biscuit_powered: (human | smile | quiet amusement)
[personal profile] biscuit_powered
She's let the whole money thing slide for a while now. There was that time she did some magic work, but she never got around to advertising her services again that well dried up, and Asmodia and Biscuit have been subsisting on their angelic allowance ever since. That's fine; it's enough for the necessities and for exploring the city, and that's all they really need, isn't it? Most of the things she'd be interested in buying don't exist here anyway, and she doesn't really need amulets and the like when she hasn't been in a fight in two months new.

But then it turns out Manhattan has entire museums devoted to art, and an entire boulevard devoted to theater. Tickets cost money, but so does food, and she's lived on the edge of society long enough to know better than to prioritize the former over the latter. Clearly she's going to need more money if she's to indulge in the arts. Clearly, also, getting an actual job is out of the question. Just thinking about working at some eatery where she'd have to wear a uniform, show up at an appointed time, follow orders and kowtow to customers -- it's enough to make her want to puke.

Where there's money, though, there's always some roundabout way to get at it. That's what has her and Biscuit in the Diamond District today, armed with a butter knife and a cup from 'her' kitchenette. Either she's about to strike it rich or the person who mentioned finding jewelry debris here is playing a really thorough practical joke on her.

"Come on, Biscuit," she says, dropping into a crouch and picking a place to start prying mud out from between the cracks in the pavement. "We're going to archaeology the shit out of this sidewalk."

She'll...well, she'll be here a while, once she sees that she is indeed finding some worthwhile bits and pieces. Why doesn't everyone do this?
lonelyghost: (what was his name)
[personal profile] lonelyghost
There is something he's forgotten, isn't there. Isn't there? Darkness where there used to be light, nothing where there was something, but now who's to say what it was. The sky is scarred but healed and quiet, and everyone is glad they are safe and you helped and you should be happy, but there is that itch of forgetting, like before, when you forgot yourself.

Can't keep the thread of that now, slipping through your fingers like fine sands, like a dream. The Inquisitor is here. Your friend.

"There've been some reports of Fade rifts in the Hissing Wastes," he says. "Would you like to go with us?"

"I've never been to the Hissing Wastes," says Cole. "Do they actually hiss?"

"I don't know about that," says the Inquisitor with a little smile. Cole likes his smile. It's friendly, and isn't forced. "Harding called it the worst place in the world, but I don't know if I agree with her on that. It's all quiet desert. I thought it was rather nice, myself. You might like it."

He asks when he doesn't have to. He is the Inquisitor, he can make anyone go with him at a word, but he always asks. He is a good friend. Cole hopes he never forgets.

The Hissing Wastes do hiss a little, wind whistling woefully over the sand. Cole does like it there, dark and cool and mostly quiet, traveling with Varric and The Iron Bull, neither of whom call him 'it' or 'thing', or seem to mind what he is. When they come upon the Fade rift The Iron Bull laughs and Varric says something funny, in the wrong order, and Cole's mind is mired elsewhere because this one does not feel right. The others don't notice, can't feel it, but this rift is two rifts, one inside the other, something else beyond, reaching and grasping.

He shouldn't, knows he shouldn't. Nobody should. But Cole reaches back.

It's what he does; he helps people. The others can't sense it, don't see that this rift wants more than to let demons out. It wants to pull them in. He can't let that happen to his friends. He won't. There is no time to warn them and no time to stop it so Cole pushes forward and offers himself, gives up himself gladly, to save them all.

"Cole!" the Inquisitor cries out, startled, confused, why is he going, why is he doing this, but Cole can't answer him now, can't turn back; if he were more like a spirit he could fight it, but he's not, and so he can't. He lets it swallow him up, and he is afraid: he doesn't want to go to the Fade, he doesn't want to be alone.

It is over very quickly. But it is not the Fade where he finds himself. This place is real. Whole. But it is not the world he knows. It is something different.

He is sitting in grass, real grass but different grass, feels different, remembers hundreds of different years, and millions of lives, nothing Cole's ever felt before. This is somewhere new. Not Thedas and not the Fade.

