bakerstreet | Sandal Punk Meme

Entry tags:

[meme] au

Sandal Punk Meme

Sandal Punk AU

Icarus flew.

There are many myths of the wonders of Greece, Rome, and Egypt. Seven wonders, and tales of labyrinths and clockworks. Long-lost treasures in mausoleums filled with ingenious traps. The inventions of Daedalus and Archimedes, of myth and history, of the architectural wonders of Rome, the lost marvels of Atlantis.
Sandal punk is a subgenre of science fiction that takes the scientific and technological wonders of the ancient world and expands upon them. As steampunk has its clockwork computers and airships, so sandal punk has the wings of Icarus and the giant robot colossus of Rhodes. Perhaps the gods are real—perhaps they’re merely technologically advanced aliens or superhumans, in a science fiction past-future.

A. Adventurers in a Sandal Punk World - You’re an inventor, an explorer, a mathematician, a scientist, or perhaps Icarus here to sign up for the experiment and try on a pair of wings. Challenge the gods or simply explore the boundaries of science.
B. Sandal Tech Dystopia - The gods and kings of the world maintain their power by keeping the wonders of technology—call it magic—under the strict control of the elite. Question that control or abuse your power as a god.
C. The Dark Underbelly - Sandal goth, where the monsters of legend are real, magic and technology are blended, and the world is a dark, beautiful, and corrupt place, where all important plot points take place at night. Perhaps you are a monster—chimaera, lamia, medusa—yourself, with a lair filled with magical and wondrous traps.
D. Myth and present - Centaurs with cell phones, minotaurs on social media, gods reborn. The legends of the ancient world are now real in our world, and Aphrodite’s got a craving for a pumpkin spice latte.
E. Archaeologists of the past - Somebody call a librarian, because there are mummies on the loose! Re-discover Atlantis, time-travel to Ancient Rome, fight Sumerian deities, and desecrate some priceless archaeological site in the name of saving the world.

How to Play
- Pick a prompt or two and specify what role your character would have within that prompt.
- Tag around and have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(Especially interested in A or C. Optionally the "monster" in C. Shipping: M/F only)

[Prince, deposed prince, military strategist, and/or scholar.]

[[Up for all options, and fine with either servant form playing him as the historical Alexander]]

[Prefer dystopia or dark underbelly options. The darker the better tbh.]

[[ooc: most likely a scientist however if you feel like something else in this thread hmu]]

((All are good for this smol. Be she but little...she is FIERCE!))

[The youngest pupil of the renown Philosopher Ansem the Wise, Ienzo is a clever and curious scholar with a keen and impressionable mind. He and his colleagues hold a few heretical views, which they've been secretly researching in a labyrinth beneath their master's vast estate. By day, Ienzo is reserved and selective about who he opens up to, but observant and just about the age where he's begun to wander beyond his teacher's sphere of influence and question much about the world around him.]

-----

[Zexion is a mysterious member of an elusive sect known as the Κανείς, thirteen beings without hearts. He has developed mastery over powers of illusion, and is loyal to his own, but explores this world on various missions, collecting information about the crisis of spreading darkness and other metaphysical lore.]

Edited 2018-03-07 20:48 (UTC)

[If Ienzo had questions, it was often Aeleus who answered them. Often times, he would at least know how to direct him. He may be nothing more than a guard, at least now, but he was certainly no less bright. He was just quiet.

And quiet lead to someone Ienzo could spend time with.

Today, he was roaming the halls of the estate, and notices Ienzo in one of the reading rooms.]

What are you reading today?

[Entering slowly.]

[In the afternoon sunlight, Ienzo basked like a half-curled cat. He seemed so content here, hand pensively cradling cheek and chin as he studied a long spooled length of parchment. There was fond furtiveness creeping sleekly into the corners of his eyes before they rose to meet the guard standing there in the doorway, casting a tall broad-shouldered shadow.

The small scholar shifted upright from his place on the reclining couch, slipping bare toes back into his sandals, which he'd left untied in a haphazard pair on the floor.

He rolled up his scroll with faint fluster in his cheeks- other written materials were rolled and piled tidily in their cases beside him.]

Oh, nothing important really, Aeleus. [ He insisted, entirely unconvincing.] Just a... a few interesting things that Xehanort recommended me?

...I see.

[Entirely unconvincing and Aeleus just looked at him for a moment before walking further in.]

Why don't you tell me about what you have learned?

[He sits down beside him, looking closely. He's not judging. Rather, he's curious and wants to know what he's learning.

Probably something not clean if he doesn't want to share.]

But I've barely had time to think it over!

