2024 catch-all

[picketship]

Who: Demeisen & various
What: Catch-all for non-event threads
Where: Various
When: Throughout 2024
Warnings: Will be in headers as appropriate

Comments

for Amos — sci-fi guy tree time

[picketship]

[Demeisen does not usually dream: not in the traditional, human sense of the word, at least. His adventures in less-than-real environments have always been done while fully conscious, aware of the simulation and free to leave it as he chooses.

But on this occasion, he cannot wake up—even though the scenario is too terrible, too apocalyptic to be real. One moment he is standing amidst the flaming, partially blasted estates of a thoroughly evil, soon-to-be-late business tycoon, and the next, the sky itself descends in a devouring tide, overwhelming everything in its path. He sees the earth crack and the primitive structures around him disappear beneath the onrushing mass; and, somewhere in the sky far above, beyond the planet’s atmosphere, he feels element twelve of the Falling Outside The Normal Moral Constraints disappear too. In the dream, the moments between then and his own death stretch an eternity, and are still somehow not enough for him to grasp what has just happened.

Then it all fades: until his senses come flooding back, and he finds himself cocooned in darkness, less than a metre below the surface of some unknown land. It takes him some moments to process, to probe at the hollow edges of his awareness where the ship Mind previously was, to take stock of systems suddenly operating at reduced capacity, or even not at all. Has he been damaged, or just revented in a cheap imitation of his original body? He isn’t yet sure. Neither possibility is promising.

But the soil is beginning to collapse around him, so he may as well claw his way to the surface. And so, he begins.]

[baltimores]

[ Amos doesn't usually go to the Tree when he's still alive. He'll wake up there after having died, as everyone does; take a few minutes to regain his bearings; then stumble home as though hungover.

But there's been a recent development in his life, and he's feeling contemplative, so... the Tree it is. It's a nice little spot, he figures. Quiet, and peaceful, and if he's going to go out then maybe he should come out here more often—

The ground is moving.

Is that a hand? ]

Fuck.

[ It's the hissed mutter of someone being taken by surprise, because he didn't know anyone was going to be here. In the ground. Did someone die recently, is that what this is, or what...

A beat, as Amos very helpfully stares at ground shifting below him and what is probably the beginnings of someone beginning to claw their way out. ]

Hey, you need a hand?

[ And then he's dropping down to his own knees and starting to attempt actually helping, maybe-probably answering his own question as he begins to dig from above. He knows he'd appreciate the assist — and also whoever this is is probably going to be too weak to attack him, so, there's no real risk here at all. ]

[picketship]

[As Amos digs into the soft earth at the foot of the tree, the hand disappears beneath the surface, to be replaced with its opposite—and then with the first again, methodically, as the entombed person below scoops their way toward the surface without any particular hurry. Though there is not much strength to the movements, their orderly repetition suggests unusual calm for someone suddenly finding themself buried alive. There is rather less flailing and scrabbling than might be expected.

Presently, a person begins to emerge: a man, tall and thin, dark-featured, and probably completely nude. He burrows out of the ground bit by bit, seeming not at all surprised when his face clears the soil and his dark eyes focus on Amos. He heard him speak, after all, even if he didn’t reply; and he could sense him atop the layer of earth, digging down. Despite the flecks of dirt still clinging to his eyelashes, he barely blinks as he emerges further, and doesn’t even squint as he smiles thinly up at the human man.

If he is still distraught about the harrowing vision he experienced just before waking, he doesn’t show it.]

You seem surprised. Expecting someone else?

[baltimores]

[ Really, the calm is subconsciously appreciated. Amos doesn't even think to question it as he digs, that something might be a little off there, if only because the premise of the situation is absurd and somehow mundane all at once. People show up at the tree buried underground or in a cocoon. They then get out. Simple, and also unthinkable in a past life.

Though as the man is unearthed, it then becomes clear that something is, indeed, off.

The lack of blinking, mostly, considering how much of the man is still in the dirt. Amos shifts back a pace to give him space. ]

I wasn't expecting anyone. [ The smiling is also weird, maybe? He can't tell. But he also isn't particularly perturbed by it; more straightforward — this might as well be happening — with a hint of curiosity in an otherwise flat voice. ] Not every day people show up here.

[ A beat. ]

Though if you were going to show up anywhere, this'd be the place.