He does not move, sitting in the middle of the grass, surrounded by people who ignore him, even though he is wearing his hat and he just appeared, no one sees him, nobody sees. He's like he was.

Afraid and alone, adrift, absent. Cole curls inward and tells himself to wake up. It will not work. It never works. This is no dream.

Wake up, please.



[OOC: Please note Cole's permissions page and the abilities section of his app. It is possible that your character can meet him and then forget the encounter afterward, if you like. This means there could be multiple encounters. Feel free to tag in setting your character up as minding their own business, and Cole can approach them, as he is not easily noticed (not by the average person, anyway). Hit me up if you wanna run something by me.]
biscuit_powered: (human | thoughtful | chewing on thumb)
[personal profile] biscuit_powered
Though Asmodia's first foray into the life of an adventurer-for-hire was a resounding success, she's struggled since then to find something to do with herself. Life is...easy here, in many ways. She has a small box apartment in which to live, a pleasant rooftop garden in which to celebrate the sunrise on those mornings when she doesn't fail her goddess by sleeping through it, and an allowance that trickles down to her from the supposedly angelic (she seriously doubts it, but she's still waiting for causes and evidence to dispute it) owner of the building. What's hard isn't providing for herself. What's hard is finding a reason to drag herself out of bed in the mornings (or the afternoon, or evening, or middle of the night -- her sleep patterns haven't become the slightest bit more regular than they were back in Absalom). So far as she can tell there's no way home, where she tries to convince herself she's needed, and the bustling city around her is so far out of step with what she knows that she doesn't know where to begin to pick up the pieces. It's been a long time since she just lived for the sake of living, and what felt like freedom a decade ago in Nirmathas feels like purgatory now that she's had a taste of life as part of something bigger.

There is something happening around the city, though. Lately she's heard rumors from the neighbors of 'monsters' coming through the rift, though she has her doubts about some of these people when she's heard at least one of them use the words 'monster' and 'demon' interchangeably. She doesn't have any leads on where these purported monsters might be found, but if they're coming through the rift, Central Park is a decent bet -- and today, at least, her logic has paid off. All one needs do is follow the sounds of screaming, right? Or more like go the opposite direction of the people running away yammering about a 'floating worm' swimming through the air somewhere near the Sheep Meadow.

When she gets there, she's surprised to find that it is, indeed, a floating worm. Or a floating...squirmy thing. It looks almost aquatic, and despite hanging in midair and possessing a mouth that looks like something out of the Abyssal Plane, it doesn't seem to actually be doing much of anything. She edges nearer, casting a quick spell so she can check its aura -- there's a hint of enchantment magic here, but she can't make out what -- and after a moment's thought, she preemptively lays a hex of retribution on it before stepping closer, reasoning that the hex will only hurt it if it hurts her first. Biscuit hangs back as his mistress steps nearer, chittering uneasily.

"It's alright," she assures him, eyes fixed on the...thing. "I don't think it's even doing anything, it's probably just an animal from one of the outer -- GAK!!"

She probably shouldn't have gotten so close to it. That's the thought that goes through her head as it suddenly squirms forward through the air with a hitherto unseen speed. Her next thought, as it latches onto her neck, is that this is a really lovely day and that she really ought to remind Biscuit that she loves him more often.
deadeyedchild: so is this where Alex... (you are distorted)
[personal profile] deadeyedchild
Jay doesn't bother trying to follow Tim closely - he knows where he's going, and he doesn't want to have to hash out the whole elevator thing again. He focuses on allowing himself to sink down through several floors of hallway, before finally he's hovering outside Tim's door just as Tim's coming up to it. Jay wonders uneasily if Tim had tried to talk to him while he was in the elevator. It's creepy enough that he can spy on people without this additional factor of being able to just vanish while someone presumes him present. This whole situation is unsettling and awkward as hell.

But he is glad to be back, even if it's only sort of.

He drifts into Tim's apartment, where he's spent very little time. Tim had only moved out pretty recently before he re-died, and they'd been sort of avoiding each other. Trying to give space. Something.

Now Jay is pretty desperate for company, and he can't really get it.

What now?

He brushes Tim's shoulder lightly. Just a nudge. Tim has to lead the conversation, here. Won't this be fun for the whole family.
postictal: (uh huh sure | smoking)
[personal profile] postictal
This is a bad idea.

Then again, that's kind of his specialty. Bad ideas, and making the best of them. Well, that's really more Jay's specialty, but - Tim's not thinking about Jay. He has a policy where he doesn't think about Jay unless it's the staunch reminder that he's getting him back. He just - needs to find him first. Somehow.

Tim sighs.

'Rates negotiable'. What does that even mean? It's not like the vague label of 'adventurer' is much of a reliable job description. This is the kind of shitty idea tantamount to Jay's late night expeditions in the middle of creepy nightmare-infested woods. Meeting a self-described 'adventurer' because he's desperate, because he felt something work when he woke up this morning and Jay must've gotten out, he must have, he's just - he's just not here. He's lost. He's always lost. He gets lost in woods he's never been in. It's what he does.

Tim swirls his glass of water, the soft clink of ice cubes against glass barely audible over the low drone of the other patrons. He doesn't really know what to make of this place with its weird-as-fuck old-timey feel, and the irregular surges of people spilling in and out aren't doing much to put his jangling nerves at ease. He hunches over his water, knuckles blanching as his grip tightens over the glass. Too many people. Too many goddamn people, and not enough space.

There's an all-too-familiar tightness in his lungs. He digs out his phone and taps out a message - seeking adventurer - and lays it out flat on the table in front of him with a muted click. Is that a thing people do? Is that a good indication of who he is and who he's looking for? Fuck, as if he couldn't have been more vague.

With a loose, fuck it shrug of his shoulders, Tim drains his water and puts his head in his hands. Definitely a bad idea.
deadeyedchild: I haven't been as paranoid (hide behind the lens)
[personal profile] deadeyedchild
He can feel Tim leaving him, waking up, and he tries to follow. He doesn't know how. This is all new territory, following someone from one plane of existence to another. He tries to visualize himself holding onto Tim's hand. It's embarrassing but it works.

He thinks it works.

He feels different.

The world feels familiar - not the empty void he'd been inhabiting, but the world, solid and real, tangible. He's here. He's back.

He still feels like he's looking at it through glass, though. He looks down at his hands, which are - sort of there, at least, he knows they're there. He can almost see them. Except not quite.

"Oh come on," he mutters, and no sound comes out. He knows he's spoken but he can't quite hear it. He tries to lay a hand on his own arm and he feels a buzz of static as his fingers pass through himself. Oh, god.

He's a fucking ghost.

This is not quite what he had in mind. He knows it's not what Tim had in mind.

It's better than nothing.

He takes a moment to try and figure out where he is. He finds that he can move, not exactly by walking, but sort of drifting along the ground. He accidentally passes through someone, who shivers violently and looks thoroughly spooked for a few seconds. He is unable to get anyone's attention, or interact with anything.

He has to get to Tim somehow, but he can't really take a train, can he? He's not even sure what part of the city he's in.

So he rambles. After a while he finds it's easier to just move through walls than to try to go about things the normal way. Shortly after that revelation he starts picking up the very bizarre skill of moving up through a building, in and out of offices and apartments.

Travel is easy, but communication is nearly impossible.

He searches, having nothing else he can do, for someone he knows.


[[Jay is wandering all over kingdom come today so if you want your character to have a weird ghost encounter, pick a location and we'll see what happens. It's going to be super hard to notice him if you don't have any kind of telepathic/other helpful powers, but that's okay, we can do short shenanigan threads if you're into that. A quick little ghost encounter! Hey, maybe Jay can overhear some awkward dialogue or embarrassing secrets. Maybe he'll accidentally figure out how to knock something off a counter and then go nuts trying to do it again. The sky is the limit. Have fun!]]

UPDATE: as often happens with this kind of thing we have Jay on a pretty tight schedule now. The Balladeer meets him around lunchtime, and then the line of Rush/Iman - Daniel - Greta gets set into motion sometime after. Greta will be taking Jay back to his building in the late afternoon. If you want to meet him when he's out and about it'll now have to be prior to lunch or snuck in between lunch and his adventure through the former ROMAC apartments. There is still plenty of room in there for nonsense, it just won't be able to lead to Jay actually getting home. SHENANIGANS!
i_jones: indiefairy @ LJ (guys there's all this pizza and turtles)
[personal profile] i_jones
Welcome, welcome. Not through that door. I mean, you can try it, but all doors lead to breakfast. Even that one underneath the console. You thought you were being clever. Maybe once you've behaved yourself and the TARDIS judges you to be worthy, you can explore a little more. For now, breakfast. For one night only, the TARDIS has become - or rather, has been inhabited by - King Ianto's Coffee Stop. Would you like to join the club? He has pamphlets. And buttons! But more importantly, he has breakfast. Lots of breakfast. The countertops of the cozy diner are lined with plates of breakfast foods galore - bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding, cockles, laverbread... and okay, there are American staples too. There's your pancakes and your french toast and hash browns and cupcakes or whatever strange sweet things Americans eat for breakfast. Oh, and tea. Lots of tea. And if you ask very nicely, King Ianto himself might brew up some of his very own coffee. It's so good, it has a cult following.*

The walls are decorated with a strange collection of primarily alien souvenirs. There's one whole section of postcards from other planets and galaxies. GREETINGS FROM MARS! says one particularly upbeat postcard, featuring swathes of blue sand and a setting blue sun. Many others are unreadable. There are flags, leis of unfamiliar flora, letters of commendation (right next to WANTED signs), photographs both old and new of various people and various Doctors posing next to various monuments and landmarks, and strangely enough, what looks to be a stolen sign commemorating Ianto's death, from the management of Mermaid Quay. Have a look around! You never know what you might find. Probably none of it is dangerous. The food definitely isn't.

Oh and also the ceiling is space and outside the windows is space and spaaaaaace.**

*((Ianto has an undiscovered power: his coffee improves you. Your health, your powers (temporarily), your mood, whatever needs fixing. Please drink responsibly.))

**not actually space
biscuit_powered: (human | smile | impish laughter)
[personal profile] biscuit_powered
Very little in this place has proved familiar, and that which is familiar has proved uncanny. Asmodia's life has run the gamut from metropolis to frontier and back again, but until being taken by this Rift she had never seen anything like Manhattan. Bustling port cities she's seen, but this city is like something out of fantasy. The word 'skyscraper' is oddly appealing in its imaginative accuracy, even if the buildings it denotes are less appealing. They blot out the sky in a way even Kintargo's grizzled skyline never managed, and they make her feel simultaneously trapped and as though she should expect one to topple down on top of her at any moment.

This is far from the first time circumstances have called upon her to adapt herself to a foreign culture, but she had never imagined she would encounter one this foreign...or that she would find herself nearly powerless with no indication of when or how she might regain her magic. She's been keenly aware of her relative inability to kill her enemies defend herself since being returned here; it's as though Biscuit has completely forgotten most of the spells she taught him. It's a struggle to prepare each of the spells that remain for even one use each day, and all Biscuit can give her are Deception's spells. Maybe she should be grateful for what she has given that their survival here will likely be predicated on their ability to pass unnoticed, but she has grown accustomed to living openly and to responding to threats with violence, not subterfuge.

Not that anyone has threatened her. True, she's spent most of her time hiding out in the little living space assigned to her, quietly testing her new limits, but the worst she's gotten on her brief forays outdoors are odd looks. Odd looks she's used to, but sooner or later she'll have to make another attempt to buy some local clothing because the human guise alone isn't cutting it. Her first attempt was a miserable failure, the layout of the stores and labeling of the goods even more confusing than the grocers she's visited, and since then she's simply worn the clothes in which she arrived, washing them in her new abode's sink a few times at great inconvenience and with mixed success.

Today, at last, she is growing bolder...if only from boredom. Trouble is, she doesn't know where to go or what to do with herself, and she doesn't have any money with which to do it anyhow. She heads down to the ground level and outside only to wander aimlessly a few minutes, listless and annoyed at the realization that she has no idea what to do with herself.

If there's one thing she's always known how to do, though, it's how to take out her frustrations on strangers. An idea forms as she passes one stranger after another on the street, and once it occurs to her it sticks. It wouldn't hurt anyone, not really, and it would give her something to do for the next hour or so, and maybe most importantly, it would remind her that she's not helpless.

So that's why Asmodia and Biscuit have picked out a spot in the Sheep Meadow and commenced dancing. They're both pretty bad at it, and Asmodia's eldritch chanting is almost entirely unmusical, but for the first time in a while she's starting to feel a reassuring (if likely fleeting) sense of control. She's Asmodia Antarion. She's faced devils and felled giants, and she can and she will command the elements themselves for her own petty amusement. Enjoy the coming rainstorm, Manhattan. Or just enjoy the performance art; it's not every day you see a LARPer and a giant rodent performing a rain dance.


[OOC: Asmodia is using a hex to control the weather! Unfortunately for pranking purposes, this hex requires a literal solid hour of dancing and chanting with her familiar and she's chosen to do it in a public place, whoops. She might try to brush aside briefer distractions, but whenever anyone gets her mind too far off what she's doing she's going to have to start over. Subsequent interrupters will get an increasingly frustrated Asmodia.]
biscuit_powered: (human | serious | intent)
[personal profile] biscuit_powered
This again. The second time around the place is more familiar, which is weird because right up until reappearing in the exact same spot as the first time (minus weird lying man and helpful druid) Asmodia had completely forgotten that New York was ever anything more than a strange dream. And of course it took her from home when she was resting, again, so she and Biscuit are just as woefully unequipped as before. She's got her spell component pouch and a little bit of cash in her pockets this time, but no corset, no protective wonders, and no dagger or rod. What's really weird is that she does have her cloak of human guise, which she knows she didn't have on her before she got here.

At least this time she knows to put it on right away. A quick test proves that she can lie, too, which is just about the greatest mercy she's ever received. That begs the question of whether her magic is going to work this time, and another quick test confirms that yes, it does. That the test also renders Biscuit invisible is a bonus considering she's pretty sure she remembers that druid telling her this world lacks donkey rats.

Right. Strange world that's not as strange to her as she'd like it to be, no sign of her friends, and no gear. The situation is terrifying more than a little worrying, but she sternly reminds herself that as a slayer of devils and a traveler of demiplanes she can damned well handle this. Just let anyone try to hurt her and they'll find out firsthand why one doesn't meddle with witches. Alright, so there was a bit of panicked sobbing in the bushes in those first few minutes, but she is a mighty caster and a force to be reckoned with and no one is ever going to find out that the first thing she did when she realized she was back here was have a cry with her rat. No one is going to find out, either, that the second thing she did was to get hopelessly lost in a city park.

The third thing, though? Yeah, she's pretty sure the third thing is going to be good. She was aiming for the underground lair she'd been taken to before, but this fountain isn't a bad thing to come across -- this was supposed to be the center, wasn't it? No one would ever know it from all the people milling around it. She's been lurking at the edge of the crowd for a while, trying to remember which way to go, when it strikes her: She can use her magic this time. Portals and gates aren't exactly her thing, but it won't be hard to at least get a read on just what this thing is. Glancing around to make sure no one's watching her too closely, she mutters the words under her breath and curls the fingers of one hand just so --

Blinding waves of what her brain interprets as lime green and magenta light erupt across her entire field of vision, and her ears fill with the roar of her own blood rushing through her veins. The light parts and for a moment she thinks she's going blind until she realizes that no, she can see but there's nothing to see in the yawning chasm of nothingness that opens before her --

Then, mercifully, all perception shuts off as her stunned mind loses concentration on the spell. She doesn't register her knees buckling under her until she hits the ground, landing awkwardly on her invisible tail. She sways blindly, seeming not to hear the urgent squeaking of her invisible familiar, and finally gives up and slumps the rest of the way to the ground in the hope that it will make her head stop spinning.
biscuit_powered: (Asmodia | afraid | recoil)
[personal profile] biscuit_powered
There's blood all over their ship.

Asmodia doesn't know what to do with herself on the flight home from the observatory. This isn't the first time she's seen corpses (it's far from even the first time she's been part of the cause of corpses) and it's not like she feels any guilt over killing a bunch of old men who'd made it their lives' mission to stamp out Stig's entire bloodline, but it's unsettling, let's go with that, to see a friend execute a defeated foe and to have it happen aboard their home away from home. She's not sure she'll ever see the deck again without remembering what it looks like right now.

She wonders what the man she killed saw before he died. He's one of the few that went down without a mark on him…and serve him right, the (literally) backstabbing bastard.

They all disperse to their own rooms once Tanna's landed the ship at the warehouse, Stig of course haring off into town to fetch his lady friend and tell her the good news. The stink of smoke that permeates the building isn't enough to ruin the comfort of coming home after a hard day, and at least fighting so close to home means she and Biscuit can have a bath afterward. She takes her time and doesn't bother going back downstairs or putting any of her gear back on afterward, but makes herself comfortable in her room with her books and settles in for a solitary night of contemplation. There are some spells she's been meaning to teach to Biscuit, and she can feel that familiar niggling feeling that comes before a new hex brings itself to mind….

At least, that's how she intends to spend her evening until the banging and clattering noises start up downstairs. Normally she'd write it off (even small explosions are pretty much par for the course around here), but after everything that's happened recently it's enough to get her out of bed. She grabs blindly for her cloak of resistance as she opens the door and --

And everything is suddenly a lot more green than it should be. "What in the --" she starts, lifting a hand to shield her eyes against he relative brightness and spinning in place on the spot, hyper-alert for anyone who might be rushing at her with a sword or lobbing a fireball in her direction. "Biscuit, where --

"Biscuit??" It's then that she realizes her familiar is gone. Her breath hitches as she casts out her senses -- and there, she can feel him! He's frightened, and hurt, and whoever kidnapped and separated the two of them will have a lot to answer for. First things first: see where she really is. A wave of her hand a few choice words should dispel whatever illusion is around her.

Except it doesn't. She doesn't even feel any magic moving through her when she does it. She tries again, and then she tries to teleport back to her room, and then to make herself a crone because maybe if she can just concentrate a little better --

Nothing, nothing, and nothing. Panicking, she tries to scry on Biscuit, and when that fails as well she stumbles over to a nearby fence to lean hard on it, feeling nauseas. It's gone. Her magic is gone and she doesn't even know how or why or where she is or where Biscuit is and why are those people staring at her?!
applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
 photo beauty and the beast stained glass rose-NZWR_sm_zpsadnbeqxz.png


The twenty-seventh of August dawns bright and clear, but when your characters wake up, they will immediately notice something wrong. They've woken up the wrong size, or species, or age. Or perhaps everything seems normal until they take a bite of their apple-flavored toaster strudel, or attempt to speak, or wander into the woods, or bump into that old crone in the subway and fail to adequately apologize. However it happens, there's no getting around it: your characters are cursed, like an unfortunate out of a fairy tale.

On the bright side, many curses can be broken. Unfortunately, none of them come with user manuals, so how they might be broken isn't clear. Perhaps true love's kiss will do it, or a heroically sacrificial act, or some serious reflection followed by revelatory insight into your own soul. Or, y'know, whatever. But it's far more likely that your character will just be stuck with whatever it is until sunset, when any and all remaining curses will be broken.

[OOC: Feel free to use this post for initial reactions to whatever curse your character has found themselves suffering. Any additional posts for more specified shenanigans can go up under the 'events: curses' tag. Sunset is a little after 7:30 PM. Backdating and backtagging are the best and you should do both of those things if necessary.]

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