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westwhere2023-05-15 05:49 pm
groundrules) wrote in westwhere2023-05-15 05:49 pm
Entry tags:
- 2ha: chu wanning,
- arc vi,
- arcane: caitlyn,
- breaking bad: jesse pinkman,
- doctor who: clara oswald,
- doctor who: river song,
- doctor who: the doctor,
- final fantasy xiv: stephanivien,
- harry potter: hermione granger,
- horizon: aloy,
- kingdom of the wicked: emilia,
- kingdom of the wicked: wrath,
- legend of fei: xie yun,
- mcu: america chavez,
- mcu: kamala khan,
- mcu: natasha romanova,
- mcu: wanda maximoff,
- oh! my emperor: beitang moran,
- oh! my emperor: su xunxian,
- original: red,
- outlander: claire fraser,
- penny dreadful: vanessa ives,
- test drive,
- tian guan ci fu: xie lian,
- umbrella academy: allison,
- umbrella academy: five,
- untamed: lan sizhui,
- warcraft: wrathion,
- warframe: kahl 175,
- zettai karen children: kumoi yuuri
the sunken | part i
Welcome to the first log of Arc VI: the Sunken, which covers 15 May – 2 June and doubles as a test drive meme.
Back/forward date as needed! The calendar date suggestions are indicative.
The TDM is open to everyone! If you decide to apply to the game, you can get an invite from current players or the upcoming enabling meme — or participate in the test drive meme and get in touch @
groundrules to chat things over. We currently have 13 slots available for new players. Test drivers can use this post for logs and network posts — old timers, please make your network posts at
eastbound. LOST AT SEA | TEST DRIVE TOURISTS
You wake, gasping, in a stormy sea, your thoughts slowed to a confused trickle. Skill, floating wood or a kindly stranger — who you can’t understand — help you to reach shore.
Villagers discover you collapsed on sand and provide critical (if rickety) communication and translation devices. They say you are in Sunken Yancai, a fishing village progressively overtaken by waters and cursed by the secretive ‘ladies of the lake’ to transit through time.
- ■ Rescuers group newcomers and supply questionable village couture, warm meals and accommodations in abandoned, half-flooded homes or spare small boats anchored in Yancai’s waterways. Huddle up, recover your strength and don’t think too hard on why your memories are hazy over the next three days.
■ Come morning, you visit village leader Quanze Tsaymien, then the sorceress Karsa — who explains you are otherworlders summoned into Akhuras by undead lords who wish to weaponise you in their battle against humans and one another. Karsa is an associate of the Merchant, who leads otherworlders towards ancient transport beacons east.
■ One such beacon rests dormant in Yancai. The group must infiltrate the village and wait a few weeks until it shifts to a point back in time when the beacon was active.
■ Newcomers are handed passport papers with their new identities in Yancai, where they may be known as a bankrupt merchant, perpetually drunk sailor, whale hunter, raft surveyor, mermaid who has just gained their legs, crab collector... feel free to invent a dutifullyhilariousapt role for their seaside sojourn.
OLD TIMERS | THE DRIFTING
You dragged yourself here in a haze. You arrived long ago, as if in a dream. You were born and bred in this village. In truth, your memories of reaching lively Yancai feel nebulous and alarmingly inconsequential.
Characters are facilitated new identities and dwellings by the Merchant, or believe they have had them all along.
- ■ A weary Karsa warns to say nothing to party members with altered memories, until the sorcery that affects them runs its course.
■ Memory-altered characters progressively regain their memories within three to five days (by 20 May). They have their memories partially or fully back at night ( midnight to 5 a.m.). Throughout the day, memory regains can trigger migraines, eerie confusion and paranoia.
■ Hauntings begin once characters have fully regained their memories.
■ Once everyone is ‘back to normal,’ Karsa explains that Yancai periodically transits through time. The memory alterations are a magical solution endorsed by the village council, which ensures locals mentally weather these shifts. Villagers continue to blithely accept you as part of the community.
(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH
Karsa reunites the existing party and newcomers, issuing first assignments. The Merchants’s information suggests the beacon of Yancai will be online once the village travels in time within weeks. A dubious Karsa asks the party to check on the beacon, located in the former House of Commerce of the largely inundated merchants’ district. Reach it by rowing boat.
- ■ Villagers say the Master of Commerce, a famous musician, took precautions against intruders.
■ All ground and lower floor entryways of the palatial House were boarded to restrict flooding. To enter, pick locks or climb the putrid stairwell towards upper balconies.
