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had me feelin' like a ghost
Who: Sandra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tutorb) & VARIOUS
What: General catch-all and come-at-me for December! Mostly because I'm allergic to captchas. There is an open prompt in here but I'm mostly writing starters!! If you would like one, drop in.
When: ... December!
Where: All over Wyver.
Warning(s): spooky sewer ghost, richie tozier do not interact.
1. a prompt
[ The shady tavern doesn't seem to be terribly crowded, but most of the seats at the counter are taken. Save for one, beside a shimmering glass ball perched upon the stool's meager cushion for people-watching. ]
[ Taking the empty spot, you'll find yourself suddenly in the company of an ethereal green figure, perched on the seat with its color coordinated orb. This, she reasons, is at least slightly better company than the last she had been enduring a few minutes ago. Hopefully. It had set the bar very low. ]
Would you care for a drink? [ She gestures vaguely to, sure enough, that full glass that had been sitting seemingly unoccupied in the elbowspace of the orb's chair. ] Some drunkard fancied me solid enough to enjoy one. At least someone could stand to benefit from the idiot's coin.
2. a wildcard
( BECAUSE LET ME LOVE YOU. Drop me a line here and I'll write you a starter, or hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
pwnyo or pwnyo#1405 on discord if you want to hash smth out. )
tutorb) & VARIOUSWhat: General catch-all and come-at-me for December! Mostly because I'm allergic to captchas. There is an open prompt in here but I'm mostly writing starters!! If you would like one, drop in.
When: ... December!
Where: All over Wyver.
Warning(s): spooky sewer ghost, richie tozier do not interact.
1. a prompt
[ The shady tavern doesn't seem to be terribly crowded, but most of the seats at the counter are taken. Save for one, beside a shimmering glass ball perched upon the stool's meager cushion for people-watching. ]
[ Taking the empty spot, you'll find yourself suddenly in the company of an ethereal green figure, perched on the seat with its color coordinated orb. This, she reasons, is at least slightly better company than the last she had been enduring a few minutes ago. Hopefully. It had set the bar very low. ]
Would you care for a drink? [ She gestures vaguely to, sure enough, that full glass that had been sitting seemingly unoccupied in the elbowspace of the orb's chair. ] Some drunkard fancied me solid enough to enjoy one. At least someone could stand to benefit from the idiot's coin.
2. a wildcard
( BECAUSE LET ME LOVE YOU. Drop me a line here and I'll write you a starter, or hit me up at
for red.
[ Most street life of the four-legged variety in the Old City slums tended to be of a ratty persuasion, and even the surviving dogs tended to be small and scrappy. There is one, though, the veritable queen of strays, that is a very, very big dog. Big enough to survive, thrive, and somehow fit a big old crystal in its jaws for fun. It seems that tennis ball green is still alluring even across universes. ]
[ It's a stretch, a prize she can scarcely make a noise around, but she's got it, and she's prancing through the streets with her head held high. ]
You uncouth Cur! You cannot pretend to ignore me by occupying your mouth, explain this nonsense!
[ The dog seems, understandably, perfectly oblivious to the protests somehow emanating from its own mouth, content to parade its treasure around until someone manages to make eye contact with it. Someone with bright red hair. The moment she does and the woman so much as moves, the hound halts, tail wagging furiously. Move again and she'll drop to a hunch, rear in the air, before pattering away a good couple yards, growling muffled around the orb. ]
[ Play? Maybe. But NO TAKE. ONLY THROW. ]
for clair.
[ Of course, when anything does come up, her protests only ever do work a fraction of the time. The evening finds itself rainy, and the side door to a bar suddenly pops open. ]
How exactly is it loitering if I take up no space?
[ The employee doesn't seem terribly interested in answering with more than the grunt he gives as he hucks the orb into the street. She hadn't been that unruly... Only managed to coolly insult a couple of bothersome rowdy drunks into a fighting frenzy, and here she is, being thrown out on technicality. The nerve... Not that she'd been a paying patron from the start. Loitering it probably was. ]
[ But her crimes scarcely matter now. Her sentence is cast, and that is to be swept slowly but surely by grimy gutter water toward a sewer grate. A sewer grate with no grate. This is probably a serious safety hazard, but one yelp later and she's clattering down down down and out of sight into the slurry of street filth. ]
[ Uuuugh. Of course, she cannot see, feel, or smell, but it's the principle of the thing... ]
[ In the next moment or so, a shimmering green figure peeks its way out of the sewer. At least the orb seems to have lodged itself somewhere. Or in something... What she scarcely wants to imagine, but for now, here she is. Calling out to the nearest kind soul she can sense. Again. Once I establish CR maybe someday I can hang out with people by not damseling. ]
Excuse me!