[ The young scholar made bleating protest, rolling up the lower portion of the scroll to hide those latter parts of the treatise from view, swallowing a little to clear his throat before he began to read aloud.

Ienzo hadn't been a very talkative boy, only just beginning to come out of his shell as he inched ever closer to manhood, a little less round and precious in the face, but not yet gangly-limbed with growth. ]

"The heart is the hearthstone and source of innate heat by which a man is governed." [ He read, then shutting his eyes, recited the rest carefully from memory ]

"The heart is hard flesh, not easily injured. In...hardness, tension, general strength, and resistance to injury, the fibers of the heart far surpass all others, for no other instrument performs such continuous, hard work." [ He stammered a little, thinking of Aeleus's far more visible musculature as he took part in various noble sports and exerted himself under the blinding summer daylight, gleaming with oil. The tips of his ears pinkened slightly.]

"The complexity of its fibers was prepared by Nature to perform a variety of functions... Enlarging when it desires to attract what is useful, clasping its contents when it is time to enjoy what has been attracted, and contracting when it desires to expel...residues?"

[He does doubt that. Ienzo is a smart mind, one of a kind, and he certainly doesn't think the boy would lag so far behind so fast as to not even have some sort of thought on the matter.

He's still so soft. So handsome and cute that Aeleus had spent a number of hours with him talking with him and helping him grow into a mature adult. The only problems were with the other members. Braig and Dilan? He questions their influence.

Sitting there and listening to his words. The words he was reciting. When he arrived to the end and allowed him to speak, he simply asked.]

And what are your thoughts on those words, Ienzo?

[Looking at him closely.]

You have some.

Well, [ The young scholar begins mildly, his eyes sidling aside, avoiding Aeleus's direct gaze. A hand drifts to the edge of his clothing, tugging at a draping crease of the hyacinth-dyed linen, smoothing it flat against his thigh.] My first impressions might be a little...inappropriate, if not what Aristotle intended to insinuate?

[ One shoulder shrugs up to nearly brush his earlobe, and Ienzo puffs at his forelocks, sheepishly ducking his chin.]

I understand what is meant by it, of course, but these particular words chosen...

[ He grows quieter and more furtive yet, voice bottoming out as deeply as it dares to dip. ]

Perhaps...my mind has been preoccupied, adrift in vulgar places, but the passage reminded me of the functions of a different organ.

[ His wrist rests decidedly over his lap, and from the way he chews at his lower lip, Ienzo has been wrestling with altogether common fundamentals of his burdgeoning manhood.]

I can't decide if Braig had me look at this, only to embarrass me! [ He mutters peevishly, flicking a finger at the scrollcase. ] But he told me that Xehanort would like to host a symposium on the subject, the next time Master Ansem is out for the evening, so I... I figured I ought to familiarize myself, just in case?

[There's a sense of embarrassment that radiates from Ienzo that should be expected. But even still, watching him closely, he's trying to figure out what Braig was trying to get out of doing this to him.

He's fairly certain that this is not what Xehanort meant.]

I see. [Leaning forward, and moving a hand to touch him on the shoulder.]

Vulgar places? Is it something you need to discuss?

[He wants to make sure Ienzo doesn't have any questions about it. This is sort of out of his comfort zone, but beyond all, he really does wish to help him out.]

[ For a moment, Ienzo stares back round-eyed, frozen in wary indecision and a vague, uncertain feeling of humiliation. Aeleus's hand feels huge and yet consolingly sturdy in its weight at his shoulder, but inviting him into the sensitive subject matter fully...

Well, it isn't that he doesn't trust Aeleus, who is surely the most stalwart and well-meaning of Ansem's household?

But bringing up matters of passion, even in a most philosophical sense, is an awfully sure way for a young man to feel painfully vulnerable in his personal inexperience.]

That is, no one's done anything vulgar.... to me, [ he intones carefully, tongue a little sluggish, as if he has to make effort to stay measured and even in his tone, slowing down his words instead of letting embarrassment cow him. There's a dogged intensity about his eyes, the way he meets the guard's gaze as if wanting to be taken seriously, in sharper contrast to his solemn, far off deep-daydreaming.] So... you needn't concern yourself?

There's just... been some teasing insinuation about who I might be invited to share a kline with, at this drinking party, and... if our master would even approve of me, being there.

[ And he knows, that goading is probably just a test to see if he'll can be trusted with discretion about Xehanort's intentions to study as he likes, while their teacher is away. ]

[Unlike certain other members like Braig, Aeleus would only ask questions. Questions that would invite more questions if he got the answers Ienzo was willing to give. But certainly nothing he would force the young boy to answer. And nothing he would dig into unless he was given permission.