[ Another beat, before going back to the earlier question. ]

You need help getting all the way out of there, or you got the rest of it covered from here?

[picketship]

[Even as Amos offers to assist him fully out of the ground, Demeisen lifts an arm and flaps one hand to wave the idea away. The sight is a little comical, given he’s still buried up to his chest in loose earth.]

No, no, don’t trouble yourself.

[Placing both hands flat on the ground on either side of him, he braces himself against the dirt and wriggles upward, like he’s shimmying out of a tight pair of pants. He definitely isn’t, though; if he’d had pants, he would have kept them on, and as he fully emerges it becomes very clear that his bottom half is just as bare as the rest of him.

It also becomes clear that whatever vague strangeness Amos might have noticed about his behaviour is the least of his alien qualities. He might also notice how short the fingers spread against the ground are, or how humped his shoulders and upper back seem. He might notice that his torso seems rather short compared to his long, gangling legs.

(He might also notice that, aside from on his face and head, the man seems largely hairless. But, maybe he waxes?)

As he finishes freeing himself from the soil, Demeisen sits back, cross-legged and apparently completely unconcerned with his nudity, and flashes the man across from him a bright look.]

Well! That’s sorted. Now, who might you be?

[baltimores]

[ Oh.

Alright then.

Amos watches as Demeisen lifts himself up out of the ground, and yeah, the self-sufficient practicality is good. His eyes follow him as he lifts himself up — so far so good — ah, yup, Amos had first arrived here naked, too — oh what's past his dick actually invites so many more questions—

He can't help but stare. Not just at the obvious spot but at all of it, eyes roving over Demeisen's misshapen (to him) body. Maybe he does wax! That isn't the weird part. Right now he's just wondering what the fuck gravity did to this guy, since that's the only context he has — his legs are Belter-like; his upper half as though he grew up in a gravity greater than Earth's. How does that even happen—

And before he has the chance to vocally make an ass of himself, Demeisen is making himself comfortable right in front of him. Amos is having a tough time tearing his eyes away from his legs, but the sound of the other's voice does a lot of wonders at getting him to look at the guy's actual face.

He is... partially civilized. Kind of. ]

I'm Amos. [ Which is, technically, an answer. He blinks owlishly; this is something very new to him. He could also ask for this guy's name in return,

or, ] What happened to you?

[ Which is unhelpfully contextless, though maybe the vague gesturing at Demeisen's entire body might give a hint as to what he actually means. ]

[picketship]

[A normal person would probably be at least a little offended at the blatant staring this guy is doing at most of Demeisen’s body. Had he actually been misshapen due to some circumstance beyond his control, it would be annoying at the very least. Subtlety does not appear to be one of this man’s better traits.

Demeisen doesn’t give a fuck, though. His current body isn’t actually misshapen, but even if it was, he’s worn shapes with intentional deformities just to provoke the kind of gawking this guy is doing (albeit more of the scandalized variety, given what is definitely tacky behaviour on his part). Amos can stare all he likes; it makes no difference to him.]

Demeisen, [he says, since he assumes this guy will want his name at some point, once he finishes puzzling over the alien body in front of him.] And, most recently, I experienced the sudden obliteration of quite possibly the entire planet I was on, if not more. Then I woke up here. But that’s not what you were asking, is it?

[Being cut off from any way at all to gain context for this situation is a novel and strongly unpleasant experience for Demeisen, but it’s still clear enough that despite the unexpected nature of his arrival, Amos has been taking that at least in stride rather easily. This isn’t his first rodeo.]

Tell you what. You fill me in on what kind of place I’ve found myself in, and I’ll tell you whatever trivia you like.

[baltimores]

[ He probably wouldn't even notice if what he doing was considered offensive. Small blessings for him that these are just two guys with unique social boundaries here.

There's a particular word that Demeisen says, though, that properly garners his attention — planet. Amos perks up before shifting position to get himself more comfortable, since if Demeisen is content to sit here in the soil cross-legged and fully nude, then it doesn't look like the either of them is going to go anywhere anytime soon.

Not when this might actually be a more interesting conversation than what he's used to. ]

You're in a place called Kenos. You just crawled out of the Tree of Life. I'm guessing you got a rock on you somewhere now; that'd be your soul, so you're gonna wanna look after that. [ His voice takes on a casual drawl as he lists off all of these things that are old hat to him by now, one after another. Pedestrian, and yet he would've called bullshit on all of them a couple of years ago. ] Only way you get here is by sudden obliteration. Not just of a planet, but your universe. Everything you used to know? It's gone.