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Wyver is a lively sort of city, so it isn't entirely uncommon for someone to call out to her or stop her in the street—usually they're vendors or miscreants, but still...
She stops walking, glancing around for the source of the voice— ]
Yes?
[ —surprised to find that there isn't anybody around who appears to be talking to her. In fact, there doesn't appear to be anybody around, period. Er... ]
Hello?
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[ Anyway, while she manages to snare the attention of a passerby on the quiet street, no cause for celebration just yet. She still has no earthly idea who is talking to her, from the sound of it. ]
Down here, [ Sandra adds, pointedly. And while she can sense just where her potential knight in shining armor happens to be standing above her, she cannot really judge how tucked under the street her apparition is... Up is her best bet though. ]
[ So she raises a hand, her tall mask clutched in it for just a little extra height. It ends up fanning like a green-tinged white flag... incorporeally through the curb at the woman's feet. Hello. ]
don't you fuckin tell me what to do
[Forgive him if he startles. Richie hadn't expected company, and not so suddenly and incorporeal as that.
Yet when the voice comes, his shoulders part ways with his ears and he breathes easy. It's comforting, even. He puts his head in one hand and shakes it there, chuckling off the spook and staving the need to gawp.] I'd been wondering if someone packed you up in a knapsack and took you off the ship.
[Familiar faces are few and far between these days. Well, face might be stretching it, but it's closer than what he'd got in the kitchens over a plate of bolognese. He pulls upright to get a better look, blinking with a divot between his brows. He looks down, then up again.
Yeah, he'll take that drink. He downs a third of the pint with a steady gulp.]
Since when were you able to...mist?
I'm just looking out for you!!
If only I had been so lucky. Apparently I did not even warrant a sack.
[ Just chucked in the cargo hold. Does she not look like she needs some bubble wrap?! Not to mention it's been literal hell trying to keep track of her things so far, so much so that someone is definitely handwaving all of it. All she wants for whatever Christmas is is a bag... Anyway, excuse you, she has a perfectly normal face, it just happens to be a little see-through and spiritous. ]
Since always, [ she admits coolly, feigning to rest an elbow on the counter as he drinks in her stead. It's... just a tiny bit sunk through the surface, but it's a pretty good try. ] I assumed you were having enough trouble attempting to wrap your head around things. Are they sinking in a little better for you, now? Or have you given up entirely and embraced the madness?
i'm an ADULT i'll go in the sewer if I want to!!!
[don't let him back in the ship pls
Richie takes the time to study her as he works through another sip. She must have been quite attractive before getting zapped into crystal. Young too, but it's hard to pin anything down when the gal is little more than fog and light. If he was to give it a ballpark he'd be saying anywhere from twenty six to thirty two. And lord a livin', how tragic did that make it all? Locked up and shipped out to guide the unworthy. Done before she got to do much of anything.
On the other hand? She's probably fashionable for Jedi, but if Richie was taking his pick of barstools he'd go for a gal without eight wraps of linen and a ponytail that looped a foot off her head.]
I've done a little embracing. Not by choice, mind you. This kid on the boat, he just... [Richie purses his lips and splays his hands in the air, almost mimicking Yusuke's tricks. He drops the act before it gets going.] Christ, can't even think how to describe it. Let's just say you've lost the championship belt on being the weirdest dickie around.
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[ You're all probably pretty equally terrible, after all. She's heard nothing but grief from the drive down, from everyone. She doesn't need to be a mind reader to get the thoughts on that flowing. ]
[ Speaking of, she seems to be quite on the forefront of Richie's mind at the moment. Not just because they are conversing either. Attractive for a ghost, he thinks. Of course. It is not her fault if eternal holy servitude comes with a uniform, and she will not apologize for the hair. That's just what it does when it floats around in here. ]
[ Not that any of it matters, besides the subconscious potshots at her ego. She'll set it aside for now along with his tragic pangs, in favor of listening to Richie struggle to find words for his encounters. He finds actions, but those do her little good, really. All the vague display earns from her is a furrow of her own brow. ]
Such a vivid picture you paint, [ she grunts, less amused this time. Eyes still closed, as they have been since she'd appeared. ] Come now, you cannot simply leave me wondering when my title is on the line. Did he sing in a foreign tongue and spit fire from his mouth? Did he wave his hands and part the seas? Summon some greater unspeakable horror from the depths? You have baited my curiosity most cruelly.