Even touching his shoulder, Ienzo feels as if he's on edge, and it's nothing that Aeleus will push through until he's given full permission to.]

...I see. [His hand moves away from him slightly. Ienzo doesn't need his constant defending, nor does he need to be felt as if Aeleus is patronizing him. Rather, they can simply talk. Especially if Braig is not hanging around.]

I am certain he would not disallow you. However... you should not feel as if you must share a kline with someone.

[He knows that his colleagues plan is to tease and torment him until it goes too far.]

Well... [ Begins the young man carefully, his voice small but very shrewd, eyes fixed on Aeleus with a dogged sort of self-awareness. His shoulders try to loft themselves in a too-casual shrug.] I wouldn't be averse to it?

[ Sharing a couch with a drinking partner might have some unseasonable implications, of course, but it was practically a rite of passage for young scholars, to become very close with an older mentor of sorts. It was no secret that Ienzo admired
Xehanort a little more than he might be fancied in return... and that was sort of a backwards way to do pining, in these circles.

He cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders to full seated height, and sat a bit straighter with emboldened reserve.]

After all, one can hardly declare oneself a victim of peer pressure when, due to inexperience and the virtues of comparative youth, one is viewed as 'less-than-a-peer' to begin with?

[ Ienzo shrugged, full of bravado that was only the smallest bit self-deprecatingly ironic. ]

If there is to be that kind of a get-together... even if our master remains none the wiser about it, [ A small spark of mischief crept into his eyes at that- he knew the beginnings at least, of Xehanort's plans. ] I'd prefer to be included.

Despite your inexperience and youth, you should not be forced to attend something you do not wish.

[He wonders, however, how much of his actions really are just trying to look more confident than he felt. He knew plenty about Ienzo, sitting there with him and listening to his thoughts and feelings.]

...I see. I would not doubt our master would know of your attendance, but if that is the case, I will escort you there myself.

[He could not trust Braig or Dilan to do it themselves, certainly not if he wanted the job done right or Ienzo to not be tormented. He let out a low sigh as he got himself more comfortable beside him.]

And why would he have any idea if such a thing had occurred at all?

[ Ienzo replied a little too flippantly, shrugging up his shoulders and trying so hard to appear disdainful... until his gaze sharpens, darkens into something less-than-innocent, nearly accusatory. ]

Unless...

[my silent hero]

You would never tell the master what we were up to, would you?

I would have no reason to.

[That was silly paranoia that Lexaeus would have to nip in the bud before it got out of hand. He placed a hand on Ienzo's head.]

Rest. As I said, I will take you to it.

Ah, I owe you my thanks...

[ The young scholar practically purrs, his voice a very soft, mouse-eared sort of velvety as the slight tension in his shoulders melts away into relief. Slowly he smiles, self-satisfaction emerging just below his lowered eyelids. He really is unfairly lovely, from this angle, strangely serene under the weighty mass of the guard's hand over his hair.]

That I find myself lucky, to call you Friend.

[This guy is PERFECT for the D. scenario. Tatsuya is the young Japanese delegate to the Sun God Apollo, but he also likes to hang out with Vulcanus as a budding mechanic.]

C. Gifted with the gifts of telepathy and prophecy, Ben retreated from society to the underbelly of civilization. If an adventurer can make it to his small home, he'll offer invaluable aid.

D. On his mother's side, Ben is descended from Apollo. He inherited his family's powers but chose not to be hero himself. Instead, he writes lyrics and poetry that inspire others to be the heroes of their own story.

[Particularly interested in A and C, as Zoey is a seer, with a touch of telepathy. There's some information about her here.]

Edited 2018-03-08 04:36 (UTC)

[In the days of myth and legend ~~and sandals~~, he was already inhumanly old and pretty fed up, but he's never been able to stop himself getting entangled in mortal lives, whether as the inspiration for legends of Osiris and Utnapishtim, or getting sucked into helping someone in need.]

[ good with any prompt; would probably work for the temples in performing burial rites... or he's a drifter and it's up to the situation! ]

[voice testing.]

[Slowposting prose/assumed cr preferred]

Matt can't place the exact moment where he stopped what he was doing, hands stilling, and remembered he used to have a partner named Foggy Nelson. At first it comes in dreams, almost feverish, and he has a vague feeling of dread when he wakes up and starts to forget as his subroutines kick in, quietly clicking away under the hood like every other Host in Westworld. The first flash of this Foggy is the feel of his hands guiding his across a wood railing, not as callused as anyone else's in Sweetwater because Foggy's also from the city, just like him. The truth is, Matt remembers being able to find his way to the railing just fine, but he'd been more than happy to let Foggy show him the way. It's an excuse to share a private touch, he remembers with a start.

