( introlog #5 ) strangerer things

[natha]

You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready? Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION     All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit! You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.) The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything... The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings. As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself. ON A BEAM OF LIGHT     Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around. You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station... BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair. Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned? A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize. As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess— [ He continues for another 15 minutes... ] Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze! To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia! As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples. CLOSE ENCOUNTERS     Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through. But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves. THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings. They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction. Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met. WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way! FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up. Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away... But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely. DECISIONS, DECISIONS...     The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision... A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other. They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes. A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon. This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury. OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees. Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts! Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour. Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it? OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer. The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed. At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels. The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do. You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now. FINAL OOC NOTES     An AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 REP POINTS FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE AND HERE RESPECTIVELY BY APRIL 29th 11:59 PM EST. We will no longer be providing overflow posts. In an event where the post hits CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals or create their own catch-all post. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP. 1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

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Byerly Vorrutyer | The Vorkosigan Saga

[vorrutyer]

I. Forgetting.
[ This house was splendid, once upon a time. That much is quite clear. Through a window, it's clear that the place is positioned for defense, a sheer drop beyond the orchard wall. The ceilings are high, the decorations ornate, the fabrics and furnishings made of fine old velvet and handsome wood. But the home has clearly suffered - that much is clear; the walls and floors are dirty, the tapestries tattered; there's a smell in the air, must and something gone rotten. The culprit is not neglect, for this space is not neglected; it is excessively lived-in, the clutter of useless broken things dotting every surface, hoarded in every corner.

There are two teenagers in the room, a boy and a girl. He plays a fine violin, she a gorgeous piano. The music is a duet, sweet and solemn. The boy is very recognizably Byerly, though a Byerly rather different from the one of today. He's dressed in clothes not in the mode, his wrists and ankles protruding from his clothes, with hardly any sense of aesthetics and fashion; his face is clean-shaven; his hair is rather mussed; and there's an odd sort of earnestness to his manner. This boy grins unselfconsciously as they play, clearly delighted by the quality of the music. In contrast, the girl - his sister, visibly; she looks nearly identical to him - keeps her brow furrowed slightly in concentration, putting her heart into it. He's good; she's phenomenal.

Beside them stands Byerly, Byerly as an adult, his face vaguely wistful. ]

II. Of white and gold.
[ By is cheerfully ready to serve as Olympian tour guide. He approaches any visible newcomer with a broad, rather mocking smile, a deep bow - ]

I see that Olympia is getting all the gorgeous ones. Aren't we lucky. What aspects of the city are you interested in exploring, dear creature?

I.

[latkje]

[ Nash takes in the sudden shift in surroundings with a blink and a glance. His eyes pick up the frayed ends of the tapestries, the tears in the velvet— the fashion is unfamiliar but the situation isn't. In his own youth, he'd been sent to a few houses like this one, old, and stately, and close to finished.

He had been taught these were not a polite things to remark upon. ]

Okay. [ For a moment, only his eyes move, as if he were afraid of knocking something out of place. ] So they can read minds.

[vorrutyer]

[ His eyes flick over to Nash, narrowing warily before he relaxes. He'd told Nash about Nadine, after all, out of faith in the man's abilities and knowledge. Out of a desire to have someone look after her if something went wrong. There's nothing to hide, here - but there's still an instinctual protectiveness that makes him bristle, then relax.

He answers evenly: ]

They could read minds all along. Offering us our heart's desire from the very start.

[latkje]

That was different. [ He turns his head this time, to look at Byerly. ] This would require… [ He shakes his head. ] I've never experienced it, personally.

[ Of course, this memory is the Storm's doing, not the Nathan's, but he doesn't know that. ]

I can close my eyes if you want, but that won't help with the… [ The music. Nash feels very terrible about being here, which is strange, because he has no qualms about stealing someone's letters, or eavesdropping on private conversations, or personal space or personal secrets, generally. ]

forgetting

[idealisme]

[The memory stirs a similar memory in Enjolras- a fine house, a luxurious life. Instead of nostalgia it draws out his contempt for the lives of the rich. Why should anyone live like this when orphans starved on the street?