[ She could just prod around for all the fuss he's remembering, but she'll see if she can't glean some entertainment from him before she gleans answers for herself. ]
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[Looking out at it from the cockpit window, it seemed the struggle was both incredible and unanimous. Nearly everyone was spinning dizzy before they figured out the trick, and what a creepy one it turned out to be. Nothing was sacred, not even the back corners of your head.
It occurs to him that what he'd believed was some otherworldly glow occupying that blank space of her eyes was in fact her closed lids. The form is solid enough to give some details but others you have to squint harder for. Like how all her lashes were lined up at the bottom of her eyes. Green on green on glow makes it a little difficult to parse out, and he'd thought the lack of pupil and iris was some sort of affect. Like how they denoted the undead and the possessed in cartoons. Leave the eyeball blank.
Richie tilts his head, curious. Was she blind, too? Or was this part of the curse?]
What, are you jealous? You can't be the Queen of Screams forever, you know. They're pulling 'em up from every corner of the universe. Scooch over and make room on the throne.
[He does chuckle at that last guess.] Unspeakable horror. Yeah, sure, something along those lines. We were out on a boat trying to row to civilization and this big honking sea snake comes sniffing around. Leaps out of the water and tries to take a bite out of my head, so I'm hollering at the kid to just use what we've got in the boat. A couple of oars with spikey ends, net, some kind of gunpowder grenade made out of canvas.
Instead, he calls out this name and next thing I know, there's a fucking giant wrapped in Oriental silk in the boat with us. [Thinking about it again even after the explanation, the evidence, sends a small shiver down his spine. It's not just the painted face (though that hadn't helped much), it's the suddenness of its arrival. How ludicrous it looked under sunlight and shadow. It belonged in pictures, not in the flesh.] And the kid, his regular clothes are gone and now he's dressed in leather with a vampire collar, and this fancy costume mask on like he's stepping off the set of some MTV joint. And they both wave their arms around like they're doing kung fu fighting, and they blast the snake with a bunch of ice. Out of thin air, like it's nothing. Part near shit my pants.
[That's putting it lightly. Partial omissions make it sound almost funny, but Richie hadn't been laughing when the bang whiz pop had started and he'd thought the thing between them was something else entirely. Smashed the wine bottle on its head and screamed at it to leave the kid alone.
He needs to go make sure It's asleep. Soon. He's heard they've got the teleporter running.
The very notion has him going for another swig of that freebie.]
How about yourself? You obviously lived through the journey. Who packed you up?
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Anyway, it appears to be sticking out of the sewer grate—through the sewer grate, she should say. ]
My goodness...
[ Clair kneels down, adjusting her umbrella so that it's tucked against her shoulder. She doesn't get any closer to the grate yet since... this is weird. ]
Is someone there?
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[ That aside, she'll pout a little at his jealous implications, but save her feelings for after his description. Which is... about as unhelpful as his lack of one. The sea snakes, she had endured herself, but the majority of his words (Oriental, vampire, MTV, kung fu, what the fuck Richie) only pass for so much gobbledygook. So, prodding away at those memories of his she goes. ]
[ They gracefully paint a much clearer picture; indeed, a robed and painted giant, and of course it's Yusuke parading around in mask and leather, never had she had a single normal feeling about that boy—but... Less graceful is the lurid haze that seems cast across the canvas by this unreliable narrator of a brain. Though she has never seen the titan before, there's a feeling of too sudden, too big, too many teeth, somehow? A strange and haunted recollection to be sure. ]
[ She puts those to rest quickly and promptly, and the only betrayal of dismay across her countenance is a faint scrunch of her nose as she leans away ever so slightly. But that could just as easily be for his painful description than anything in his head. ]
You do know how mad you sound, do you not? [ Since that's always what's bothering him it seems. She smiles pleasantly enough, though. ] I am sure I will find a way to outdo him, give me time.
[ Because she may not be jealous... but she may be a little competitive. (And gobsmacking Richie Tozier might be one of her favorite new hobbies.) But he probably needs time to recuperate after this last ordeal. For his next question, she lets out a tired, frustrated sound, sitting back to fold her arms. ]
I scarcely remember. I was tossed into the cargo of a ship and dug out on the other end by perhaps the cageiest woman I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. She attempted to pull a knife on me for stowing away.
