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

[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."