agogelogs | [OPEN] The Glass Spider Had Blue Eyes Almost Like A Human's

Edited 2018-04-05 08:21 (UTC)

The place this reminds him of isn't any place any living person should want to be… yet there's a nostalgic enough feeling to it for him, and whatever else it is, whatever else lurks in it, it's not the Haunted Forest and he's not likely to meet a White Walker.

Still, if he seems wary here, it's because he is. And Ghost is too: the direwolf moves silently among the spare white woods and rocks, his feet not even crunching in the snow, but there's something watchful in his posture, in the way he glances from side to side, or his ears perk and he looks behind him.

The pair of them have already brought back one dead sphinx.

Jon keeps his voice low when he speaks -- confidential, in the hope that the things won't learn his voice to mimic him.

"It's been a while since I've been somewhere this bloody cold. That Prompto… did he really say his feet left the ground around here?"

Jon should not have left his hair loose -- the thick dark hair that falls to his shoulders in heavy curls. A dragokeet is doing its utmost to nest in it, crooning "Tree! Tree! Tree!"

He doesn't know whether it's that they don't like the sort of food BASE offers or he hasn't hit on the right thing yet, but there's no way of getting it down, and his attempts to get it to fly back up into a tree have gone... well, it's obvious how they've gone. The dragokeet now knows the word tree in the common tongue. Grasping at it does no good: it pecks at him, eludes him, and pulls his hair, making him wince.

He looks about as happy about this as he feels. Help him out?

Chiron, from not too terribly far away, heard something that sounded like speech rather than simply animal noises. Curiosity, and the logical guess that it was related to a fellow COST member, prompted him to track the source of the noise, if only to satisfy a mad bout of curiosity. (This wonderful space seemed to inspire it.)

He isn't sure what he expected, but seeing Jon versus a dragonkeet keen on making Jon's hair a home is most certainly not something that had been on the list. Temporarily at a loss for words, he takes a moment to simply drink in the entire scene before him.

"Oh dear," he finally manages, trotting over towards Jon. There's no question of do you need help the real issue is how do I help? "There's no particular food in the area that we know these fellows eat, is there?"

Distracting it with food and then fleeing is perhaps obvious, but it may work.

"He doesn't want the food that I've been offering him, but that doesn't mean there's nothing he wants."

Jon would look up at the creature if it weren't physically impossible. Now that he's distracted from trying to gently tug it out of his hair, it sits happily in the middle of the top of his head, and drapes its tail over his forehead, and begins to groom a lock of his hair.

"But I'm glad to see you." He looks it -- he looks relieved at the offer of assistance. "I'm not sure anyone will be able to tug him out without some of my hair going with him."

This isn't even why he started tying it back, but it makes him think that tying it back again after today might be a good idea.

"Hm," Chiron says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. It seemed to want (and have gained) a home, but there was little point in stating the obvious. Cautiously, Chiron extends a finger to the dragonkeet, curious to see if the thing will react in a friendly or ferocious manner.

"You're likely right about the minor hair loss. Your new...roommate, as it were, is far too comfortable and entrenched for extraction to be easy."

Regardless, Chiron is going to help. Somehow...

It's easy to accept Chiron in this state because of his knowledge and experience of the other Chiron, and because of the dream he'd had weeks ago... it doesn't seem right to speak of moons when he's not sure it would mean the same thing here. In any case, if his hair is going to be picked through from above, there also seems to be some benefit to it being done from a horse's height.

"Oh, it's not going to be my roommate. Dany might like that, but I don't think Ghost would." Especially since not even Ghost is truly his roommate: he sleeps in Jon's chamber some nights, it's true, and out here in the wilds other nights, but his home is in another part of BASE.

The dragokeet itself doesn't move, seeming very satisfied with its perch. "Easy! Easy!" it trills.

"When you said you were talking to her before, when she was captured, I didn't understand you. She told me what it meant after we returned here."

"Ah, well, those would be the perils of having someone with a strong bias in favor of dragons." The way Chiron says it, there's no hint of a joke or anything clever. It's just an observation, and a true one at that.

The dragonkeet's response, however, does get a very soft chuckle out of Chiron. He didn't expect a verbal response, especially not...well, not that one. But it also means he stills his attempt to reach out for the thing, at least for the time being. But if it can talk, then maybe it's responses can be intelligent. "I am. What is it that you want?"

Talking to animals like this? Absolutely normal. Also totally normal? Being a magical horse with telepathic connections. "Ah, I'm glad she did. Do you have any questions for me on the matter?"

Does he have any questions? Of course he has questions.

"How does it work? I know what she told me, right enough, but it isn't something she's used to. You, you're used to it." And he wonders how much it's like what he's experienced with Ghost.

In the meantime, the dragokeet shows no sign of wanting to leave Jon's hair, and Jon himself looks mildly aggrieved. "Tree! Fire and Blood! Easy, easy!" it shrieks, becoming more excited now that someone is talking to it. He feels the little claws scrabbling against his scalp before they curl again around a strand of his hair. "Want, want, want!"

"It's...hm," Chiron says, his hand reaching over to boop the dragonkeet's nose but not doing too much else. There's better hair to nest in.

"I'm a spirit, in truth, and I need energy to manifest. Normally when I'm summoned, I'm bound to the mage that brought me forth and reliant on them to remain in this world. Without a tether, I die, in so many words. In exchange, I give service, both to protect and to fight the battle that I am summoned for by said mage. I believe it hems close to certain concepts of knighthood?"