[ She gives a melodramatic gesture. A knife on her. The see-through bitch. ]
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[ But, Sandra perks up as the presence above her seems to stoop infinitesimally closer, and for a moment, she ceases her waving in favor of peering up through the grate like Timmy stuck in the well. If Timmy was old, tired, and eternally pissed off. Which he should be, by all rights, considering he has to keep getting his ass saved by a dog. Much like her life is now. ]
[ She does do her best to temper her blazing indignation, though. After all, this may be her only hope for a while. Or her only hope forever if she falls any further. ]
Someone is, [ the spirit calls up, over the soft hiss of rain and gurgle of water down the drain. ] And while I suppose I should commend you for not foolhardily sticking your head down into this wretched tunnel as some people might, I did fall rather far.
[ The crystal did, anyway. The ghostly figure in the grate does make up a good portion of the distance, but its source is still quite, quite out of reach beneath it. There's a short, bleak pause. ]
I am stuck, you see.
[ .......... Help. ]
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[Resuming normalcy, he adds:] Sure, okay. I expect your oddity by no later than Friday next week, or it won't count towards your grade.
[When she folds her arms he knows he's in for it, brow taking a bemused arch before she even begins. This oughta be good.]
A knife? [Heaven help them. Richie bursts out laughing.] You're shitting me, that's hysterical. Did you give her the ghost treatment or was she trying to etch her initials in the ol' glass dome?
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My word! Is this some manner of... [ But the floating orb figure called her(?)self a person, so Clair, for once in her life, wisely changes tack. ] Are you a spirit of some sort?
[ She's seen a lot of weird things in her life, so why not? Without giving Sandra any time to answer, she quickly adds— ]
Well, it is no matter! If you are in need of assistance, then I shall gladly grant it!
[ She nods her head sharply, as if to punctuate her point, then stands and surveys the storm drain, her new problem for the evening. Who cares about all that muck and debris down there! Well, she cares, but saving... someone... from peril is more important here! Lending aid to... orbs who need it... is her sacred duty as a knight of the One Kingdom!
Also, sewers are kind of a new thing for her, so there's a lot of surveying going on here. How can she even get in there? ]
will you love me even if i'm a million years late
Which ... there are better, more dignified ways for the two of them to meet, probably. A soccer ball is one thing, but a glorified tennis ball is another entirely — she turns, meets eyes with the dog, its ridiculously large prize, and. Oh man. It's so terribly rude of her, but there's a small exhale. Something close to a chuckle. Her lips quirking up helplessly as she recognizes what's in the beast's mouth.
She crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow at the playfulness. She should help — she knows she has to, there's no way she could just leave the orb spirit in peril like this. When the dog growls, she leans down. Extends a hand out to ask for the ball, slimy and covered in spit, not that she hardly seems to mind.
C'mon, be nice. She can't play if you don't give her the ball. ]
if I must
[ As soon as the dog's attention seems to fixate on something, Sandra turns her attention outward, and sure enough, catches mental wind of that delightfully silent young woman she had met with on the station. Except she isn't so silent this time—it's barely perceptible, but she doesn't miss that unvoiced snicker, its amusement amplified across the airwaves of thought. ]
Oh. Wonderful. [ A tad harsh, but look at the day she's had, Red. A familiar face in such a situation is definitely the best thing she could ever hope, dream, or ask for at this point, but why does it have to be her... Not that her tone has any sort of real malice behind it—she knows better than anyone that physical conditions certainly cannot be helped at times—but it's more than a little hopeless. ] If this mongrel will not listen to me, I should scarcely think she will have an ear for you.
[ The dog lets out a very muffled boof, watching the outstretched hand for a moment, before backing up again, lifting her head. Nodding? Almost rearing like an upset horse. ]
[ She might... She might have the ball stuck in her mouth at this point. Like she'd somehow gotten her teeth around the thing, and now can't crank her jaw open enough to loose it. ]
:blush:
She hears the tone, and responds in kind — the warmth and amusement slipping off her face as she seriously contemplates walking away from the entire mess. Especially if that's the orb's first reaction to seeing her ( could have done with a nicer welcome, thank you ).
And she almost, almost does. Dog be damned, there's more important things to do than to try and help a rude as heck ball from fulfilling its true destiny. Or something. Except there's a boof, then a whine, and she can't ... she can't look away from that, can she.
She takes a step, then a second. Lowers her body so that she's crouching down in front of the dog, gently scratching behind her ears. Then around to the side of his face, then to his jaw — anything in an attempt to get her to relax her hold on the orb, as if that'll get them somewhere. Spoilers, she has no idea what she's doing. ]
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[ CUT HER SOME SLACK. ]
[ Well, at least she has a slightly more endearing companion to keep ahold of the sympathy here. Unfortunately, it just keeps ahold of her too... The dog seems to ease up and accept the pets, though, another boof making its way around the orb. ]
Even without my making a cork of myself, she has been just about as vocal as you, today...
[ Here she goes again, implying that dogs should talk like some kind of freak. But at least the voice is a little more resigned and a little less rude this time. She's sorry, probably...... Anyway, there isn't really much she can do on her end besides yell and sparkle, or make a ghost of herself, and she isn't sure she wants to spook the hound that badly with someone holding onto it. ]
[ She can hum, though. So that, she tries gently... And apparently it resonates with every tooth in the jaw clamped around her, because the dog suddenly whines sharply, waggles her head, and with the whole of her snout buzzing, sneezes. All without warning, all through her nose. All snotty. But apparently in attempting every bodily function to get the buzzing to stop, she also yawns shortly after, and it's just enough to drop the orb with a clink onto the pavement. ]
[ Of course, with the horrible sensation out of her mouth at last, she does what any good dog would do. Let loose a proper boof and stick her wagging tail in the air again. Absolutely ready to shove the ball right back in her mouth. THROW?? ]
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You shall have it when you least expect it. And I shall make up the points with impact.
[ But the pout doesn't persist long, not when she has a story to tell, and such an invested audience. She laughs along with him, or perhaps in retrospect at her own plight. ]
I kid you not, [ she snickers, softer than his bark, but the corners of her mouth are definitely quirked upward to share in his amusement. ] It was the fullest of spectral performances, I assure you. I believe my head ended up passed through some cargo and everything.
[ She raises a hand, about halfway up her face, as if bidding him to imagine it stuck in the ceiling down to her nose. ]
Anyway, she let me go eventually. Tossed me out, someone must have thought I looked important and dumped me on a rowboat... [ She hums, gently, as if fast forwarding to the next interesting part of her adventures. ] Perilous as your companion sounds, at least he must have been able to hold a candle to a sea serpent... Mine scarcely knew what the pointed end of a spear was meant for.
[ Now this is just the roast-fest of the rest of chat cr. ]
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[ Sandra's going to redact her "not foolhardy" statement at once, but beggars cannot be choosers in her situation. She should be grateful she's hooked someone so daring, and so for now, she is. ]
Your enthusiasm is... admirable. I should hope you will not come to regret it halfway through.
[ Don't leave her hangin'. Not that she isn't used to that, it's Fine, but PUT THAT MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS. Her spiritous form is probably obscuring some important details, here, so for now she'll retreat. The apparition dissipates, leaving the sewer dark save for the glow of the orb down below. She can intensify that, though, to a dissonantly cheery glimmer, an ethereal hum echoing up the drain like a homing beacon. ]
[ It's definitely out of arm's reach, but the grate itself is technically missing, so, lose the umbrella and there is probably enough room to squeeze into it...... ]
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Well, the drain looks (probably) wide enough for her to fit through, so that's what she tries first. She sets down her umbrella—thankfully, the rain has calmed down a little bit—and gets down on her hands and knees, turning around so that she can breach the drain opening in the most dignified way possible: ass first. ]
Nonsense! [ There's a pause here as she descends a little. It involves shimmying. ] Is it not the duty of a knight to— [ More shimmying. ] —to lend aid where it is needed? Why, it isn't just a duty, but also a—
[ Oh Mila, her butt is stuck. She grunts, shimmying away... and away... and away... until finally she squeezes through. The rest isn't nearly as bad as that, and she drops down to the sewer floor with a hah! of triumph. ]
—a pleasure!
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But, whatever. She'll be the bigger person!!! And the dog's kind of cute and she'd feel bad if they had to be stuck with this huge green thing between their teeth 8(
... Even if she got snot all over Red's dress. All's forgiven, probably, even if she's going to have an interesting time trying to explain this to Boxer later. She wipes the worst of it down to the ground and attempts to rub her hands off of it, with varying degrees of success. Not that she gets a whole lot of time to spend on that anyway, considering the dog is very much down to play —
And despite the short-term memory issues she may have, it's not that easy for Red to forget. She stands to grab the ball from the ground, wiping off the worst of the mucus off the surface ( which still leaves a whole lot on there, gross ). Looks between the orb and the dog, then one more time — before she makes every motion to throw it.
Slowly, winding her arm back up, eyes on the dog as she watches the tail wag faster, hopping side to side as she gets ready to fetch.
A pointed pause, then she swings her arm forward ( the dog darts forward, chasing its target through the street ). Except the orb never leaves her hand, and now she's left with one (1) orb but no dog. Score. ]
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The tale is an unfortunate one, but coming second hand it's anecdotal gold. Richie's chuckling into his pint. The drink's halfway done by now and it settles warm in his belly. He'd need another two or three within the hour to get ripe, but he's enjoying himself enough that the buzz is hardly needed.]
God, sounds like a true nightmare. Who was it? The one in the boat, I mean. How'd you even make it back here in one piece?
[They'd have to build her a little robot trolley. Or strap her to a dog's back. Some measure of mobility, or life was going to keep being so damn unfair.]
Yeah, yeah you could say that. [It worried him some. Not only in the sense that it was all spookum and nonsense, but in the far sadder truth that it must have somehow been necessary.] It makes you wonder, if he's so ready to pull out all the stops at the drop of a hat...what the hell was he doing back home? [Richie scoffs.] He's just a kid. Can't see the sense in it at all.
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[In some ways, this is the most Cloudbank this place has felt since they'd arrived. And he's been enjoying the party, for the most part. Nice to see people have a good time. (Even hopping through time and space, some things are apparently pretty constant.) But he's more of a wallflower by nature, so it's only a matter of time before he retreats to the edges of the dance floor to regroup.
Spotting Sandra's orb resting against a leafy centerpiece on a table, he's quick to and see how she's doing. The answer seems to be "pretty well for herself," considering the the small pile of while and gold ribbons she's collecting. ...somehow.
He sets the Transistor down against the table and takes a seat and reaches over to pick one of the pins up out of the pile to examine it—not to boost his own score, because it already matches the white-and-gold one he's got clipped to his lapel ever since the Olympian in charge of handing them out had singled him out for it. (Probably largely because it manages to fit in seamlessly with the rest of his getup.)]
Wow. Really winning 'em over.
[But who's keeping score. (Hah.) His tone tips over from impressed to gently teasing.]
Didn't take you for the life of the party type.
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[ Being chatted up at punch bowls and swung impotently around the dance floor is all miserably fine, she supposes. Having never been to such a function in her life—last life or this—she assumes it is infinitely more enjoyable with a body to move, intoxicate, and make poor decisions with. Mostly, it has been an exercise in people-watching (-sensing), but as soon as the whisper of competition had been introduced into the air, well. She's been living. ]
[ That is to say, finally there is something to accomplish on her own terms. The first one or two took a bit of heckling, but after that, the slowly growing pile became like a siren song to the most competitive of passersby. How could an orb be swindling so many Olympians out of their pins? What an outrage to be dealt with! Well... they learned. And most of them were indeed either honorable or scared enough to leave their badge and retire, making her the tiny, spherical dragon nested on her hoard she's been truly meant to be all evening. ]
[ As soon as she senses the approaching figure, quite familiar in its peculiarness, Sandra wastes no time in manifesting beside him the moment he takes his seat. ]
Please. The party life has been coming to pester me for the past hour or two. I have simply been indulging it. [ And yet she seems quite a bit less bothered by the concept of "pestering" than one might ever expect her to be, if the cheshire grin is anything to go by. ] Are you perhaps tempted by a challenge?
[ She senses him going for her stash, but it's hardly with worry. If he's for Olympia, he has no use for it, and she has no issue trouncing a fellow Wyver should he make a break for it. Being as passive as he is, she cannot say she expects him to accept, but of course she has to ask. She's on a roll. ]
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Doesn't look like it'd be much contest.
[As predicted, he demurs. Cuts out the middleman and reaches up to unpin the white ribbon from his lapel and set it down in her pile of spoils like a little white flag. All yours, champ. (All fun and games, but—it's not hard to remember that all the competition translates to a very real bit of social unrest that he's still getting up to speed on. And he's plenty happy to be Switzerland, at this juncture. Symbolically or otherwise.)]
Glad to see you're having fun with it, though.
[However she's even managing. And don't even try to deny that you're enjoying yourself, Sandra. "Indulging," his ass.]
