, though always in the aftermath, never in the fray of it, olivia has a sense of what to expect, an inkling of the work that needs to be done afterwards. but in her naivete she had never thought that it should affect her quite like this, that the wounds she might have to mend are those of her own love. she'd been foolish, she should have told him herself, she should have and could have and would have all these things but what does it matter now, when she can see him already begin to slip away from her. ]

No no no, gods, please—

[ saffron's hackles are raised where he lingers by her side. she turns to him, already in tears, reaching for the woven collar at his neck and wishing, for the first time, she had given it to achilles instead. ]

Fine him, Saffron, find him!!

[ the lion hesitates, then stirs into motion, peeling out of the room and all but flying down the stairs at her command. she follows after as fast as she can, but her legs feel weak and her eyes are blurred. she stumbles, falls, scrapes a knee and bangs a shoulder but somehow she keeps going, following the lion's blurred form well into the night and all the while she prays, to whatever gods might be listening— ]

Please, oh please—

[heelies]

[Her screams crash over him as do waves which, when whipped into frenzy by a storm, violently pound the beach, but he is fast losing blood and with it he feels himself fade from the world of the living one fragment at a time. His ears hear as if from beneath the water, in which all sounds dissolve and float in pieces suspended, strange music made from a familiar voice. His lips no longer form words but only incoherent groans that drag against the dust. His eyes see only dark shapes that bleed together as if made of melting wax. His thoughts are naught but a tangled string of names divine, his prayers breaking down along with his body.

Almighty Zeus...bears the aegis...Athena...third-born of the gods...

From the desert shines forth the beacon of Achilles' shield, still glorious although fallen, which catches the light of the sun upon its broad face and tosses it back in shimmering waves. It is that that might draw Olivia's eyes as frantically she casts them about the endless landscape, but the lion cub's clue shall be the pungent odor of blood which hangs thickly upon him.

Achilles is aware of Saffron only through faint impressions, the crunch of the earth beneath his swift paws, the warmth of his muzzle pressed into Achilles' cheek. He appears as something cast to the ground and left behind, an overripe fruit smashed into the dust, the skin split open, the flesh bruised and beaten to a pulp. From the flank that faces upward flows dark red blood that stains both his rent tunic and the ground upon which he lies. His shield remains fastened around his forearm and leans against his body in a last effort to protect him, although far too late.]

[winces]

[ her words, by the time she falls to his side on her knees, have petered out into nothing more than low, pitiful groans. a resounding chorus of no and please that probably sound like nothing more than the low grumble of waves upon an immovable rock, beating desperately for a change it cannot yet incur.

her hands tremble over the form of him, where once in her mind he had carved an image of strength and courage and pride. now he is some shapeless thing, beaten down to his very core. ]

Achilles, [ her voice is a soft rasp against her throat, made thick and coated with her tears. saffron has begun to pace anxiously behind them, several feet away, his muzzle made red from the man's own blood. ]

Achilles — my love — I'm here —

[ she tries to sound strong, for him, to be the rock that he now needs, but her voice trembles, and she chokes on the syllables of his name. her hand at last falls to the curve of his cheek, and her hair falls as a curtain around their faces when she leans in, pressing a plaintive kiss to his lips. she pulls away coated in his blood, locks of her hair stained with red like petals of a flower that have begun to wilt. ]

Hang on, hang on, I've got you—

[ promises she pours out as much as her healing power, willing so much of it, all at once, that it may come as a shock to his fading body. ]