■ Inside, the hissing of running water — and, in the lower levels, of thin, slippery leeches whose bite numbs your limbs, while they attempt to feed. You seem to experience pronounced vertigo when entering any decaying rooms covered in black mould.
■ The beacon is located on a dais in the basement vault room, where water rises near 1 meter. Only a few scattered scrolls and golden decorations remain among decorations, while a large ceiling carving writes, greed deafens man to the cries of his conscience; music sets him free.
■ Some tiles of the marbled floor stand out as you wade — step on one, and all doors abruptly slam shut, while dozens of obscured holes in the wall start to rapidly spill water, threatening to fill the room to the ceiling within the hour. You hear the tinny, waning sound of a village song played from a hidden source.
■ To stop the pouring water and open the doors, sing the song you hear, or find the music box that produces it amid debris on the water-covered floors. Wind it, and it plays its song in reverse, revealing the voice of a laughing elderly man who says, Depressingly, Anurr was right to worry.
■ Don’t forget to check the beacon — and report back to Karsa that it looks structurally untarnished.
THEY SLEEP
After surprising revelations at previous citadels, Karsa tasks you to investigate just how… permanent death is in Yancai. Villagers share that their dead are buried in a strange rite at sea — part of which will take place within days.
- ■ The dead are ‘entombed’ in one-man sarcophagi ships with carved and chained lids that depict their likeness. These burial boats are set at sea on the first day of each season and return three months later.
■ Join the harbours around 22 May, when mourners gather to receive the burial boats. Characters must pretend to be greatly anguished relatives, acquaintances or debt collectors to join the grieving.
■ The boats float towards you, seemingly of their own volition. Gaze afar and spot a boat carrying a man in black — the same who haunts some characters — who observes until the last burial ship has reached the piers, before he disappears.
■ Sailors draw up the boats and unpeel the untouched chains and lids, to reveal… no corpses. Peer closer and find neither biological signs (stench, liquids) of discomposure, nor the magical chillness of spaces where cadavers have lingered long. Scratch marks litter the inside of some boat lids.
■ Mourners seem grateful that the waters have ‘accepted’ the bodies. Some say that their relatives whose boats have yet to return must have been stolen by the ‘ladies of the lake,’ a villainous witch coven. Speak to mourners or sailors for clues.
■ Linger long near opened burial boats, and you feel tempted to throw yourself into the sea, slowly losing consciousness — until someone rescues you.
AMONG US
On 25 May, village leader Quanze Tsaymien drags the chained and half feral mistress Miang-si to households and Yancai’s largest market square.
The young woman, he says, was seduced by the ladies of the lake — the furtive witch coven that condemned Yancai to time travel. Luckily, the village elders have… coaxed Miang-si back onto the righteous path.
- ■ Miang-si is brought door-to-door to point out her 'accomplices.' Ill at ease, villagers whisper of similar witch hunts leading to false accusations and blood-curdling repercussions.
■ Both men and women are suspected and brought before Miang-si. Perhaps she takes an eerie interest in you, getting especially close to catch your scent, touch or remark on (in)visible hurts, or even dotingly kiss you. If you whisper quickly while she’s near, you might be able to ask one question.
■ If you are patient and kind to Miang-si, she briefly squeezes your hand as she withdraws. Within the hour, you find blood writ on your palm that warns, Our fat moon rises red.
■ If you are agitated, or if Quanze rushes her during your visit, Miang-si erupts into sudden, side-splitting cackling — while you find yourself croaking like a toad, or transforming into one and retaining human speech. The spell dissolves after eight hours.
■ Quanze’s long-suffering men say this sorcery breaks faster if you kiss one of the curmudgeonly emerald toads that hide in some of Yancai’s lakes. Catch one such delightful, slime-spitting creature or barter it from merchants at a costly premium.
ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT
A full moon is set to rise within days of Miang-si’s visit, on 27 May — just as Yancai shows signs of time shifting. Villagers are prone to stilling and staring askance, seeming lost or adrift.
The village itself evolves: one moment, the same house appears freshly new, then drowned, while waterways overfill with water, then seem barren. Overall, the village deteriorates.
- ■ That day, the sun suffers a midday eclipse, while droves of black birds circle the woods and village outskirts, attacking those who come close.
■ The waters increasingly thicken and darken, preventing boats from entering certain waterways.