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Suit yourself, [ she hums, taking his olive branch with grace. Ah, social unrest, a time honored tradition, one she hardly cares to engage in apart from this silly pastime. She knows just as much loyalty to the black ribbon affixed to one of her leaves as she owes the discarded white ribbons it presides over. She's just been given a ribbon for the city she has actually visited... Detestable as it is, at times. ]
[ It hardly matters tonight. A trophy is a trophy is a trophy. Anyway, perhaps to some she might temper her enthusiasm for the little sport, but for this one in particular, she will permit herself to grin on. ]
One has to make fun where one can, you know. Or perhaps, I suppose, you do not.
[ Considering his legs, and how brief of a blip of his already blip-like existence in comparison to hers has been imprisoned. Said more knowingly than bitterly. ]
I trust you have been making your own fun as well. [ This time curiously. After all, he doesn't much strike her for the partying type. ]
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He twists the ribbon between his fingers for a last thoughtful moment before relinquishing it to her hoard.]
Guess I don't. [A quiet nod to the parts where their situation differs. (And where it is the same. Some reminder of where he might—or might not—end up, some day. In a decade. Or ten of them. Or eighty.) It puts a queer little damper on his cheer, but he doubts she means for it. Honestly—]
I'd be lying if I said it wasn't strange. Not so bad, though. [Y'know. He isn't as limited in this as she is, but—it's an adjustment. The familiar motions in the unfamiliar place would be strange enough. This is much more Red's scene than his, but more his scene than some. Just by nature of living in Cloudbank his whole life. That said—] Could use a break. Thought I'd see if you needed some company.
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[ The comparison is a comfort, somehow. They are stubborn and stupid enough to strive through anything. ]
[ The woman's mutterings are a bit muffled, but sooner or later they finally free themselves along with the rest of her, and she lands in a fashion most proud of herself. For which she will receive a soft little burst of claps as the apparition shimmers into view again. By no means a raucous applause, but not a slowclap either. ]
Well, it is not a duty most knights I have known tend to adhere to, at least not of your kind, [ because Wyrm-knights are notwithstanding. Human soldiers back in her day had rarely found honor at the top of their list of values. ] So for that, you have my thanks. To whom is it that I owe my most daring rescue?
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Case in point, she's definitely going to have to wash this outfit thoroughly—or possibly just throw it away. It's not the cleanest or most dignified of rescues... but—! More importantly, she's made it down into the sewer, and she can continue her act of derring-do.
The applause certainly spurs her on. She even bows her head a little bit, as if this is all just in a day's work. ]
Ah, of course! Please forgive me for not introducing myself forthwith. I am Lady Clair, knight of the One Kingdom of Valentia. [ She bows her head again, a little more deeply this time. ] And you are?
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Charming, [ she mutters, but before she can comment much more, she's being wound up in a fashion she can't help but feel is dreadfully familiar. ]
Oh no. [ Bleak, but sharp as she's drawn back. ] Oh no, you are joking, you—
[ And she slings— ... through the motion of the throw and winds up back securely in the woman's hands again. ]
—are joking. You ought to stop taunting me like this, we shall never learn to trust.
[ Which she sighs just as facetiously, so neither of them really are gunning for the friendship path, here, are they... She's grateful, though, don't get her wrong! The relief is palpable in her tone, if sparing. ]
I can hardly believe that worked... What an imbecile. [ The Cur, not you. Promise. ] Well, you have my thanks... again. Though you ought to make yourself scarce before she catches on.
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[ As for her gentle downer, she means it, and she does not. A nod to the duality of their states all the same, but surely he is not quite so doomed to an eternity of this as she is... It's difficult to get on her level, after all. That is not a conversation for tonight. ]
Riveting as this stationary hunt of passing strangers is, in all honesty, I have had more company than I know what to do with, this evening...
[ As much as she loves attention now that she is finally permitted more than slivers of it, she's been getting hit with it head-on since her arrival here, and at this party? Borderline overwhelming. Like starving for weeks and then attempting to eat an entire plate of sickeningly rich dessert in a single sitting. 80% of the weariness stems from JJ alone. Nevertheless she does tilt her head his way, endearingly. ]
Though yours is far from unwelcome. Funny that those somewhat able to grasp the concept of an amiable silence often make for the most pleasant chats.