His arms are crossed as he watches the memory, lips pursed and disdainful.]

You parents' home? [He's noticed the children, but they don't have his attention.]

[vorrutyer]

Hardly that.

[ By's smile is polished and smooth and doesn't meet his eyes. He's not ashamed of this ruined place, the mildew-spotted walls and the broken glass and the warped floorboards, the piles of old newspapers gone yellow and congealed in the damp. He's not ashamed of himself, either, exactly, even if the open and earnest expression on his younger self's face gives him a little curl of discomfort. No; the problem is fear. The boy-revolutionary standing beside him and invading his memories is dangerous, as all revolutionaries are dangerous, and By does not want that danger falling on his sister.

So he turns his back on the pair of them, hands in his pockets, trying hard to look casual. And he strolls out of the room, leading Enjolras away from young-Byerly and young-Nadine, trying to draw him away before he gets a good look at her face. ]

Simply a figment of imagination sculpted into the shape of Vorrutyer Kreposte. Quite a different thing, don't you think, dear fellow?

[idealisme]

[His gaze is turning to the two children when Byerly turns and leaves. He doesn't trust that he's being told the truth. He doesn't trust those smiles and the dear fellows.

But he's not yet sure that Byerly isn't someone that can't be reasoned with. The man speaks logically and with reason, and unlike Grantaire doesn't reek of alcohol. He turns to follow, still scrutinizing the house and its furnishings.]

If I knew what a Kreposte what, I might have some opinion. [But that's beside the point. He assumes it's a home of some kind.] This isn't a memory of yours? That's how these phenomena have been explained to me.

i.

[tailorable]

[ Even before Eggsy looks to the source of the music, he realises he shouldn't be here. This isn't the sort of home he should ever be in, even in a less splendid state than it might have been long ago. And the music sounds far closer to Harry or Roxy's cultivated tastes than his own, too. He can't help but scan the room, noting the door and the window closer to him. He takes a step forward, peering out onto the grounds — a long way to run, undoubtedly. Then, he hazards a glance toward the music, attention flickering from the teenagers to Byerly. It takes a moment for the pieces to slot together.

His mouth thins, expression indicative of his discomfort despite his attempts to appear neutral. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his guard blacks and shifts his weight from one leg to the other, unsure of how to proceed. ]

Sorry. [ sorry that he's here, perhaps, or that he doesn't know how to leave. ]

[vorrutyer]

Sorry?

[ By doesn't distrust Eggsy, exactly. He feels as though he does understand the fellow on some level - understands that he's decent, that he's harmless, that he's trustworthy in his odd proleish way. But By is paranoid when it comes even to the smallest things, especially when it comes to his sister, sleeping up in those pods.

So when he smiles, there's something rather predatory in it. Waiting for Eggsy to slip up, to let loose the slightest hint that he might try to exploit this little peek at Byerly's heart. ]

Have you done something you need to apologize for, young fellow?

[tailorable]

[ Incredulity makes his features slacken. The question keeps his focus on Byerly, at least, stopping his eyes from wandering around that room. Eggsy doesn't distrust Byerly, either, not after he'd been near enough to kind. Kinder than others have been, certainly, when he'd asked after Henry and bought several drinks for the trouble. Playful at Christmas, when he could have snitched on Eggsy for playing at petty thievery. Total prick, he'd told Roxy in his debrief on all the refugees presently awake, but sometimes not that much of a prick.

He wonders if this is a simulation, just like the one that occurred when he and Byerly arrived on the station. ]

[ shrugging. ] Reckon I ain't supposed to be here, like, ever.

[ Is this trespassing? Breaking and entering? ]

ii.