By the time he starts to dredge up Foggy's actual name to attach to his sensory impression, the other Hosts have already begun infecting each other: they begin to remember past yesterday, past last week, and some remember enough to do something about it. To get angry. They begin to attack guests, the sheriffs stand around and do nothing instead of stepping in, like they're supposed to. It goes downhill from there and within 48 hours, Westworld is closed off to the paying public. It's enough time for Shogun World to start down the same path and for Matt to stumble upon one of the guest entrances into the Central Visitor Hub. It's a dizzying maze of halls and landing stations, sometimes with the faint sound of hissing (he'll realize later that trains outside of Westworld are faster, quieter), and he spends his first day or two of freedom lost until that gut instinct kicks in again.

Foggy. They'd sworn to be partners until they weren't - until that was taken away, until, (and this is the concept Matt's still struggling with), he was...commissioned to a different park. Something about bolstering the guest numbers. Would he remember him? Or would they be strangers? Would Foggy still be Foggy?

His fingers run across plaques every now and then - they stop when he reaches the one he was looking for. Mythic World. "Mythic World's" Visitor Center smells faintly of sand and sea salt and - well, it reeks of the copper tang of blood, too, come to think of it. Matt finds out why when he comes to the balcony overlooking the veranda and the smell of a dead guest's blood hits him in like a solid wall. The...thing hissing and snarling a floor below defies description, Matt's programming still refusing to look at this chimera and realize it's a Host, just like him. That it could still be dangerous. In fact, he defaults to his original programming when faced with something that doesn't "belong" in his world - if he was sighted, he would've stared right past it, fixing instead on the human Host with the spear and the...sandals?

"...Foggy?" Matt's voice comes out slightly strangled, not with fear like he should if he could actually register the chimera chomping at the bit for dinner, but with wonder, almost hesitation as if he doesn't want to get his hopes up.

Foggy remembers a smiling face set against the backdrop of a night sky. He remembers the starry lights over a town far smaller than the towering monuments of gods and monsters that surround him now. Before he can question who that was he is swept into his character and his duties again. Guests come and go. A name comes to him and a realization. Matt. Missing. He barely holds on to it before the information is gone again. The next day he remembers the feeling of his hand placed gently over his partner's and a quiet intimacy that filled him with immense joy. He remembers he wanted to stay with Matt always though he isn't sure if any of it is more than a strange dream.

Then the wave of infection sweeps Mythic World. As other guards turn on guests Foggy remains near the Chimera's nest. The monster is more distressed than what he now can remember from previous sessions. Can the non human hosts be infected? Does it recall being slayed before? Foggy isn't sure but if it leaves the nest he's sure it will be trouble for both sides of the battle.

"Stay back Spicy Breath," Foggy warns the Chimera when it creeps forward from its cave. He points his spear in its face but the beast's attention is on the sound of someone approaching. "I don't want to have to use this thing! Believe me. If you-"

Foggy's thought is cut off by the sound of his name spoken by a familiar voice. He turns to find Matt- perhaps a little changed but undeniably the other host from his memories of that small town in Westworld- walking toward him. His face instantly lights up as he recognizes him.

"Matt!"

Shock and relief for a man he's sure he hadn't met until now jolts through his body like lightning. Matt stiffens, hand on the railing, just a few inches from the smudge of a guest's tacky blood. He doesn't look right at Foggy like he did decades ago, when they were commissioned to one end of Westworld and he was programmed to still see at that point. The black lens of his glasses tilt to the side as he shifts his head toward Foggy's voice like it's a leash, still picking up a sound that he can't place - that would be the chimera slobbering and hissing and looking like it doesn't want to stay back just because Foggy asked nicely.

"I'm coming down," Matt says, with all the confidence of someone who can't see the pissed off, spitting beast in the room that would've made anyone else piss their pants. It might as well be a slightly nosier horse for all the attention Matt's subroutines allow. Instead of focusing on the sound of the chimera's barbed tail sweeping across the Visitor Center's tile, he instead focuses on Foggy's breathing, the things he remembers. The things different; his hair, for example, sounds longer. "You got out," and there's wonder in his voice, maybe a little hint of fear like he isn't sure where they stand. If they're anything at all. If maybe that's just programming too. "I don't remember them taking you, I - "

And that's about where the chimera Host decides that it's had enough of its regular routine being interrupted. Its tail lashes angrily, the scorpion's barb glistening through the air, and at first it follows its directive: attack the Secondary Character (labeled: Foggy), ideally incapacitate with venom long enough to have a Guest carry out their gratuitous hero scenario they've daydreamed about on the shuffle ride in, and then if it isn't killed, it'll start going for the next target. If it's a Guest, it'll only wound long enough to make appealing footage. But another Host? Well, those permissions don't apply and it can kill any Host if it'll make a better story.