[ You know when to shut up, etc. A severely undervalued skill. JJ. ]
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Red echoes Sandra's sighs with one of her own, shooting the orb a pointed look ( as if she could get see ). Though the the reminder is ... good, probably, even if she continues to be a giant jerk about it. She briefly wants to ask where Sandra wanted to go before she was so rudely interrupted by a ( rather excellent ) dog, but ... she doesn't have a whole lot of options at the moment.
Or time. Which means she turns in the opposite direction, easily disappearing into the crowd. Hopefully the smell of everything else is enough for the dog to have a hard time finding them once more.
Maybe she'll just take Sandra home. Boxer could chat about being inanimate with her, or something. She just mostly wants a shower, tbh. ]
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That count as a formal request?
[For amiable silence, he means. He gets it. Kind of a shame, though. She'd been a good enough dance partner, when they'd had the chance. ...Harder to manage now, he supposes.]
Could find you somewhere with less foot traffic.
[If you need it.]
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Oh of course not, [ she snips, to both comments, really. ] I would not give up this space for the world, it has been most profitable.
[ Ever so slightly, her fists clench. Seems like her long-dormant competitive bloodlust is managing to outweigh the unpleasant surplus of attention. It's a different sort of attention, once the pyres are stricken aflame. It's all the small talk that has put a strain on her atrophied chitter-chatter muscles, but this is a man she supposes she'd suffer for. His words tend to have some value... However much of it is manufactured by his occasional stinginess. ]
For all my complaints, I do appreciate that you would take time out of your evening to see to me, Boxer. [ That he'd think of her whatsoever, at a lively party. ] Especially when there are so many people here for you to offer a dance to.
[ Don't think she's forgotten you and spontaneous dancing. Scoundrel. ]
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No thanks necessary. Could say the same to you for putting up with me.
[Maybe he just likes hanging with you, that's what you do at parties. He's more comfortable with her here on the sidelines than out in the thick of it, anyway. Besides, he knows the inanimate object life, if not as long or as inflexibly, these days. Of course he'll make a point of some solidarity.
That said—]
Guess it'd be rubbing it in if I asked if you were feeling up to a round two.
[That he's got the opportunity and she doesn't. Definitely harder to wrangle a dance this way than it had been in VR. Even if she can get all ghosty for it, she's too blind to follow him and too incorporeal for him to lead.
But, y'know.]
Standing offer, though.
[For the record.]
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[ Anyway, there is exactly zero percent of her that remotely envies the girl in this situation. She cannot feel the wet, smell the horror, her clothes will see no stain, as they have not for the past near-millennia. A quick wipe clean of the Crystal's surface and it will be as if nothing had happened. Once they... get out of here. ]
[ It's fine, Clair, there are other things to think of, when you're half wedged without a shred of dignity into a hole in the street. ] A debatable pleasure to meet you, given the circumstances. Please, call me Sandra.
[ No fancy titles here, besides the ones that are terrible. Anyway, she takes a ghostly sidestep and gestures to the orb. Some people here seem to have a problem picking it up and manhandling it, as if it makes any physical difference to her. ]
If you would... Though, are we intending to make our exit the same way you found your way in? [ It sounds like it might be... a problem... without gravity on her side. And an orb to juggle. ]
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Ah... I see. [ So her new friend is somehow tethered to this orb? That certainly explains why she didn't just float out of the sewer all on her own—floating around is a very spirit-y thing to do, though Clair presumes that getting oneself attached to a physical object would put quite a damper on it. How does a spirit get shackled to a random crystal ball? And why? She has so many questions.
With the gesture to encourage her, Clair hefts the orb in her cupped hands, then glances towards Sandra as if she half-expects that to have some sort of effect on her. When it doesn't, she looks over to the opening she crawled in from. ]
Hm. I don't suppose I would be able to make such a climb. [ She could barely reach the edge even with her arms fully extended... and there are no handholds in the wall. Ever the optimist, she adds: ]
There must be some other means of escape, no? Surely there are those that must enter and exit this place—for maintenance, perhaps? [ sewers??? ] We shall simply have to explore.
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[ Of course she will accept such solidarity, even if it is apparently a joke of a sentence compared to hers. Even if he does endeavor to rub it in. It's still terrible. At his offer, she cocks her head to shoot him a wry grin. ]
Whether or not you wish to make a right fool of yourself, swinging around a decoration from off a refreshment table, is your prerogative.
[ While it sounds like it's meant to be a deterrent, it doesn't sound entirely opposed. Even if it means giving up her spot... The world is her oyster tonight, she supposes. Seems like she has a carrier for every passing whim, she could get used to this. ]