[hidden_and_patient]

[It's not the first time Lizzie has heard a compliment like that, but set against so much other flattery and persuasion, it's easy to overlook and brush aside. The man had a face that charm went hand in hand with. A smile that could make the Devil swoon.

She smirked in amusement, willing to let him say such things for now, so long as it remained behind the line of propriety.]

What would you suggest? You must be familiar with it enough to know what I should see.

[vorrutyer]

Hmm.

[ By steeples his hands and lifts them to his lips, narrowing his long-lashed eyes. He looks the picture of concentration - save for the little smile plucking at the corners of his mouth, the traitorous little signs of amusement. ]

Well, I must tailor my tour to the desires of the person whom I'm leading. You have a face that's sweet and innocent, that much is true - but do you have a character to match?

[hidden_and_patient]

[Innocence was such a simple thing, rare and precious in the world. She can't remember a time that she might have actually been innocent, unaware of the schemes of her mother or part of the never ending struggle for the throne.

The comment is meant well, even if it is a double edged sword.]

Looks are often deceiving, but I suspect you know that. [He seemed to be a man that understood human nature. With eyes like his, he likely could read her very soul, if he wanted.] Show me what you think is worth seeing. Where you find yourself visiting during the day.

II

[diamondize]

[Considering Diamond is, quite literally, dazzling, the compliment is met with a light giggle and a smile, just taking it at face value.]

Thank you. That's very kind of you. [Organics are so cute...] I suppose... Clothing? And weapons? I only have my sword, but if it gets broken... Oh! Speaking of-- [They look briefly concerned]

Do you have doctors?

[vorrutyer]

[ That seems like an odd request. Odd requests all around. Still, smoothly, he replies: ]

But of course. Are you in need of one?

[diamondize]

Oh no, not right now but... Oh, maybe it's better to ask it a different way...

I need a doctor that can repair-- [Dia pauses, tilts their head, and considers how to phrase it. They're a little reluctantly to say it like this, but they eventually settle on:] A doctor that can repair jewelry.

i.

[flashystyle]

[Dorian stands alongside him in silence for a time, but it isn't dismal thing. He should probably feel a sense of guilt for the intrusion, but any possibility of it is trumped by the appreciation of the music and how happy the teenagers are in the moment. These days, imagining such a thing from Byerly's past might have been impossible.]

She plays beautifully. [He remarks, eventually.] Much more serious than you, but that's hardly a surprise.

[vorrutyer]

[ There's a little ripple of tension when Dorian speaks - and then he relaxes. It's hardly like he has any secrets left from the man. He is open and bare. The man has all the power in the world to hurt him; this does not change a thing.

And so, after a slight hesitation, he answers. ]

More serious about music, certainly. She could have been a professional, if she'd been allowed.

[flashystyle]

[All that he knows, and Dorian hasn't thought about it once. It's just another harmless thing about Byerly to him, and he treats it as such. Every thing about the way he carries himself is casual, like it's any other day.]

If she'd been allowed?

1, 5000 years late with composted starbucks

[summertimeblues]

[The jump from the crisp April air and and fresh dew to musty drapery and old books is too quick to parse. Richie couldn't have placed the moment if he tried. Every other teleportation method had some sort of preamble, no matter how brief. The swiftness of this one has him stumbling back against an bureau with a sharp inhale. Where on Earth...

The music strikes his ears next. The two figures, one on the violin and the other at the piano. His heart seizes up. The boy is slimmer, smooth faced, brightened around the edges in a shine only the young can emit, but the recognition is immediate. His stare flicks to the girl next. Same one from the pod, for sure and for shit, and just as sprightly and captivating as her brother in the height of youth. Identical. But the clothes fit ill. Like everything else in the room, the pair are handsome but poorly cared for. The stacks of relics around them give the impression of a curio shop.

Then there's the man he does know. Watching his younger self with the rare unguarded expression. True want, love, sweet reveries. Richie understands nothing and yet understands at once. The man was astoundingly severe when it came to clamming up about the family. Especially his sister.

