lucke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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capeandcowllogs2013-06-11 12:09 am
lucke) wrote in capeandcowllogs2013-06-11 12:09 am
You ain't nuthin' but a hound dog. [HEH]
WHO: Lancer and ANYONE!
WHERE: A: Anywhere street-side, shops, cafes, taverns, etc. B: Grand Army Plaza
WHEN: A: Mid-day ….Any day? B: Dusk, that same day.
WARNINGS: None that I expect.
SUMMARY: Lancer is trying to get a lay of the land, and what better way than walk the streets, among its people, and see everything first hand. Good way to burn time till Sundown. Also needs to find something to wear other than armored tights. At the appointed time, he will stand, awaiting a response from the powers that be in charge of The City. Choose your poison! A/B/Both!
FORMAT: Prose intro but anything works
[A: Exploring the city]
Generally this sort of thing wasn't in his nature. Or more specifically, it hadn't been since postmortem. Having already thrown caution to the wind with his bold proclamation on the net, Lancer supposed subtly now would just be tacky. Groups of pedestrians parted as he approached or sometimes even crossed the street avoid him altogether as he sauntered down the boulevard. While a man with cobalt-blue tights and crimson eyes whistling to himself as he boldly strode through town probably isn't the strangest thing they've seen, he still stuck out like a sore thumb.
However if his bad reception had been noticed, he certainly didn't show it. Or just didn't seem to care. There was, however, a certain bounce to his step. A sense of lightness. But the irony of it was that the cause of his good mood was actually how heavy he felt. How grounded he was to the world. To everything.
He was alive.
Not just some spiritual entity who's existence was made up of energy. A hard hologram, if you will, basically struck on life support and requiring the Grail to sustain his existence.
Not anymore. That dull thrumming in his chest? That was coming from a real heart. Which pumped real blood through his real veins, under his real flesh. It was exhilarating! By some miracle he was allowed another body, another life. And while he had certain ethical objections to what was going on here,
While it was a little strange to his medieval sensibilities, Lancer was enjoying his romp through town and was fully descending into wanderlust. Every once in a while his loosely leashed curiosity would lead into one shop or another, never buying anything, just soaking in the local culture. Fancy places and those that provided finery tended to sate his cultural appetite far less than more domestic places, like thrift shops and taverns. Although he found them lacking a certain rowdiness that he liked, like the markets and pubs of his era, they were still closer to his element. With bold confidence he strode into each location, greeting the present patrons with absolute confidence and examining the wares before leaving and repeating the process with every interesting location he came across.
However, while he could ignore the stares and ignoble comments, he found it was increasingly detracting from his experiences. Not to mention the few times he had sent a group of attractive girls running after he had tried to introduce himself. While it wasn't hard for him to understand these reactions, it seems a little intense for a simple matter of attire.
Why should he have to change to fit local customs? Why couldn't they just accept him as a foreigner and respect him as an individual? But at the same, fighting a war on bigotry wasn't really worth the effort right now. Especially not when he had just recently began championing them.
Oh well. Now that he had a body, buying cloths was something he was going to have to do eventually anyways. Human bodies don't stay as fresh as spiritual ones.
With a good-natured sigh Lancer began to focus his exploration specifically, with the intent of purchasing new attire. It wasn't his intention to hide or let perceptions rule him, but to get a little more comfortable with his surroundings. Also, his all too real stomach was starting to act up, aggressively reminding him that now that he's flesh and blood, he needed something other than just mana to survive. But the allowance given to him upon his arrival was meager, Lancer knew that much. So for the time being he'd need to scrimp and bargain. Something he wasn't used to.
“Just think of it as survival training in a new habitat.” Lancer said to himself, nodding with determination. “Its nothing more than a mere tactical disadvantage. And its only through adversity that you get to show your true worth!”
[B:Sundown Showdown]
“It's just about time.”
The last vestiges of blue were stricken from the sky and in their place was left the scorched pallor of twilight. A slight breeze drifted across the pale, story tall archway, gently tossing Lancer's navy hair about as he stood, a single figure atop it, looking out over the city block. Half resting against the bronze likeness of a trumpet wielding cherub, arms crossed over his chest, Lancer took in a deep breath and stepped towards the edge.