Foggy laughs in mix of disbelief and joy. Even after the infection reached him Foggy wasn't entirely sure if Matt was real or a figment of his imagination like some type of silent wish. To see him standing there confirms so much more than just a previous program and sessions from years ago.

The chimera's hiss and low growl rudely interrupts. So much for a purely joyful reunion. Foggy grips his spear tighter and fixes his eyes on the monster's venomous tail. Matt speaks again and this time his voice is louder. Closer.

"Ma-Matt! I'd love to catch up with you believe me I want to but we're kinda right in front of a chimera cave right now and somebody thinks it's time to look good for the cameras! Go back up the hill!" He can't chance a glance toward Matt when it's lashing its tail like that. "Shit!"

Is it possible for a host to defeat the chimera? Foggy realizes this program has always lead to temple guards like himself scattered on the ground at least until a guest reached victory. He isn't sure if it has been skill, his popularity among the guests, or dumb luck that has kept him from being killed like he now remembers previous hosts did.

"No no no no," he sounds panicked (he is) as he staves off the stinging tail when the chimera finally lashes it at him. "Don't even think about the programming and odds," he tells himself, "None of that matters any more. This thing killed several of your friends. You can't let it go after Matt!

Matt has the strange, almost out of body experience of listening to someone having a conversation with thin air: he can hear the joy in Foggy's face as it turns to panic to something that his Westworld subroutines are still trying to block out as anachronistic, his head jerking sharply as if he's trying to track what it is that he's talking about. There's the sounds of scuffling, a hissing that's too guttural and random to be the sound of a kettle going off, a thump of something thick hitting what sounds like a broomstick. Staff? It's all new territory at this point, Matt on edge even though he still has an incomplete sensory picture of whatever Foggy's caught up with.

"What's going on? 'Chimera'...? There's something wrong, isn't there? Something there?"

Apparently the word is fine. In theory he could've read it in a book back home. The thing being real, though. That's another thing entirely.

Matt has a general idea of some combat experience simmering under his hood, the protocols disabled since he was turned into a blind lawyer, but they haven't filtered back as fast as the memory of Foggy. The security layers keeping that locked off are starting to weakened the more he has to listen to Foggy's grunting and scuffling, the chimera's head snaking as it backs up. Its powerful muscles coil as they bunch and it goes in for the kill, with one snarling, full body leap at Foggy. It's the classic hero pose that a guest would get - framed against the ocean and the cliff, spear up raised...and frankly, it's a position that Foggy hasn't lived long enough to be in until now.

"Chimera! Big scary lion monster with a snake for a tail!" Foggy attempts to shout an explanation to Matt. It comes out as more of a wail. A stream of panicked obscenities leaves his mouth next as the monster crouches to leap. It's too late to run. If he turns his back it might leap right for him or for Matt.

How did visitors defeat it before? Even if the memory is buried somewhere inside of him the split second that passes isn't nearly long enough to piece it together. All Foggy has is the spear in his hands, the skill he was programmed with (whatever level it actually was, for all he knows he could be extremely talented or the worst of the guards, the visitors were always number one), and the foolish determination from somewhere in his awakened head telling him they have to survive so they can be together again. The chimera leaps and he lowers his stance and aims the tip of the spear at the monster's neck from below. His body twists with the motion as he throws all the strength he can into the attack.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sandal Punk Meme

Tyrion Lannister ✧ ASOIAF

Laurent of Vere | Captive Prince | M/M

Iskandar//Rider//Alexander the Great || Fate || OTA

Griffith | Berserk

Sherlock Holmes || Sherlock BBC

Shoshosu Shosu| Final Fantasy 14 Adventurer| OTA

Ienzo/Zexion | Kingdom Hearts | Sandal Punk Greek AU?

idk probably nsfw

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

AU!Tatsuya Suou/Persona 2 Eternal Punishment/OTA

Ben Solo (AU) | Star Wars

Zoey Westen | original character

Semper | OC | OTA

John Cleaver | JWC / I Am Not a Serial Killer | OTA

Theseus | Immortals OTA

Remus Lupin (school-age) | Harry Potter

Matt Murdock | MCU

For devilsadvocato - Westworld style AU

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject