THE GOTTALA BURODWHEY

[capemods]

WHO: ImPorts.
WHERE: Gottala Burodwhey of TíraFórsae.
WHEN: April 21st 2013 noon to April 25th 11:59 PM.
WARNINGS: Definitely violence, gore. Couplets.
SUMMARY: Off-world adventure on EARTH KLADSUO834LKSFDLKJ8718=LAJD
FORMAT: Whatever.



[It's time to get crafty with your verbal wit here, imPorts. Burodwhey is a little different than its sibling Gottalas, a little weird -- yes, even weirder than the drug ship.

There's nothing really definable that Burodwhey produces, but the elegant city-ship houses beautiful, soaring houses that follow almost a Baroque style -- if one were to examine the arches and soft, round angles through a fun house mirror, perhaps. There's plenty of resource here, no one seems to be left wanting. No one seems sick. Tiriseans here might seem a little formal, a little stiff and snooty, but no one's going to challenge you to a raeward gode.

Unless, of course, you neglect to follow this little simple rule: you must talk in couplets. They might not know what you're saying strictly, but they have a good ear for sound -- and this is of the UTMOST importance. If you're on the Burodwhey, you'll talk in couplets and food/housing/clothing will come easily to you.

Or, you'll not speak in couplets, and you will have nasty native confrontation.

Observe:

If you don't talk to the natives in couplets, expect an attack -- from the front or behind your back. These couplets can take any beat, as long as two lines keep rhyming feet. Ideally you'll want your syllables to match -- like poetry in motion, it's a key to a latch. The sicker the rhymes, the quicker the dimes; soon enough you'll find how sounds get your pocket lined.

You don't have to be understood, it just needs to sound good.

These natives are highly musical, so mentally flex for words more Seussical.

(Hey that's a legit word okay look it up).]

Comments

[invoking]

Gil, too, was maintaining vigilance as he tried to make his way through the crowds. Many of them purposely brushed against him and stopped him outright from going any further. Often they started to say things to his face he didn't comprehend and he would try to get around them as politely as he could.

But after two days on ships where his personal space had been invaded and he had been humiliated and beaten down before imprisoned, his patience had been worn dangerously thin.

He saw Eddie, a familiar face amidst the sea of rowdy Tiriseans, and tried to saunter over but found himself blocked again. They pointed at the collar on his neck and then the bruise on his cheek he had sustained at Waswer. Then one reached over to sucker punch him.

"I... said..." he started and then his leg kicked out, slamming hard against his harasser. "Cut it out!"

[enigmaestro]

"Oh -- crap." Eddie, drawn by the emotional explosion, edged towards the violent commotion. The look scrawled upon his face was one mirrored to the horror of realizing that even narrative is prone to couplets. He squared his shoulders and rolled his eyes, halfway convincing himself to leave Gilbert to fate.

But then again, since when had Eddie ever been a man beholden to fate?

That was the easier argument, he thought, than humoring a newly smithed sense of moral spine. He surged to the fishlike thugs pounding at Gilbert, and all were a flurry of fists -- excepting the one Gil had kicked tot he ground. Eddie, aware that his height was no longer an advantage among this species, aimed to grab for upper arms instead.

"Cease and desist! I must insist!" Eddie, pristine in his green clothes, still fresh from his Jelebellios luxury, caught sight of Gilbert's collar. He reached over and hooked two of his fingers under it.

"This fellow to me belongs, so slide back into your fishy throngs!"

It was a reasonable guise.

[invoking]

Gil had yet to pick up on that little tidbit, too high strung from the previous days of being jostled about -- violently, too. His face burned with embarrassment and adrenaline ignited his defenses, ready to counter any other attempts to sock him in the face.

Before he could say anything more, he felt himself yanked back and he choked for air. A hand shot out to grab Eddie's. "W-What are you -- ack!"

Meanwhile, the one Gil had kicked was still doubled over and his friend looked as if he wanted to deck the collared one himself for what he had just done.

[enigmaestro]

"Begone, begone, you lot make me ill," he said, shooing the louts away with one hand while strangling Mr. Nightray along with the other. Eddie hastened to make his exit. "Now away with me, my good man Gil."

If only Eddie had three hands, he'd use the third to preen himself.

The Tiriseans, however, weren't half as amused. The theatrical gestures and confident stances of most people involved in this confrontation was communication enough: Eddie took claim over their newfound toy, and they were not pleased about it.

The youths grouped up, Gil's target now on his feet.

[invoking]

He continued to struggle against Eddie's hold and gasped (quite dramatically) for air. His face turned a deeper shade of red and then he jerked when he saw the duo closing in on them. He didn't understand why Eddie spoke in that odd sort of rhyme, but it quickly dawned on him that he had been trying to smooth over the situation.

Not that it seemed to be working.

He managed a gulp and turned around, reaching over to grab Eddie's wrist and make a break for it.

[enigmaestro]

"Ah," Eddie felt those fingers enclose around his wrist, and instinct transposed. He loosened his own clutching of Gilbert's collar, relaxed his muscles, and allowed the other man to guide him. If his instinct had kicked solidly though, a sequence completed, he'd be running the opposite way -- but Edward was still a man of logic.

He was mostly in control of himself.

The couple of Tiriseans sneered, their shoulders and thighs tensing as if ready to leap upon the imPorts. One, Eddie took note, the one who hadn't been kicked down had around his waist a series of sharp fishhooks. Like a belt.

[invoking]

"Shit..."

Without his revolvers, he felt disadvantaged against the two Tiriseans. He wasn't about to summon Raven on a ship with an unknown number of people aboard. Maybe he could teleport himself and the Deputy Mayor away, but that was an idea he put aside. A last resort.

Instead, he tugged Eddie along and bolted as fast as he could from the scene.

"What do these people want?!" he looked over at Eddie, eyes wide.

[enigmaestro]

"Were I to make a guess, it's us they just detest." He winced immediately after the words fled his mouth -- and it wasn't a cringe dedicated to the slant of his rhyme.

"Oh -- goodness, habit."

It was as close to an apology as Gil would get. Eddie kept close to his company, keeping swift pace; Eddie had always been an accomplished runner. Haste typically prevented waste, in such a case.

"We can try to elude them at the next left alley turn. Follow right and another left -- if they attract a crowd," he said, his tone empty of optimism. "We're doomed."

Following with Gilbert, Eddie threw a wayward glance over his shoulder.

[invoking]

Gil turned into the alleyway but came to an abrupt stop midway and leaned against a wall to catch his breath. He was dead exhausted and now he could feel himself struggling to keep his eyes open. He knew there wasn't any way off this ships for at least another day, like the other ones.

His hand reached over the collar on his throat. The markings of a scar could be seen when he attempted to tug it off. He hadn't been thinking; he wanted it off.

"I can't get this damn thing off..."

[enigmaestro]

Eddie's hands were on Gilbert's now, trying to still them, trying to calm the man who so severely wanted that freedom.

"Gilbert, come now --" Eddie gripped at the other man's hands, his mouth forming a stern steel line. "Calm down! They're going to see you if--!"

Eddie's whisper was beheaded; footsteps echoed. His body tensed. He glanced up. The sound seemed to be above them, as if on top the roofs overhead. Perhaps their pursuers thought a better vantage point would help?

The deputy mayor pressed against Gilbert, pressing them both into the shadows against the alley way wall. His eyes remained upwards, waiting. Watching.

[invoking]

Gil leaned as far back as he could against the wall, following Eddie's gaze. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple and neck and he was careful to only breathe when he really needed to.

He listened and watched for movement. When it seemed the coast was temporarily clear, he cast a cursory look at Eddie. "There's no way off this ship." He doesn't know why he said that when Eddie must have known already. "It's this collar..."

If he was able to pry it off, surely they would avoid some attention.

[enigmaestro]

Eddie winced, realizing the awkward nature of this interface.

"All right," he said. "All right, just -- a moment." It was his way of apologizing for the inconvenience, for the bodily closeness. He eased off of Gilbert, his eyes still wide and anxious. "I don't have a knife on me."

It would have been easier, to try and pry the lock with a knife. Dangerous, too, given the proximity of Gil's throat but... A considerable possibility. He thought about how to obtain one -- Jelebellios would have been easier to ply.

"Perhaps we can cover it, then?"

[invoking]

He figured the same and the idea of something that sharp being too close to his throat gave him cold sweats immediately. He zoned out for a few seconds before being hauled back to reality.

He wished this was some ridiculous nightmare.

"The buttons were ripped off." He does tug his collar close again, but it was as he mentioned: the top buttons had been popped off some time ago no thanks to being grabbed and forced into the prison and then again when they slapped the collar on him. "Why would the Porter send us to this place? Ugh..."

[enigmaestro]

"There, now." Eddie gave him a solitary pat on the other man's shoulder. The fact that it was just one probably made it seem more like an affectionate slap, and Eddie quickly hid his hand in his pocket. No need to accentuate any awkwardness, of course.

"I haven't a whole lot on me," he said -- mostly murmuring to himself as he examined the buttonless cloth showcased, with the unoffending hand. A quirk of his head, a closer examination, and he cursed his lockpick kit having mysteriously vanished upon his arrival.

It had only been in his interior blazer pocket.

"We could try tucking it beneath the collar? Might not chafe quite as badly as the leather's treating you already." Words delivered with a casual smirk, an expression trying to lighten the situation.

His hand froze on Gilbert's neck when he thought he heard an encore of hurried footsteps.

[invoking]

He reached to begin folding the fabric around the space between his neck and the collar when Eddie's sudden touch startled him. He opened his mouth to ask him to cut it out, as all this physical touching was becoming more uncomfortable (from the man who had somehow suspected Gil was a homosexual), but he said nothing and listened to the footsteps.

He lowered his voice and said to Eddie: "There must be somewhere we can hide, even for a short time."