Knight's Log 8-31-12

In the Land of Grit and Lamps, the entire world is blanketed in a Sin City pallor of monochromia (With eyes retaining their color). Everything in the world is cast in shades of grey, dark blacks, and stark whites. In the shadowy world, all the darkness is cut by streetlamps scattered across the area. The spire itself has the greatest concentration of streetlamps, and at the top of the asphalt and brown stone lies a flat area, the perfect little cut out of a sleepy street corner. Two streetlamps light golden halos of lumination that reveal the colors of objects, and another four lay broken around, smeared with graffiti and busted up. However, where other houses are doom fortresses, or treetop canopies, Fiora's is a giant obsidian tower, rising from the dirt ground and surrounding streets like an imposing, minecraft-themed tower. Torches light the outside, and the windows are barred with iron. It is less a fortress, and more just an impenetrable wall to most accounts. At the base there appears to be two large and ornate wooden doors, one open wide to let golden light filter through. In fact, within what can be only described as a heavily fortified… pub, it appears as if light and colors function normally.

Emblazoned above the doorway in bright neon letters is "O'Brien's", some of the letters flickering. Leaning against the front door, cast in white and grey and black, is a shaggy haired human male, smoking a cigarette and scuffing a rock with his foot.

Inside, past the doors, Fiora awaits, in a dirty painting smock with a black beret on. And before her is a wide canvas, at least four feet by four feet, with a painting on it… Though it's very hard to tell what it is with the cover over it.

Scattered around the first floor are alchemical machines, though hers is upgraded with the latest in JUMPER BLOCK technology, so most of the stuff is already installed in one compact machine, leaving lots of empty hardwooded space. Near the back is a long, wooden bar and behind that, the alcohol wall and a door to the kitchen, and upstairs.

The entry foyer seems… Surprisingly closed off, having a set of doors out and in, like a large airlock, and the feeling of distance downward. It's unclear why, but a great sense of terrible malice lurks within that entry-airlock-door-foyer.


A SHORT WHILE AGO, Vruasa Telash cuts himself across the finger as an invitation for ARERTH RIALTH to come to his location. This is the most effective way of accomplishing this sort of quick transportation, and setting that aside he wants to captchalogue some blood so he can replicate it and make ink later. The blood is quickly placed on a card in his sylladex, which locks it up like fort knox. Apparently he'll /need that blood/ eventually, though what for he couldn't say. Pretty much the instant his travel companion has arrived at his location though, he's long since decided that he's /bored as hell/, and accelerates them both through their timeline so that they are ALREADY HERE. This also involves Fiora having injured herself lightly to facilitate their approach.

What a weird way to get around.


In one instant, Vruasa and Arerth are not there. In the next, they are. Since his eyes are obscured, his totally awesome shades show up in cerulean instead of his eyes. Not coincidentally he seems to have positioned himself in some shadows so that /golden light/ doesn't agitate the shit out of his eyes. Truth of the matter is, though, he likes the weird monochrome effect of the locale. So he's gonna stand here in black-and-blue and look awesome that way.

Part of his attraction to the effect is the /highly probable/ possibility that Arerth will hate the hell out of this shit.

"Sup." Vruasa says to Fiora, whom he still only knows as hatgirl. At least to the best of his recollection. With all of this accelerating through time bullshit though, sometimes he really doesn't remember details that he ought to.

Come to think of it he should probably slow down occasionally.

And so Vruasa arrives with another troll, and now there are two standing in front of Fiora. While Vruasa is monotone and gray and black with only a little bit of blue like the total asshole he is, Arerth sticks out like a sore thumb with all the purple she's wearing. It doesn't matter where she goes, she sticks out. Except on Derse, really. But she's never gone there. And doesn't know where that is. Or probably even what it is. So yeah.

"oh huh!!! do you want me to heal that or $omething???" Well last time Vruasa kind of insisted she heal PB so she might as well just offer and get it over with.

If you're wondering she's avoiding making comments on the current world they're in because this shit is all monotone and sin city and oh my god this is the worst place to be ever.

Looing at Vruasa, Fiora waves a bit, her face a mask of pain. She notes the healing cut on his finger, and then looks down at the spreading blood on her leg where she jammed a bloody SHITTY PEN into herself and looks like a total idiot, basically.

"Yes, I'd like you to heal it. Please." She offers quietly. She seems far more subdued in person when not being stressed out to the breaking point by Jordan and Vruasa and Malboros and death. In fact, in her normal clothes, Fiora seems quite… Meek, by comparison to Summer or Arthur. Behind her, a small green tentacled thing with eyestalks and a giant mouth (the baby Malboro that Fiora grabbed after meeting with Jordan and Vruasa and Arthur). It eats from a catbowl placed near it, with the name plate painted on 'Gremlin'.