■ An exceedingly bright moon and a diffuse lunar replica rise with nightfall. Come midnight, the village is alive with the sounds of ripping, structural collapse and shrieks. Tar-covered corpses emerge from the waters, clawing on and climbing up piers. They swarm, drawing passers-by into waters to drown them. Help them — and foremost, yourself.
■ Light and fire keep the dead at bay. On some waterways, wildfire now spells, WHAT IS WET WAS WRONGED
■ Weaker alone, fresh corpses climb into your rowing boat, pretending they are innocents who seek shelter. They betray themselves by speaking very slowly, struggling to keep track of the conversation or obliviously peppering it with details of their death. They stubbornly ask questions about you, repeating your answers, and become violent if you say they are dead. Push them into the water at first opportunity.
■ Quanze Tsaymien and other men of the village take arms, urging villagers to barricade in the nearest home, harbour or warehouse and weather the night. They advise to be silent and beware the dead who imitate living voices, warning not to touch any black mould or water that suddenly appear in your home — which alert the dead of your presence within.
■ Some dead try to tear you apart, while others seek to feed you a disgusting, tar-like black mould. A small taste of it makes you sluggish and feeble for two-three hours, while an entire fistful can kill.
■ If the undead infiltrate your house, hold your breath, do not move and keep from screaming. The dead have weak sight and olfactory senses and might pass you by, as long as you stay silent. It can be more efficient to fool than kill the dead.
■ By 5 a.m., houses start to replenish themselves, gaining a new appearance, while water and mould retreat. The dead withdraw into waterways. Outside doors have been marked with blood: vertical lines tell how many living people remain inside; horizontal ones count how many within died overnight.
■ You step to seize a brave new day — while Yancai enters a new time period (further details due in the next plot update).
NOTES
- ■ The game enabling meme goes up on 25 May.
■ Hit up available NPCs here or in their new inbox!
■ QUESTIONS.
I'll Met by Moonlight
Lockwood hasn’t stayed inside a house and been silent since he was nine years old.
Out in the thick of it, he moves from one fight to the next, deftly holding the tar-covered corpses at bay with one hand, while reaching out with his other. ]
Here! Let me help you up!
[ Or perhaps it will be you who helps him. Lockwood isn’t interested in retreat, even though he is doing more sword work and acrobatics than usual. He isn’t ever particularly good at his own self-preservation and may have taken on a few too many corpses, which had backed him into a corner.
Yes, he’d be grateful for a bit of help here! ]
no subject
Come on, then! Help me to the apothecary, we can keep one another safe.
[ And maybe she can find things that, when combined, will turn into nice little makeshift explosives. She has no idea who this young man is, but she has no intention of leaving him in the corner. ]
no subject
Taking advantage of the hole she's provided for him, the young man will automatically try to position himself back to back with her so they have a wider field of coverage. As soon as he has space to swing, without any risk of striking her, the rapier is back in quicksilver motion, looping off heads and limbs at random. ]
Lay on MacDuff! [ Despite their rather dire circumstances, Lockwood will give her a cheeky grin over his shoulder, tones calm and posh. ]
no subject
Hardly. But when you live in the backwoods of Noth Carolina, you learn a thing or two!
[ Bears, cougars, colonizers trying to push out the Natives. Nothing quite like the undead, though. The rebar is about as heavy as her axe for felling trees, and those upper arm muscles are working over time. Still, she'll be sore for days after this.
When she makes a bit of headway, she manages to point at a building in the distance, maybe seventy yards away. ]
We need to make it over there, can you move with me?
no subject
Her laughter causes his own winsome smile to grow, white teeth flashing in the dark and humor reaching all the way into his eyes though he does not pause the quick movements of the sword in his hand. Lockwood is used to the undead of his world being a lot less solid. Luckily -so to speak- he's recently fought against enough of the living that jarring contact of blade to rotting flesh isn't weakening his sword arm.
He takes a quick glance in the direction she's indicated and then nods. ]
No worries on my account, though we're at risk of overwhelming odds if that group rising at the end of the dock get their feet under them. Go! I'll keep our flank clear, [ and would trust her to carve their path forward. Young as he may be, this is obviously not his first time fighting as part of a team. Usually he's leading the charge, but luck would have his ego mostly in check at the moment, so he'll dutifully follow. ]
no subject
It is, of course, too easy at first, with the dead not quite gathered yet. Her running comes to a sudden stop when she's about ten yards away, nearly painfully close. One of the largest undead she's seen doesn't react much to the rebar. It only grunts, managing to grab her by the arm.