(But even outside of all this, Richie had hoped this could have been put off. Maybe another month, another year if he had his way...)

Richie stands in silence at the other end of the room, no doubt looking like an utter dolt. Pardon him my good man, just an erroneous stop on the way to the loo. He clucks his tongue and dips his hands into his pockets, eyes casting around for the exit. Never once hitting Byerly's.]

Well ain't this just the wrongest turn ever taken. Don't mind me, I'll leave you to it. [There is a door on the adjacent wall. Richie rounds the elegant messes, giving a little wave as he attempts to beeline to it.] Nice tunes, by the way, you're both fit for an orchestra if I say so myself.

I'm proud of your environmental consciousness

[vorrutyer]

[ It's easy to feel fear. A bit of debauchery had repaired some of the ill will he felt towards Richie, definitely, as had information about just what the fellow had gone through with Prior. But there's still a nervous, wary little prickle that runs up his spine. Fast-talkers are dangerous - hell, he should know, he is one. Smart people are dangerous. Skinny, twisty bastards are dangerous, the little monsters who had shitty childhoods having their arms broken by bigger boys, because they've learned how to come at you in a way that'll make you hurt. Richie has proven that it's not likely that he'd pose a threat to Nadine, but there's still the instinctive mistrust. How can he know for sure.

So his expression goes smooth at the sound of Richie's voice, the emotion giving way to his usual smoothly cheerful-ironic mask. The smile becomes a smirk. And he turns, steps in such a way that ever-so-subtly puts him between Richie and the echo of his sister (knowing, knowing, that it's not really her, but still; he still has to). And he deflects: ]

Oh, come now. What do you know about music, mon Richard?

i

[dianano]

[ Steve isn't sure how he ends up where he is, but it wouldn't be the first time something happened to him here that he couldn't explain. Besides, there's hardly anything unpleasant about what he's witnessing. Young teens playing music? He'd take that any day over what he saw during the kidnappings.

He doesn't recognize that it's Byerly right away - they've only met once and the younger, clean-shaven face throws him off the scent. It's only until he's looking at who he's next to that he makes the connection. ]

Quite a talented pair you made. [ Steve comments, impressed. ] Do you still play?

[vorrutyer]

[ By's smile turns a little guarded, a little wary. His eyes are watchful. The mistrust is visible and near instantaneous. Yet, all the same, he does answer, and his voice is light when he does. ]

Oh, yes. Much better than I did then. Dreadful performance; I apologize profusely.

[priorly]

[There's still beauty here, crackling and electric in its transience, the last gasps of something fading from glory under clutter and lack of care. The place is like a gallery of lives lived: every scratch, every discarded trinket - Prior's fingertips skirt splinters in the doorway as he walks through it, as though he's tracing the outline of whoever passed this way before and was too rough with it. There is a lot that feels scratched and jagged-edged here, but not everything.]

This music...

[He looks like he might have been separated from a tour party, following the sound and letting it draw him in. The shift from wherever he was (a bed, but this isn't dreaming, he knows that state too well) to wherever he is doesn't seem to have come with a jolt.

And across the room, three figures, none of them unfamiliar. Two of them with a youth and beauty vital enough to clash sharply with their surrounding - the other growing almost to resemble it, somehow. Prior's expression's an odd mix of warmth and sorrow.]

Oh, I think I've been here before.

[vorrutyer]

Oh.

[ The nostalgic spell is broken by the sound of a voice that is a bit out-of-place. The unpredictable rhythms of English pulling him out of the singsong French of his childhood. He blinks like he's waking, and remembers himself - remembers that, yes, this isn't real. This isn't his life now. ]

To my home? And here I thought you'd lived your life earth-bound, dear Prior.

[ His smile is...complicated. A little shame, a little worry, a little sorrow, a glint of love submerged under all those murky waters. He looks back, then, at the two little waifs and their boundless joy. ]

While walking my memories, I presume?