bakerstreet | otherwordly meme.

otherwordly meme.

Otherwordly Meme

Sometimes all you need is a word to spark off an idea.

1. Post a comment with your character's name, canon, and any preferences you may have (no shipping, no smut, etc.)

2. Leave the comment blank or post a word or two in the body.

It may also help if you list scenarios you would like to play.

3. Reply to other people, either with words you picked out, or words they posted as prompts for a thread.

( A cleanup of the previous Otherwordly Meme. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Paracosm / Concupiscence / Manqué

louring

( desenrascano | sgiomlaireachd )

( backpfeifengesicht | yuputka )

[ Finding the choker had been sheer chance, but once it was in Davy's grasp after having killed a mortal who had the unfortunate luck of pissing him off, he could sense the magic in it. He could feel the bonds slipping away from the corpse at his feet in some dockside alley in some city (he hadn't even had much of a chance to orient himself when this idiot had tried to start something with him). Those same bonds were seeking him out and trying to latch onto him, but Davy was too powerful for that. He willed whatever magic that bound this necklace's owner to it away from him.

It still slithered against his skin, seeking purchase on his being. ]

No, no, no... Not me, you little bauble. [ Davy smirked a bit and then willed a message to whatever soul was bound in his grip now. ]

If you're nearby, I suggest you make your way to the Sea Moon Tavern- [ He'd finally realized this city was; there was a place near the docks and he could use a drink now. ] -I'll wait til closing if I have to, before I toss this little gem into a kiln.

[ After that, Davy pocketed the necklace and began to head for the tavern. He'd keep his word on both ends. ]

[ sehnsucht | gökotta ]

[soigné | kairos | serein

Also, permissions if you need them.]

Edited 2016-03-15 16:03 (UTC)

[ Five moves ago, this wasn’t the game.

Five moves ago, Damen's defenders hadn't gone indelibly divided, his third cup of wine hadn't emptied to its half. Outside of royal quarters, a short legion of Patras ambassadors hadn't sent earnest envoy to give Vere their greetings and most sincere wishes for the mending of its king. Paschal, now retired, hadn't yet seized the opportunity to consult his charge, surrender a sigh, and flee the room with weaker sentiment for his choice of service.

Five moves ago, Laurent was losing the tafl board.

Now, he has attached pressure to the single point of weakness in Damen's exhaustive strategy. Now, he is indiscreetly attempting against Damen's king. Insult infecting injury, now Laurent has the resource to make that unguarded play.

And in the inner court, the Patrans are still waiting their while.

That had surprised almost as starkly as Laurent's open agreement to meet Damen over the game board. He'd returned to Arles an errant stray, part cherished brother of Akielos, part tolerated stray. Part nuisance, when the nobles still counted in Vere's silent opposition, yielded him the way. Part beloved ally and exotic addition to king Laurent's collection of foreign peculiarities. Like the Vaskian queen's crowning gift of lion skins. And the trinkets of spun glass come from east beyond the borders.

The Veretians, Damen is told, have taken great pleasure in dissecting and recreating his myth and its part in Laurent's ascension. To hear some tell it, he is a warrior-priest, who healed Laurent of his youthful hurts and inspired him to better his mind, his heart and his spirit. On different lips, Damen's unwashed and a rabid beast, ignorant of his letters and a heathen. Like the weather, his aspect changes with the day. Today, arriving unannounced, with reduced retinue, he's nothing more than a dullard's distraction.

It's the six Patran ambassadors come especially to convey their master's regards for the new Veretian king who've claimed the brunt of Arles' attentions. The Patrans who have enjoyed an afternoon of entertainment and an evening's first-hours of long dining, with no signs of meeting Laurent. As political gestures go, this spells more slight than a new ruler can afford to give his established Patran brother beyond the borders — more slight than even Damen would hasten to show.

Unlike Laurent, then, to indulge in it. Unreasonable. At least, it would be so, if one of the Patran nobles — a merchant at heart, chosen for his practicality, and isn't Damen the same? No? The Akielon king? Damianos? He is sure? Damen is quite sure he is Damianos? And he has never wanted to be a merchant? — confides that the king, Laurent. The Patrans arrived on this day to find Vere's king has taken suddenly and grievously and inexplicably most delicate and ill.

The merchant-envoy nods. Damen, who has only ever seen Laurent succumb to dagger and disgust for mankind, nods with him.

Then he cuts his way up into Laurent's quarters. Bids his hello. Finds Laurent's good health as obediently subordinate to him as the rest of the castle's keep. And finds himself somehow agreeing to tafl, rather than sharing the truth of Laurent's much improved condition and dismissing a handful of waiting Patran men to their beds.

There's a point to avoiding the ambassadors for now, some grand scheme in which Damen will — for a bittersweet change — not participate, but spectate. There is always a point, and there is always a scheme, and, somehow, Laurent must always have gain. Damen has learned to trust in that as much as he trusts in that he'll remain here, sequestered in Laurent's quarters, until either their tafl game has finished, or it is convenient for Laurent to see him deliver the Patrans in. Damen's as much of an instrument tonight as whatever other minor subterfuge Laurent's ill mind has devised. He finds — with stifled laughter, because he can't well be heard enjoying himself in a man's sick quarters — that amuses him.

No, five moves ago, this wasn't the game. The sixth play deserves deliberation. ]

I'll make you a wager. You win my king — [ No, his play hesitates. To sit his pawn to the left is to strand it within three moves. The corner. That's where his hand drops, where the piece takes belated position. The corner can't be lost. ] — I tell them nothing. [ A minor correction, the afterthought of his honour. ] Tonight.

[ They can't mock good men and keep them waiting on the king's sickness forever. ]

[a terrible party/shipwreck or something more poetic or bring your own if you want me to start]

[ It's a Nohr/Hoshido party. Elise is, you know, glad that this can even be a Thing, but that doesn't make it immediately not super awkward. Because it is. Super awkward. She's pretty sure Xander tried to tell a joke because even he felt awkward, and that's just...

He just shouldn't tell jokes, ever. He's lucky that his siblings didn't grab a healer (...again).

But it's a sign that the party is Struggling. Whoever planned it truly tried to mix the two cultures together, but somehow they failed to pick any of the interesting parts of either culture and managed the most boring party Elise has ever been to. Ever. Although she's pretty sure Niles just slipped Arthur some alcohol, because she knows what her retainer looks like drunk. Things are careening even further to disaster, at this rate. Thanks, Niles. ]

Hey. Pssst. [ She can't exactly go against Xander's orders to Make Nice with Hoshido, especially when Elise is pro-peace, but: ] Takumiiiii. Do you wanna escape?

[ It'd be hard. Even if Arthur is two seconds away from making a scene (THANKS NILES) they're still royalty, at an important political function. But if she escapes with a Hoshidan noble, clearly she's still part of the peace-making efforts. Right?

...Okay, the logic is flimsy, but Elise can't handle listening to another dry speech about the mixing of two cultures and more promises from Xander that they will Eventually get to eat. ]

(no subject)

quarrelingly - 2016-03-17 02:01 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

demoiselled - 2016-03-23 01:58 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

quarrelingly - 2016-03-24 17:29 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

demoiselled - 2016-03-25 00:48 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

quarrelingly - 2016-03-26 01:07 (UTC) - Expand

[ acouasm. waldeinsamkeit, or bring a word of your own! ]

Provoked

[ weltschmerz or choose your own ]

[ The blockade drags on. The armies of the twelve clans grow restless and discontented. Arkadia seethes with the tension of Pike's rule. War seems ever nearer. At the mouth of a cave in the woods just inside the blockade line, Lexa paces, the sweep of her coat across the ground the only thing preventing her from having worn footprints deep into the dusty ground she's been going back and forth so long. Clarke should have been here an hour ago.

They'd scheduled the meeting weeks ago before Clarke left Polis, reassuring each other and themselves that there was no way it would be necessary, that Pike would be removed and the matter resolved long before then. But Pike's stranglehold on the camp remains, nothing is resolved, and the inability to communicate, coordinate their efforts, and regroup, is taking its toll. So is the uncertainty. Clarke could be dead already. Even if she isn't, the amount of time Lexa can continue to prevent an attack is likely numbered in days, and once it begins her ability to protect any particular person within Arkadia is limited, at best. This isn't how any of this was meant to go.

Another hour passes, and another, and by the time Clarke finally arrives Lexa has given up pacing. She is sat on a rock just inside the entrance, her head in her hands, long fingers pressed into her temples and brows. ]