He could see a several people watching him, though there was no way to tell if they had come out because of his summons, or simply the spectacle of a solitary man stoically standing a top a public monument. However if they were here to bear witness to his challenge, it was far less people then he was hoping for. Perhaps the “Network” wasn't the best way for him to communicate with the ones behind what's happening here. However, as an Import driven medium of communication, it made sense that an entity interested in Import activities would probably keep a close eye on what was happening there.
Lancer frowned slightly. It was still a bit before the true onset of dusk. Maybe more were coming. Maybe none. Maybe people truly did like it here and saw no need to have the reason for it stated.
“Tch.” Lancer clucked irritatedly. Not at the people, but at the situation.
Honestly, could he blame them? Could he say he didn't like what had happened to him? What had been given to him. He was alive. And well. And most importantly free. As far as he could tell, no command spells bound him. And why would they? He was a human, not a spirit anymore.
Anyone one would see such a thing as a great gift. And at such generosity it isn't that hard to believe that most people would just accept the generosity and move on. The hard truth is that most of these people who were brought here were in some shape or form considered “Heroes”. And heroes often tend not to have many people who they are close with. The life of a champion is a perilous one and those that hold meaning to a hero that don't die are often held at bay for their own safety.
Maybe it was the fact that Lancer had never really known true good fortune, true miracles, in all of his existence. Especially not ones that were without cost. But he just couldn't accept the events as is. At least not yet.
Someone was stealing people from their lives, taking them to this city against their will and without consent. No explanation, no justifications, no nothing. THAT Lancer could not abide. No matter how much he benefited from it. Surely any entity that had the power to do all this had the power to speak. And if there was a need for heroes in this land then wouldn't it make sense, especially with the disposition of heroes, to have at least asked first?
Lancer let his mind wander back to his first post to the Hero Community. It had been aggressive, uncomfortable and borderline antagonistic. But this was a problem that the people of this city needed to address, needed to notice. And if they were too uncomfortable to ask the hard questions, to draw a line in the sand and make a stand, then Lancer would do it for them.
With effortless grace Lancer stepped over the side, silently gliding to the ground and landed like a cat.
“I guess it's time to see what this city's made of.” Lancer said, the corner's of his mouth twisting as he righted himself.
WHERE: A: Anywhere street-side, shops, cafes, taverns, etc. B: Grand Army Plaza
WHEN: A: Mid-day ….Any day? B: Dusk, that same day.
WARNINGS: None that I expect.
SUMMARY: Lancer is trying to get a lay of the land, and what better way than walk the streets, among its people, and see everything first hand. Good way to burn time till Sundown. Also needs to find something to wear other than armored tights. At the appointed time, he will stand, awaiting a response from the powers that be in charge of The City. Choose your poison! A/B/Both!
FORMAT: Prose intro but anything works
[A: Exploring the city]
Generally this sort of thing wasn't in his nature. Or more specifically, it hadn't been since postmortem. Having already thrown caution to the wind with his bold proclamation on the net, Lancer supposed subtly now would just be tacky. Groups of pedestrians parted as he approached or sometimes even crossed the street avoid him altogether as he sauntered down the boulevard. While a man with cobalt-blue tights and crimson eyes whistling to himself as he boldly strode through town probably isn't the strangest thing they've seen, he still stuck out like a sore thumb.
However if his bad reception had been noticed, he certainly didn't show it. Or just didn't seem to care. There was, however, a certain bounce to his step. A sense of lightness. But the irony of it was that the cause of his good mood was actually how heavy he felt. How grounded he was to the world. To everything.
He was alive.
Not just some spiritual entity who's existence was made up of energy. A hard hologram, if you will, basically struck on life support and requiring the Grail to sustain his existence.
Not anymore. That dull thrumming in his chest? That was coming from a real heart. Which pumped real blood through his real veins, under his real flesh. It was exhilarating! By some miracle he was allowed another body, another life. And while he had certain ethical objections to what was going on here,
While it was a little strange to his medieval sensibilities, Lancer was enjoying his romp through town and was fully descending into wanderlust. Every once in a while his loosely leashed curiosity would lead into one shop or another, never buying anything, just soaking in the local culture. Fancy places and those that provided finery tended to sate his cultural appetite far less than more domestic places, like thrift shops and taverns. Although he found them lacking a certain rowdiness that he liked, like the markets and pubs of his era, they were still closer to his element. With bold confidence he strode into each location, greeting the present patrons with absolute confidence and examining the wares before leaving and repeating the process with every interesting location he came across.
However, while he could ignore the stares and ignoble comments, he found it was increasingly detracting from his experiences. Not to mention the few times he had sent a group of attractive girls running after he had tried to introduce himself. While it wasn't hard for him to understand these reactions, it seems a little intense for a simple matter of attire.
Why should he have to change to fit local customs? Why couldn't they just accept him as a foreigner and respect him as an individual? But at the same, fighting a war on bigotry wasn't really worth the effort right now. Especially not when he had just recently began championing them.
Oh well. Now that he had a body, buying cloths was something he was going to have to do eventually anyways. Human bodies don't stay as fresh as spiritual ones.
With a good-natured sigh Lancer began to focus his exploration specifically, with the intent of purchasing new attire. It wasn't his intention to hide or let perceptions rule him, but to get a little more comfortable with his surroundings. Also, his all too real stomach was starting to act up, aggressively reminding him that now that he's flesh and blood, he needed something other than just mana to survive. But the allowance given to him upon his arrival was meager, Lancer knew that much. So for the time being he'd need to scrimp and bargain. Something he wasn't used to.
“Just think of it as survival training in a new habitat.” Lancer said to himself, nodding with determination. “Its nothing more than a mere tactical disadvantage. And its only through adversity that you get to show your true worth!”
[B:Sundown Showdown]
“It's just about time.”
The last vestiges of blue were stricken from the sky and in their place was left the scorched pallor of twilight. A slight breeze drifted across the pale, story tall archway, gently tossing Lancer's navy hair about as he stood, a single figure atop it, looking out over the city block. Half resting against the bronze likeness of a trumpet wielding cherub, arms crossed over his chest, Lancer took in a deep breath and stepped towards the edge.
He could see a several people watching him, though there was no way to tell if they had come out because of his summons, or simply the spectacle of a solitary man stoically standing a top a public monument. However if they were here to bear witness to his challenge, it was far less people then he was hoping for. Perhaps the “Network” wasn't the best way for him to communicate with the ones behind what's happening here. However, as an Import driven medium of communication, it made sense that an entity interested in Import activities would probably keep a close eye on what was happening there.
Lancer frowned slightly. It was still a bit before the true onset of dusk. Maybe more were coming. Maybe none. Maybe people truly did like it here and saw no need to have the reason for it stated.
“Tch.” Lancer clucked irritatedly. Not at the people, but at the situation.
Honestly, could he blame them? Could he say he didn't like what had happened to him? What had been given to him. He was alive. And well. And most importantly free. As far as he could tell, no command spells bound him. And why would they? He was a human, not a spirit anymore.
Anyone one would see such a thing as a great gift. And at such generosity it isn't that hard to believe that most people would just accept the generosity and move on. The hard truth is that most of these people who were brought here were in some shape or form considered “Heroes”. And heroes often tend not to have many people who they are close with. The life of a champion is a perilous one and those that hold meaning to a hero that don't die are often held at bay for their own safety.
Maybe it was the fact that Lancer had never really known true good fortune, true miracles, in all of his existence. Especially not ones that were without cost. But he just couldn't accept the events as is. At least not yet.
Someone was stealing people from their lives, taking them to this city against their will and without consent. No explanation, no justifications, no nothing. THAT Lancer could not abide. No matter how much he benefited from it. Surely any entity that had the power to do all this had the power to speak. And if there was a need for heroes in this land then wouldn't it make sense, especially with the disposition of heroes, to have at least asked first?
Lancer let his mind wander back to his first post to the Hero Community. It had been aggressive, uncomfortable and borderline antagonistic. But this was a problem that the people of this city needed to address, needed to notice. And if they were too uncomfortable to ask the hard questions, to draw a line in the sand and make a stand, then Lancer would do it for them.
With effortless grace Lancer stepped over the side, silently gliding to the ground and landed like a cat.
“I guess it's time to see what this city's made of.” Lancer said, the corner's of his mouth twisting as he righted himself.