[ A potentially upsetting topic, but... it never has been for him, and so he continues on as though it wouldn't be one for Demeisen, either. Your old universe is dead, buddy. Time to move on with the new one — or it would be, except he's still trying to piece together how that body could have possibly developed the way it did. ]

What planet were you on? 'cause I've known people with legs like yours, but then the rest of them was like that too. From growing up in lower g. I've never... I don't see how your body could've ended up the way it did.

[ So polite. ]

[picketship]

[Amos is going to eventually bring Demeisen back to Yima’s mansion fully nude, isn’t he. This is just what’s coming down the pipe, once they’re finished their conversation. Neither of them give enough fucks to worry about gawkers seeing them in transit.

For the time being, Demeisen receives Amos’s explanation with a rather neutral raise of his eyebrow. He looks, at most, a little unimpressed, like he’d been hoping for a better answer and he hasn’t yet figured out how to feel about this one.]

That so?

[He certainly does have a rock in him; he can remember grabbing it on his way up, thinking it seemed interesting, and can tell without looking that it seems to have migrated from his palm to the back of his neck. That’s something to investigate later, though, along with his place in this new world that’s supposedly in an entirely different universe.

(He’s thinking a virtual reality sounds more likely, but sets that thoughtlet aside to pursue when he isn’t actively having a chat with a stranger.)]

Last planet I was on was Sichult, in the Quyn system. People there would find you outlandish, I expect. It’s a bit of a backwater, so aliens [—he gestures at Amos with one stubby-fingered hand—] are still a minor novelty for them.

Though from your befuddlement, I’d hazard the place you’re from isn’t much different.

[baltimores]

[ Well, it is cold in Highstorm, so... decent shot that Demeisen at least temporarily gets a coat.

But in the here and now, Amos can at least look at the face of the guy he's talking to. Fading is the novelty of staring over an unfamiliar body type, and he doesn't even have the grace to look embarrassed when Demeisen calls him out on it.

Like, yeah. What else was he supposed to be doing? He's going to consider that answer, a thoughtful little tilt to his head. ]

Where I'm from, I'd never met any aliens. We found a bunch of dead ones' old stuff, but the aliens themselves were already, you know. Dead. [ The shrug is in his voice; what're you gonna do? ] There're some here, though. Bits of life get pulled in from around dying universes, you're gonna end up with a decent bit of variety.

[ Pause. And, without a hint of awareness: ] Most do tend to look more like me, though.

[ Lots of regular humans and human-shaped beings around these parts. Amos settles back, comfortable. ]

Never heard of the Quyn system. I'm from Sol. Spent some time in Ilus, but nobody actually lived there yet. People were only just starting to colonize it back then.

[ He's watching Demeisen as he tosses names out there, curious on if any are gonna stick. Chances are incredibly likely they're from entirely separate universes, but... who really knows, right? ]

Post-Arrival OTA

[picketship]

I. DRUG DEN

[Demeisen’s first order of business, after securing clothing, is going in search for information. What he has so far is a pitifully small amount, and even if he did nothing but speak to people for the next week without rest, it would still be scarcely any larger—at least by Culture standards. When one is used to having the secrets of the known galaxy laid out at one’s fingertips, word of mouth seems pretty paltry by comparison.

But it is all that he has to work with at present, so he arms himself with what funds he has been provided for essentials, and he delves into what passes for the entertainment districts of Kenos’s cities. He visits sleepy little pubs and bustling cafés, lofty libraries and beautiful parks, seedy clubs where the smell of intoxicants hangs heavy in the air. And he talks. And he listens.

For days.

Many of the friendlier locals can be persuaded to give up a seat at their tables or cover a drink for a new shard-bearer, but it isn’t charity that allows him to keep his pockets full despite his bar-hopping. In fact, the amount of funds on his person increases as the days tick past, owing to the trail of dice tables and card games he leaves behind him.

Eventually he’s ready for the second phase of his investigation, which brings him to drug dens in Highstorm and Springstar—perhaps even in Kowloon, given his days of tireless exploration. Charity won’t avail him here, but that’s just fine, as he doesn’t need it anymore. He plops himself down next to patrons who seem lucid enough for conversation, his perfect teeth already clamped around a pipe that cannot possibly do anything for his non-organic “physiology.” He draws deeply from it, then removes the pipe on an exhale to flash a smile at his new companion.]

This seat taken?

II. COLISEUM

[Eventually, Demeisen’s search leads him back to Springstar, and specifically the coliseum filling part of its entertainment district with its bulk. He is not done with his search; he will not be done until he finds convincing answers to all his questions, and at his current pace, that’s likely to take months, if not longer. If he’s going to be here for that long, he may as well indulge his interests as well as his curiosity.

The man in the stands does not look like any of the humans wandering around this city, regardless of how cosmopolitan it might be. There is an alien quality about him that manifests most obviously in the hump of his shoulders and spine, the stoutness of his thin torso and the unusual lankiness of his legs. The fingers tapping idly on one long thigh are too stubby, with too few joints. To one accustomed to the idea of elves and other nonhuman races that resemble humans except for a few differing features, he might not seem human at all.

Which would be correct, actually. But that has nothing to do with his appearance.

He has secured a seat at the front, with a prime view of the sport going on below. When he arrived, a combatant was facing off against some sort of many-toothed, copiously-tentacled beast, which vanished the moment it was slain—perhaps Displaced elsewhere for ease of clean-up, as it had seemed real enough before that point. Now, a new combatant and a new creature duel below, to the screams and hoots of the coliseum’s many onlookers.

Demeisen looks like he’s reading the morning news.]

drugs,

[cutlery]

[ When your master is a deeply unpleasant and unpopular man, there was always work to be done, so far as Sebastian is concerned. It’s all efforts that are quiet and subtle, because that’s simply how Sebastian worked, but it’s all very intentional. If there are good alliance and partnerships to be forged, Sebastian is the first to open the door. Or if Silco’s bad attitude rubs someone the wrong way, Sebastian is there to quietly soothe it before a knife is poised his way. Simple things like that, clearly.

But in Kowloon, such work and such favor is done in places that Sebastian wouldn’t frequent out of choice. Much like Demeisen, the drugs offered in such parlors do little for him. Not that he would want them to, though. He prefers his mind stay sharp while others grow fuzzier.

That’s probably what sticks out to them both, in fact. As soon as Sebastian realizes the tether of connection that simply can’t be shut out, he looks for a familiar face, but doesn’t find any. But the calm is… surprising. And welcome, honestly. His Aspect largely had emotions far too big for his personal liking.

So, it’s not until Demeisen approaches that he realizes that this is the new Stargazer that he had been feeling. He tilts his head with a genial, curious smile, and motions generally to their little seating area that he’s already taken. The floral and fragrant smoke of opium drifts about, but Sebastian seems to be taking his time with his pipe. Yet his mind is clearly still sharp for it. ]

It is now, so welcome. And it is a fortuitous meeting, for I had been wondering just who was about.

[ He brings his pipe to his lips with a smile and a little nod. ]

A new Stargazer is usually a great headache to me, but you are not quite so rowdy.

[picketship]

[On this occasion, Sebastian and Demeisen are of the same mind. Drug dens had seemed to him like the perfect hunting grounds for information, given the density of addled patrons whose lips might be loosened by intoxication. This thought had led him here from the tamer establishments on the surface, and he certainly has not given up on it.

But when he feels the curious pull from someone suspiciously clear-headed nearby, he cannot help but be curious.]

I can be, [he says unselfconsciously, and drops into a seat next to his fellow Stargazer. The long sleeves and high collar of his lightweight coat cover his shard and aspect tattoo, but he’s familiarized himself well enough now with the very basics of this “aspect” business to grasp what Sebastian means.

Stubby, alien fingers toy with the long stem of his pipe as he regards the other man with one raised eyebrow, assessing.]

You’re the first I’ve met. There a usual Stargazer profile that I don’t fit into?

[cutlery]

[ Sebastian takes in the details of Demeisen’s appearance with interest, but it’s purely casual on the surface. He’s well used to odd looking people after a year of Kenos (and a month of some other place—), but it’s still interesting in an academic way to him. It’s also a little bit moreso in Demeisen’s case, since he largely seems human—it’s small details that are a bit off, and that’s interesting! ]

Ah, only that your mind is a bit “quiet”, so to speak. In other ways…

[ He gives a nod to their pipes with a genial little laugh after he trails off. ]

Perfectly in line. It is with exceptions, but generally speaking, we do tend to be hedonists.

[ With how he says it, it’s a word with no particular judgement, positive or negative. Not that it’s a surprise though, considering what he’s the one to make this association… ]

But unless I have been spectacularly unlucky as to have missed you before now, allow me to offer a welcome to Kenos as well. Have you been here long?

[picketship]

[Demeisen has not missed the fact that most of the pan-human people in Kenos seem to be of a very specific construction. Given the current inoperation of the systems that would allow him to alter is physical form, however, there is little he can do at present other than shrug and accept that those who see him will find him long-legged and hump-backed. Some time soon, he’ll come to a decision and accept the energies of one faction or the other into his body, but for now, the form he arrived with is the one he must use.

In any case, that’s hardly a large inconvenience.]

That so? [An amused grin flashes over his expression.] Sounds about right. Though that descriptor could rightly be levelled at the significant majority of people where I’m from.

[If that’s the main factor determining how people are sorted into the Stargazer group, he has to wonder how many of the trillions of people in the Culture civilization would fit the bill. But of course, he’s already aware that the number of shard-bearers to have arrived in Kenos over the past couple years is pifflingly small. He wouldn’t expect commonalities shared between a handful of people to necessarily be reflective of anything on a larger scale.]

I unearthed myself a few days ago. Still finding my bearings, really.

You a longtime resident?

[cutlery]

[ Sebastian’s expression conveys interest at how Demeisen describes his people, but he doesn’t ask about it, or at least not right away. He nods first, since he’s perfectly happy playing welcoming party. It’s something he’s always happy to do, since he considers making a good first impression to be one of his “duties” as a Zenite. He doesn’t exactly trust most of his faction-mates to be effective recruiters, so. Here he is. ]

Ah, then indeed, welcome. The arrival process is a bit startling, so I hope it went well for you, all things considered.

[ He’s only experienced it recently, actually, no thanks to Silco. ]

But yes, I believe so. I was among the first that are considered part of this Generation of Shard-Bearers, so I have been here a little over a year. Relatively speaking, not very long, but in terms of why we are here? Why, it is practically forever. There are not many remaining of that first group at this point.

[picketship]

[Mr. Manners here has “welcome wagon” written all over him. He certainly has the attentive, helpful charm part down perfectly, which usually would make Demeisen itch to push his buttons, but for the time being suits his purposes just fine. He actually doesn’t seem all that different from the avian gentleman who had so nicely helped Demeisen settle into Yima’s manor after he’d first arrived, and everything about that interaction went quite swimmingly.]

A whole year, eh? I should’ve come to you first!

[He smiles, sucks on his drug pipe as though it might do literally anything for him. Sebastian is right, of course; a year isn’t very long at all, especially in a situation as abrupt and unreal as this one. Time can be made to flow differently in sims, compared to the real. He might spend a whole decade locked in this cosmic (and yet laughably small-scale) conflict, only to wake up in his physical body to find that only hours had passed.

Though he’s still coming up empty on how or why he’d suddenly find himself in a simulation like this to begin with, given what he’d been right in the middle of doing beforehand. Still, the alternatives are dire enough that he’s in no hurry to rule that one out.]

I’ve talked to locals, of course—lovely people, very eager to be of assistance—but almost no other “shard-bearers.” And smooth though my arrival was, the bod who received me initially didn’t have your loquacity. He was a bit sparse on details.

[cutlery]

[ kathova rapidly writing hatemail at this very moment having learned he got scammed, ]

[ Sebastian gives a little bow of his head, since honestly, probably. Though it’s not quite possible, he’d think he’d be the ideal person to welcome every new Shard-Bearer, arrogant as that may be… But when you’re a demon with truly perfect memory, his explanations do tend to be more helpful than most. ]

Ah, is that so? Poor luck, then. Sometimes people show up quite by themselves, and that may almost be better than poor help. Did he give a name?

[ Though that’s admittedly just Sebastian being nosy… It doesn’t matter. ]

It sounds as if you have remaining questions, so I am of course glad to answer, otherwise I would no have said so. But first—

[ He extends a gloved hand with an easy smile. ]

Sebastian Michaelis of Zenith. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.

[picketship]

[Sebastian’s quiet agreement of Demeisen’s assessment is doing nothing to disabuse him of the “helpful host” personality type—and nothing of the muted feedback he’s getting through the Stargazer bond is suggesting he’s being false, either. Demeisen really does seem to have just found a properly helpful, potentially well-informed member of the Zenith faction, on a random visit to a drug den.

Well, he did say Stargazers tended to be hedonists, after all.]

A pleasure, [he says, reaching our to clasp Sebastian’s gloved hand with every bit of the other man’s tidy formality. Just like the demon, Demeisen seems convincingly like flesh and blood, his hand dry and almost fever warm.] Demeisen—currently unattached.

[In more ways than one, to his own displeasure. What’s the fucking point of an avatar wandering around with no ship?]

He did give a name: Amos, I think it was.

[He knows it was. If he wanted, he could repeat their entire conversation word for word. Instead of that, Demeisen, snaps his fingers, looking as though he’s just remembered something.]

He said he was aligned with Zenith, as well. You must know him, then.

100% the coliseum prompt

[redsoil]

[ — the crowd's bellowing, screaming, cheering escalates immediately upon his entrance. The sleek, cutting figure of a man: wearing a dark, animal-helm and pale shendyt, his limbs adorned in broad, golden jewelry. The crowd yells in excitement, well-blooded by the creature's death prior to his entrance, but clearly teeming with anticipation for him. Over time, Set has been able to pull back from his public routine in the Coliseum; to make his presence a maddening highlight, rather than a means to entice recognition over time.

Members of the crowd huddle together in patches, some wearing masks similar to his - waving flags bearing his name or signature colors of red and black and gold. The battlecry they howl in a foreign language carries their delight for his violencd, and their dream of seeing his arena-based villainy come to an end. He raises a hand to the sky above, the other spinning a long, sleek staff with a sharp crook on the end — as his blue-and-white-and-black colored opponents take the field.

( Soon after, it begins. And he crushes his perpetual rivals with particular viciousness, a show of mockery and humiliation, punctuated by his sneering commentary. He manifests sand and storm upon them, beast and clone, and even the well-trained quarter: the former retiree, the twins, the valiant hero, cannot stand against him. He is their heel, and the crowd loves to see them lose bitterly and pledge to his end. )

( His second set is, without a doubt, a recreation of his fight against Amos Burton and Gavial in the streets of Springstar during the last Oracle. The two figures representing them are cast as cruel, encroaching invaders, assailing a woman and child before Springstar's beloved heel strikes them down — makes an example of Zenith's forces. )

And at the end, he casts aside the staff and mask and stands at the center of the ring, raising his hands to the crowd with a crooked, toothy smile. A beautiful, feral redhead indomitable and clearly popular! ]

You see how I fight for your entertainment. It is nowhere near the ferocity with which I fight for our victory, Springstar — and soon, you will revel in bloodsport and violence like no other generation has seen! I am Set, god of war whom stands at your side.

[ And as if a magnet, looking north, he spins and directs his attention to the man in the crowd. New and blasé, but notable nonetheless. ]

Are you still vacating this reality, new child? Shall I awaken you?

[picketship]

[Demeisen has not seen this man before.

Judging from the fervour of the crowd, the animal-masked man is a familiar sight on the bloodsoaked sands of the coliseum—and to be sure, he commands attention as one well accustomed to putting on a show. Demeisen finds himself watching with interest, not just in the war god’s might and ferocity, but in his trickery—the shaping of storm and sand, the duplicates and animals that appear at his whim. He is always most interested in those in the arena who display strange abilities; it helps him grasp the limits of the place in which he has found himself, and the capabilities of those deemed most dangerous.

Though the attention paid to showmanship makes taking the full measure of the coliseum’s combatants difficult, he feels no hesitation in judging this man capable enough of being a threat.

Even so, when Set turns to look his way, Demeisen is still lingering quietly where he’s been the whole time, observing with interest but no particular excitement. At the pointed question, he only smiles a cool little smile, uncowed.]

Not done frolicking in the sand? [He gazes down into the arena, regarding the signs of violence still etched into the sandy floor.] A small spectacle, for a god of war. Don’t tell me I’m meant to be impressed…?

[redsoil]

Do not get smart-mouthed with me, unblooded one.

[ Wagging his finger at Demeisen, Set soon launches himself from arena floor into the stadium stands with a leap; his thighs flex, his body sails in a skilled arc, and he alights with the delicateness of a bird coming to roost — upon the seating just before the newcomer. Crouching, Set dangles his wrists off his knees and tips his head ( a very teen-thug style posture, thanks to Gen's influence? ) and his mouth twists, thoughtful even in his continued confidence. ]

Kenos constrains even the greatest of us, though we regain power the deeper into its embrace we step. It is a clever system to control us, but one we can game nonetheless. I am far from my true might, but I am still one of the grandest in this land. As a warrior, and as a intellectual.

[ And then he sits, right on the edge of the seat. Below him, one of his little fanclub sighs and tries to tug on his pale shendyt, asking him to sign their little sha-ear headband. Rude, how he ignores them. Weird, how they seem to love that he does. ( Fans of heel-characters dig it. #WWE ) ]

If I am to impress you, it would be over time and through proof of my claims, not in an arena for show and sport.

[picketship]

It certainly would.

[Demeisen agrees easily, leaning back in his seat as the red-haired god sits before him. Just as Set’s focused attention seems to discomfit him not at all, so too does he resist the sudden interest of the surrounding members of the crowd, who are shamelessly listening in on the conversation between their beloved heel and this blithe stranger. It’s not like he’d expected to be private, after all.

He is a little changed from the days he spent fresh from his pod beneath the Tree. His spine is a little less humped, his legs slightly less gangling. Though he still looks a little odd upon inspection, the strangeness is less immediately apparent than it was two weeks previously. Most significantly—at least for his purposes—his dark curls have sprung from his scalp like energetic weeds, now resting in a generous tousle against his forehead and the back of his neck. Not coincidentally at all, this obscures the shard there from nosy onlookers.]

Happily, I didn’t come here hoping to be impressed.

[A few of the surrounding fans jeer, which he pretends not to notice.]

Wasn’t expecting to meet one of Springstar’s heaviest hitters, though. Just came to take in the sights. Soak in the violence a bit, tame though it is.

[redsoil]

It is a bit tame, in an environment like this. The Coliseum enjoys bloodsport, but without showmanship — one cannot command the audience.

[ The Coliseum is a violent place, rife with blood and life, but it is also a stage. The day he had first joined up to unleash upon it, they had attempted to establish that his theme was that of a mad villain, and had set up heroes to oppose him. He'd never enjoyed it, instead preferring to let loose against the lucha libre skills of his fellow god. The Coliseum could not afford the damages incurred by them, time and again, and so asked them to be a little more — specifically observed. Highlights, not main shows.

He sweeps a hand through his hair, and by the way his brows rise and mouth curls, he's had an idea. One that leads him to reach out and scrub his hand through Demeisen's curly hair, ruffling it as his lips spread into a toothy grin. ]

I will ensure you soak in it, then! Why watch, if you think it so tame? Why not —

[ With that, he reaches for the front of the man's clothing with one hand, as the other fists in his hair — and Set attempts to roll backwards across the seats, planting a foot in Demeisen's belly to fling him ass over teakettle into the Coliseum's arena itself. ]

Enjoy the experience, instead!

[picketship]

[Demeisen was never as powerful as someone like Quetzalcoatl. As an avatar, he’s never been capable of cratering entire cities with the power of the sun, and though being in Kenos has limited him significantly, little of that has to do with the physical limitations of his humanoid body. For Demeisen, who has always been lesser than the godlike ship he represented, Kenos has mostly just brought the other gods down to his level; avatars themselves, slivers of a greater being.

But he is still far from human.

The hand ruffling his hair catches him slightly by surprise. It’s almost possessive, the sort of thing he’d done just weeks ago to men eager for his attention; it’s also bolder than he’s used to anyone being with his person. His expression turns distinctly unimpressed, and he lifts a hand to sweep the offending touch away.

Then Set reaches for his shirt.

Demeisen’s hair is convincingly soft. The hand that contacts Set’s wrist is warm, almost feverish, and dry like paper. But the body the god pulls with him as he rocks back cannot possibly be human, because no man this thin, no matter how leanly muscled, ever weighed as much as the avatar does. A human trying the same maneuver likely wouldn’t even be able to get him to clear rail at the edge of the stands.

But he sails into the Coliseum pit, flipping through the air to land like a cat on his feet, already turning to look mockingly up at the red-haired god in the stands above.]

Well now—attacking your own spectators? That’s not neighbourly at all.