"Right, so, I…" She looks to Vruasa, pausing mid-sentence, aiming her thumb at him and sort of getting a perspective on him, before slumping a bit. "Well, that just confirms I'm a total fuckup. Oh well." She puts down her painting tools and flips over the canvas, gesturing dismissively at Vruasa. "Go… Take a look." She offers, limping over to Arerth. She gives the purple troll a long, hard look… Before looking away, her internal shy person returning. "I… was inspired by you, I guess. But it doesn't matter, it came out horrible and stuff. You probably don't even know who Achilles is. And so this is your friend? Hatecompanion? I need a chart just to figure that all out…"

She tries and fails to smalltalk with the greyskinned and purple-clothed troll, her eyes fixating on the horns for a brief moment. All of her literature had not prepared her for anything like this, even now, when she lived in a world of shadow and terror and life-threatening monsters.

The painting itself is extremely stylzed portrait of Vruasa. His glasses remain over his eyes, but his horns are more swept back, his hair a bit longer. He wears not a scarf, but a long cape in his color, clinched at the neck with a broach of his zodiac animal. Smudgey and 'unfocused' below and around him is a battlefield of other trolls, bleeding a variety of colors, from black to red to green to blue, though Vruasa is the only one in the painting that does not bear wounds. Set against the background is a large castle, or wall, or fort of some kind. Cupped in Vruasa's left arm is a greek-style helmet with horn-holes, and in his right hand is a long spear. He is armored with a dark bronze breastplate and shin-guards, and he appears to be standing atop the corpse of a fallen Troll, his woven and armored sandals in the greek style as well.

In his right hand is a spear, with a flag (bearing his emblem) pennanting from the end.

In essence… A stylized portrait of Vruasa, as Achilles, the greek hero.

His head is, if someone was to pay far too much attention, is just a smidge too big.

"Oh hey, it's still alive." Vruasa observes the baby malboro with distant interest. He hadn't really expected it to survive in a human's care, but he supposes that he underestimated hatgirl's ability to nurture living things not of her own species! He glances sidelong at Arerth, and jerks his thumb in her direction, "Hatgirl, this is RS. She is a fashion-obsessed freak of a noble. I need some of her blood but she keeps using it all to make dyes for her own clothes so there's not enough left for me." This, of course, is a total lie meant to jerk the other troll around and make her angry. If the last few days have been any indication she'll inflict bodily harm on him and then whip him back into health again.

That is such a goddamn humiliating way to not die.

Wisely, he does not address the matter of Arerth being his kismesis. He does not need that shit going around here, and anyway, it's a fucking ridiculous notion that does not warrant acknowledgement. That's probably damning in and of itself. Stepping forward into the light, the knight pushes his shades down the bridge of his nose to get a better look. He grins fiercely, a mouth full of fangs showing. It might be friendly among trolls, but it certainly looks alarming as hell.

"I have no fucking clue who Achilles is!" He exclaims, pushing his shades back into place, "But that doesn't mean it isn't any good. This sort of thing is gaudy by troll standards, but I guess for a human thing it makes me look pretty awesome. If I have an ancestor worth talking about, he probably looked just like this!"

"I'm not used to staying that clean in a fight, tho. Usually get a little bloody, yeah? Still. I think I'll take some inspiration from this myself, if I ever feel the need to grab some near gear." Notably, that armor looks /really cool/. Vruasa turns to look towards Arerth.

"Hey, purpleface. What does the hoity-toity royal think of the fancy painting?" He asks, expecting a hideously negative review right from the outset.

Fiora, at the slightest prompting, begins relating. "Ah. Achilles is a hero of legend from the Greeks, who was a master swordsman and an expert with the spear. He led a company of men called the Myrmidons, and searched for immortality and glory. He was born of a god and a mortal, and his mother worried for his safety, so she dipped him in the River Styx in the Underworld, which was basically the land of the dead, by his ankle. It made him totally invincibl for all the bits of him that went into the water - that's why you're not hurt at all - except for his achilles heel. It's why it's called that on humans. Anyway, he was also kind of an asshole but there was a bunch of books about him killing tons of people, being an asshole, and questing for glory. He reminded me of you. Or you, of him. And so I got inspired."

"that i$ the mo$t adorable pet I have ever $een!!!" Arerth exclaims as she completely forgets about the healing and approaches the baby Malboro to give it a pat on the eyestalks. Then she turns around to look at the portrait, then at Fiora, with apparently not enough people skill to notice that Fiora is either shy or uncomfortable.

"one!!! I hate him $o much that ki$me$i$ doe$ not even begin!!! to de$cribe our crappy relation$hip!!! two, that i$ not bad!!! actually I wa$ never much into painting!!! but it i$ not bad, like, I would totally put that on a $hirt and expect it to $ell well!!!" Probably not to trolls, though. Damn unfashionable abominations.

"oh yeah healing!!! huh…"

Arerth produces a bottle of GRAPE FAYGO, but the label is covered in first aid crosses and stuff. This is no mere GRAPE FAYGO. This is a GRAPE FAYGO OF HEALING. Healing potions are amazing things to alchemize.

"drink thi$!!! al$o $crew you DL I'm not $haring my blood!!!"

"Oh. So you drew a picture of me as an invincible asshole who killed tons of people." Vruasa seems contemplative for a moment, but apparently decides that this is perfectly OK and shrugs. "Seems awesome to me. And oh my god RS." His attention whips around towards his fellow troll, who is coddling the stupid baby monster. It is absolutely not adorable! It will grow up to have the /worst breath ever/. Come to think of it he's pretty certain that should have done way worse to him than it did. But whatever it was that CT gave them protected them from keeling over from the raw awful of it.

He buries his face in his hands at the appearance of FAYGO. Then he throws his arms into the air and shouts, "What the fuck are you doing with your healy-beverages?! You do not combine them with faygo! What next, are you going to make our consumables all composed of sopor slime and terrible soda? I swear to god, you have the /worst ideas/."

"Also you will totally share your blood. One day. /One day/." Vruasa pauses a moment, looking at Fiora.

Completely without warning and unceremoniously, he captachlogues some of /her/ blood. Not a lot. Just enough to replicate later.

"Makes great ink." He explains, simply.

This probably couldn't be more awkward.

The baby Malboro sort of mewls and weirdly purrs as it's scratched, unleashing a light cloud of foul gas happily as it leans up to liiiiick Arerth's hand. This is most likely slobbery and horribly disease ridden. However, trolls are strong! So it'll probably just get her a little sick and even more determined to captcha it and copy it over into crazy items.

For her part, Fiora sort of hobbles to a table and leans on it while blushing slightly at the idea that her painting isn't fucking terrible.

"I just picked it up. It eats cat food, so that's pretty useful. Dullahan is… Somewhere, he's my cat." She explains. "If you understand what a cat is, at least." She shrugs.

Then she's offered… Healing Grape Faygo? She takes it curiously, unscrewing the cap and sucking it down. She's at least a champion drinker! She lives in a pub, go figure. She sort of looks between the two trolls as they bicker before sighing. "Yes, I painted you as an invincible asshole who killed tons of people. You can take the painting, I'm done with it. It's a failure anyway." She offers, before he CAPTCHALOGS HER BLOOD.

That's not the weirdest fucking thing ever.

"So… My name is Fiora. Fiora O'Brien, and my brother outside there is Keane. So you can stop calling me hatgirl." She offers, looking away.

He thought her picture was good.

"Oh, if you need paint you can just grab my paint buckets over there…" She gestures over to the wall near the canvas, where an array of metal paintcans are arrayed with over a dozen colors.

"ye$ I alchemize ton$ of $hit with faygo!!! what are you going to do about it???" And then. Towards Fiora. The buckets. Back to Fiora. "WHAT I$ WRONG WITH YOUR $PECIE$!!! OH MY GOD AGAIN WITH THE BUCKET$!!!"

Arerth seems TERRIBLY OFFENDED, so much that she forgets her hand now smells of Malboro breath. She does put a finger on her shades though. To get a captcha code out of the pet without taking it from Fiora. How considerate! Also she does not want that thing sinking up her hive, no matter how adorable it may be.

"YOU $HOULD REALLY FEEL A$HAMED!!! TO LEAVE REPRODUCTIVE PAIL$ JU$T KIND OF!!! LAYING ABOUT!!!" This may be a cue! Heaven knows how Vruasa will react, though.

"We have cats. They're ten feet tall at the shoulder and attempt to eat those who displease them." Vruasa explains, simply. It is not /entirely/ untrue, though there are lusii of a more docile sort that resemble human housecats. Either way he pretty much gets the idea. Though, he has to wonder if this little bastard of a plant-monster might have /eaten/ this 'Dullahan'. If it eats out of a bowl of approximately the same size, well… it's probably not really that great an idea to point it out. Anyway, cats are vicious, vicious creatures when cornered. It might well be able to shred the plant itself!

Vruasa actually looks distinctly uncomfortable at being offered Fiora's name. His expression changes subtly but noticeably, and the fact of the matter is that he'd rather not share his own. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking thoughtful, and then he says, "If you have to call me something other than DL, call me Telash. I'd just as soon use the nicknames for most of you, but I guess it's kind of a shitty thing to do if I've been given a name."

He looks sidelong at Arerth, not quite following what she's freaking out about until he looks at the paint buckets. Then he uses his BITCHIN' TROLLPHONE SHADES to open up the Session 412 memo and start yelling for PB. Unfortunately, PB does not fucking answer (now of all times), so Vruasa is left just slooooowly backing away from Fiora and her veritable plethora of buckets.


"… Are gonna go."

"… Now."



Hopefully Arthur actually gets himself stabbed and Arerth actually gets them the fuck out of there, otherwise he ain't going anywhere.


Arerth wiggles her fingers and does some SYLPH OF SPACE THING, which is pretty much opening a wormhole by bending space to her will straight to someone who has been injured. In this case PB. Because PB doesn't leave buckets laying around damnit!

Or at least he better not have started doing that in the meantime.

Or someone's going to be hurting.


Log Notes: From a Troll cultural standpoint, having a bunch of buckets filled with paint is roughly equivalent to having a bunch of buckets filled with blood. That is to say, troll dye is commonly made from the blood of trolls. Either that or having a bunch of used condoms lying around. Either way, it looked weird to Vruasa and Arerth at the time.

Also, apparently Vruasa took some of Fiora's blood for later replication to use as ink.

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