With a yell of sheer determination, Claire tries to reach for the small knife she carries even as she's pushed back against a wall. Is her new friend out there somewhere? Christ, she hopes so. Likely he didn't think the shoe would be on the other foot so soon, and she's praying he didn't decide to save himself. ]
no subject
At least, that's how he likes to see it. His friends back home would call him reckless, a seeker of the spot light, and a young man with a death wish. Regardless, he loves the chance to charge in, save the day and lucky for both of them, he has the skills to back up his reckless tendencies.
The undead corpse is quite large. Given what he's seen happen to people who have been touched by these creatures -not to mention his instinctive response to the idea of 'ghost-touch'- he goes for the arm first. ]
It's rude to grab a lady! [ Who says you can't snark and fight at the same time? He brings his rapier in an downward swing, neatly dissecting the arm at the elbow joint. This is also done as a way to try to help Claire with her movement towards her knife, because while he's focused on the big'un there are plenty of normal sized corpses shuffling in their direction.
If she would be so kind? ]
no subject
We have a slight problem in that I can't feel my arm. I've still got one good one, but we need to get inside.
[ There's only the barest hint of a tremor in her voice as she raises it to be heard over the sound of the tearing and the dead, and she takes a deep breath. ]
I think we can make it if we run.
no subject
Go! [ His surprisingly deep voice is raised but in a firm and calm tone. Yes, he's an adolescent and she is his elder and respect and blah blah blah. He's throwing out an order now. She can scold him for his uppity nature later. ]
Get to the apothecary, I'll be right behind you. [ Directions given, the switch flips, and he turns to shoot a quick silver grin over his shoulder. The seriousness of just a second ago lost to the eagerness of an adrenaline junkie. ] Hold the door for me will you?
no subject
Don't you dare get hurt.
[ Then she really is gone, one arm hanging limply at the other still holding onto her rebar. She realizes just as she reaches the door that she doesn't even know the young man's name, and she turns quickly, closing the door behind her to watch for him, ready to open it as soon as she sees him coming. ]
no subject
[ Despite his devil may care smiles, Lockwood is fairly adept at keeping himself in one piece. At least when it comes to battling the dead. He checks her progress a time or two, falling back in stages as he takes battle after battle making quick work of his opponents. Adrenaline junkie or not, he won't be lingering and it is in fairly short order that she will see him dispatch one of the dead and then break off entirely.
It may have appeared that he was hacking at random, but as he turns and begins to scurry for the apothecary, it will become obvious that he built himself a bit of cover by dropping the bodies in the path of their oncoming fellows. While the ramshackle corpses struggle to get across the other bodies, Lockwood leaps nimbly along the boardwalk until he can dash the last bit of open path, heading for the door. ]
Hate to drop in unannounced ...
no subject
At least, that's what she's told herself.
As soon as she can, which is about when she hears him call out, Claire reaches out and grabs him, practically yanking him through the door with wild eyes and slamming it shut behind them. Locking it, she backs away, panting. ]
I must admit, you have an exceptional way of avoiding injury Mr...
[ In the chaos, she can't even remember if they exchanged names. Did they even have time for it or is she just getting old? She doesn't know anymore. ]
no subject
Anthony Lockwood. [ He continues his introduction, smiling as if they were at some polite social function, rather than holing up in a dilapidated building with corpses at the door wanting to do unpleasant things to them. ] I go by Lockwood, but if you prefer Anthony I'll answer. Just, please. [ He pauses to give an all mighty heave, getting the rack in place across the door frame and then stepping back with a deep breath. ] Please, don't call me Tony.
[ Picking up his rapier, where he'd dropped it on the floor as he struggled with the rack, he deftly returned it to the half scabbard at his side and then walked towards her. Brows pulled in a worried expression as he studied her arm and he'll reach to take it, but won't chase if she draws away from him. ] And with whom might I have the pleasure of speaking?
[ Properly courtly manners. There is no actual flirt in his manner, this is more the expression of a young man who was born posh, taught proper etiquette, and who uses it now as a way to normalize extremely abnormal events. Such as the series of heavy, ineffective thumps against the door. ]
no subject
( The trouble with whites of silk, blasphemed by tragedies of viscera beneath moonlight is, red coalesces as dark, wetness intensifies, and before Lan Wangji understands the truth of his sartorial metamorphosis, he has gone, splendidly from the riches of Cloud Recesses to the rag-skins of the dead. He is half tar, half a negotiation of sickly, dubious fluids he neither embraces nor contests, sword cunning and her blade silvered, and all that remains of him silent.
The night has drawn fickle, long. Cloying in the way of rancid mould and rancor, and he breathes with a sense that his lungs have thinned and saturated, like drenched gossamer. By the time he faces the young man — boy — they are both sickly and trodden by remains, sluggish and resembling the enemy.
Crossing paths on the piers, to the howl of deadened things beyond, Lan Wangji considers — then raises his blade lethargically. )
...livened?
( He thinks, by the look of the boy, there are too many curving joints to him. This is where the dead are foiled: less than in their skins and their bone, more in their eroding, molten cartilage. The movements of a living creatures gain their grace from arcs, from swings, from steps and dances.
The dead cannot imitate precision or elegance. Still, best to... inquire. )
no subject
No doubt Lockwood looks like death warmed over.
There is a blink, as he processes the question and then a quick -tired- smile. ]
For the moment, and if you don't mind I'd rather stay that way? [ It does come as a question, tone poshed and polished, despite the exhaustion on his face. He will attempt to redirect the man's blade aside with the point of his own rapier, but in a polite way. ]
I promise, I can be of more assistance were I not run through. [ If nothing else, perhaps Lockwood's loquacious manner will help solidify his status as living? He hasn't run into many chatty corpses this evening. ]
no subject
( For the moment. An indication of awareness, of sentience. He considers, fleetingly, the look of the boy, sharp. His sword, narrow like needle's point. His pose, the form bled of more tension than Lan Wangji knows from his own blade steps, the footing lighter.
A dubious combination, yet base metal still stabs, and the sweetest wounds kill. Wangji has not survived two wars to underestimate a young man before he might know his third. )
You reek. ( Says Lan Wangji, a flower of spring's first bloomed field, while crusted blood and the membranes of dead men's guts flake of his sleeves' rims. Hypocrisy burns brighter than the torch fires sparked as a last resort by retreating villagers, stoked by despair. ) We both lower swords.
( A sign of good will. )
no subject
The blade doesn't completely lower and the youth's bean pole like form remains coiled, prepared to take defenses actions if attacked. But his expression suggests he is more than satisfied that the man across from him is living not dead.
Hopefully Lockwood projects the same level of live-ness. ]
Hazard of the work. [ He offers, giving a pointed sniff in the direction of his muck and wet covered clothing. ]
no subject
( His sword, called down, is a silvered ray, blood dripped at the tip of her in slow, tar-like trickling. Gelid, coagulated, thickened. He watches the blade's hemorrhage, dark under stern moonlight, and does not think of the greedy animal howls of flesh ripping, shredding far too close.
They prey more than kill, these deadened things. They savour the opportunity, fang and claws all deployed, the strength of their arms and legs. It is a primitive, feral quality, blood-curdling.
These creatures will not curtail themselves. )
Children should not toil.
( But he speaks it aridly, with timid understanding that he is a gentleman born to privilege, and lesser houses commandeer their sons from their childhoods for the work of the field, the road, ships and commerce. That this boy has been steered towards the sword is little more than the curse of need. )
You know the sword. ( The sharp end of her, he does, Lan Wangji has seen — for how he swerves the blade, the boy can it well. So be it. ) Come hunt.
( There is... work to be done, inevitably. ) I shall not ask your name, should you fall.
no subject
I am quite confident in my blade hand. [ He confirms what he isn't sure is a question, but his self-confidence sees him confirm it all the same.
The offer to join the man in his hunt sees Lockwood's smile becoming a beaming thing, only to have it lock in place at the latter words. There is a breath, a tense pause, and then the youth can't help himself. He laughs.
It is not hysterical, or edged but it is full throated and filled with a weighted sort of amusement. ] A wise approach. One I have always strived to follow myself.
[ He told Lucy just that, back home. Though Lucy and George kept insisting on weaseling their way around the defensive walls Lockwood had put up over the years. Lucy and George were special. This man was a stranger to Lockwood and the boy didn't expect to be anything more to him. ]
Let's see how long we can keep each other alive. If only as a point of pride.
no subject
( The silent anticipation of the moment crests a low-simmered humming in Lan Wangji's blood. He does not pull back, but finds the careful pace of resonance where the sudden fluidity of his movements matches the shrill sounds of tearing, of shrieks at distance.
Let them hunt, for all Lan Wangji does not know the path, only cuts it fast-stepped as instinct drives him — waving the boy after with one slow-waved hand. He is pale, ghostly, sword grasped viciously tight. Underfoot, branches crack, the thick of the lake-side greens spreading.
The metallic reek of the dead reaches him, before the creatures surface. Their filth, their folly. Not so long, then. )
You have claimed life before?
( A moment's hesitation, simple: earlier, blood dark between them, proof of the boy's deed done. But dead things are easily ruinous, dissolved by time and wind and their private, natural decay. Blood is as nothing, after such an encounter. )
no subject
Yet.
The death of the DEPRAC agent. The man with no name but a family left behind who died as a result of Lockwood's choices. Even though the Golden Blade had later claimed that he'd already marked the man for death; Lockwood still felt the weight of responsibility.
Same as he felt that responsibility for Lucy and George's safety. ]
War is a funny thing. [ He eventually responds. ] Decisions claim life, as deftly as any blade stroke.
[ Which is and isn't an answer, but perhaps enough of an answer for now. The familiar reek of the dead reaches his nostrils in conjunction with his hunting partner's alert body language. Lockwood steps into a position that will afford him the ability to cover Lan Wangji's off sword side, the rapier making a quick turn before coming into a defense position. ]
As our current foes are not living... Reminding the dead to stay properly dead is the mainstay of my CV.
[ AKA, he won't be suffering any moral qualms about destroying the corpses, which are starting to ripple the water's surface. ]
no subject
Decisions do not look perishing men in feeble eyes.
( Correction, contradiction, silent and susurrating adjustment: perhaps there is an edge of metallic, sharp grudge to this, a sullenness to his disposition. He has known men who cut fine weapons from their orders, made their will into thin blades, their manipulation into darts that slip between ribs and nails' beds. )
Words do not bleed at feet. ( Words are candidly dismissed, easily forgotten, lest they originate with blood of one's blood, borrowed or fostered kin, with elders, with men to whom one is bound in duty.
This is battle, the boy-child settled at Lan Wangji's side as if he would will his width tripled to become his shield. Unbidden, careful to pronounce petty wounds at the boy's side with a tired, negligent swing, Wangji sheathes his sword back in her fetters, walking on. )
Death is no kindness. Where they retain enough flesh, we shall give the fallen rites.
( ...unless, once more with feeling, the dead dissolve into crumbs and bone and debris. That too can happen. )
no subject
But his companion is once again on the move and Lockwood decides to let the older man have the last word. In this situation at least.
His rapier remains unsheathed. He's used to having to walk with it at the ready and keeps himself positioned so that his body is between the weapon and Lan Wangji ]
Death should be a peaceful mercy. [ He says in a quiet voice, ignoring the voices of Flo, George and Lucy whose words he hears echoing in his head. ] It is a cruelty to steal it from these people. Do we know anything about the thief?
no subject
A world their own.
( Realms and nooks and bloodied corners, and crannies where spider's webs gather and thicken in clusters, and snag like hanging nooses. This, time has taught, is Akhuras: a territory not hunted but haunted, where the living barely cling and only obstinance and heritage yet call the lands not demons' own.
Kingdoms fall. Cities bend the knee. Merchants sell flesh or themselves. Villages are enslaved to their persecutors or their superstitions. If Lan Wangji's step hardens and his back stiffens, it is for this: the quiet surety that they travel where no man should linger long. )
They walk countless and brazen. Men, beasts, women, children, demons. ( Each, encountered at various twists and contortions, skips and stumbles of their road. Two years, and he has known every hardship. ) Here, his face unknown.
( But he will show himself. They ever do. )
no subject
He doesn't try to continue the conversation at this point, lost instead to a combination of his own thoughts and steady watchfulness. Though he can do flippant dickhead with the best of them, this man he steps along aside has made it clear he has no tolerance for such foolery and even Lockwood can read the room.
At least so long as he doesn't have a reason to keep stepping on toes.
His tactical mind wars with his arrogance, because it would be easy for him to toss around words such as then let's go find him! and other calls to arms. But he's learned to temper his brash confidence with a certain level of practicality. He doesn't know nearly enough about what is happening here to be making proclamations. Hell. He's just trying to survive the night in one piece.
A gust of wind, carrying the stench of rotten flesh, draws him from his thoughts and the youth pauses. Apologies to the reserved older man, but lean fingers alights briefly against his shoulder. ]
Company.
(no subject)