Chiron holds the dragonkeet's gaze clearly. "C'mere. There's more hair over here."

"You told me that," he says, frowning. "Some of it. In a dream, before Gallipoli."

The rest of what he remembers of that dream is that it was the same dream he always has, the one with the crypts at Winterfell, and that Ghost had been a stone direwolf and had followed him, which does not always happen. He'd said some things in the dream, things he wouldn't normally tell people, but what he'd said escapes him.

"It's like certain concepts of knighthood, or certain concepts of having a lord, or a king." Or a queen, needless to say. But Chiron doesn't look at Dany the way Jorah Mormont does. That means something. "You think it will help keep her safer? She's not used to fighting without a dragon."

Meanwhile, the little dragon-creature in his hair shows absolutely no inclination to move over to Chiron's head. "Blooooooooooood," it says, nestling quite happily.

Chiron nods. He recalls the dream, at least chunks of it, and he feels slightly silly for having repeated himself. Regardless, the question of safety is what surprises him the most. It had never been a consideration for the contract. That had been a thing born out of sheer necessity in Gallipoli.

"I think the Regency has pretty much proven the answer is no," is the response, flat and with some shame embedded in the words. That had not been his finest hour. "It's...it's an equivalent exchange of partnership, with a few benefits, such as a telepathic link. That's how I was able to determine that something had gone wrong so quickly."

This dragon is straight up ridiculous though. Chiron rubs his chin, trying to determine what to do next. "This one is very stubborn."

"It's better to know that something has gone wrong quickly. Could have been hours later, otherwise." He frowns. "But if you can protect her when I can't, that would be better, too."

He doesn't always like it, but there's been a circle of men around Daenerys as long as he's known her -- and long before that, too, much as there's a circle of men around him, and around his sister. It doesn't occur to him to suggest that someone might look after him as well. His fellows have his back enough.

"Then again, if you had been with her, they might have just taken you, too."

In the meantime, he feels the little clawed feet on his head begin to relax and loosen, and there's a trilling coo of "Stubbbbbbborn!" The little animal sounds pleased with itself. A moment later, it begins to shift back and forth as if it's dancing.

"I'm always unsure if it's protection that is required in her case, or just support for certain things." Dany wasn't going to fight like the two of them, but it wasn't as if she couldn't hold her own in most arenas. "Regardless, I follow your point and will endevor to avoid any other mistakes."

It still bothered Chiron that he had not been able to act more quickly in the matter of the Regency. But at least the dragonkeet's constant noises were enough to distract him. His eyes went to where those little feet were in Jon's scalp, and that seemed to be the trick. Lull it into a false sense of security, then quickly remove the little thing before it cold do much else.

"I assume they'll try and get me eventually, as is true for all of us here," he continued with a surprising bluntness in his tone. "What I worry about is how it might reflect on myself and how to best shield him."

Chiron doesn't have to remove the dragokeet, because with little warning other than the way it dances against Jon's head, it suddenly launches itself directly from Jon's hair towards Chiron's... not without tugging at one of Jon's curly locks in the process. He makes a face and a soft noise of resentment when it goes.

"How best to shield...?" Jon says, when he recovers. "The other Chiron, you mean? And not Grothia, too?"

Well, mission accomplished. Chiron quietly ignores the weight in his hair, letting the little creature settle down and make itself comfortable as it pleases. The goal was, after all, to get it out. Where it went, well, this was always a potential possibility in Chiron's calculations.

"...I have some biases towards myself," Chiron admitted. It probably wasn't great to admit, but he had also had far more interactions with himself than with the commander, and that kind of thing counted for a lot.

He had, after all, never actually been a military creature.

Now that he has his head back to himself again, Jon runs a hand quickly through his hair, trying to push it off of his face. It works, but only to an extent... what will work best is the comb he has back in his tent, and a leather thong.

"What are you worried might happen to him? Anything beyond the obvious?"

"Only the obvious. I've decided not to move beyond that, lest I give into paranoia. There are things that he has been able to retain that I have not, and I'd like to ensure that those things are protected as well."

Chiron's face is almost wistful, even as he speaks of practicalities. He can feel the little dragonkeet getting quite comfy in his hair, and he shifts his head slightly to accomodate the extra weight.

"Are you quite settled up there?"

The dragokeet takes the opportunity to stamp around in a circle and coo, "Settled, settled, there."

Things he's been able to retain. What could that encompass? If Chiron wanted to say, he'd be saying, but he isn't -- Jon's frown remains quizzical.

"If either of them were to be in danger, it would be danger to BASE. They don't seem to leave it much. And if that were the case... wouldn't that mean that we would have nowhere to go? We'd be trapped wherever we'd been fighting."

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It sounds a little like the BOOM BOOM BOOM of a war drum, something meant to keep men marching in time, but there are no men marching here. There are other sounds, too, a little like the lute at a feast, but louder -- much louder. It seems like it's meant to be entertaining, the way it blares from different rooms and encampments and sometimes from the air-horses that take people around the fish, but still: too much like the song of battle for him to find much joy in it, as of yet.

"What in seven hells is that noise?"

He doesn't seem angry, just baffled and curious.

(And others may be curious about the origins of "seven hells," come to that.)

"You're missing two."

Just beyond BASE, is where Jon could have pinpointed it. The words aren't said in any particular way, but the tone is dry and steady. No matter how loud the music is blaring (and it is quite loud), the individual speaking isn't putting in much effort to be heard. It doesn't matter all that much to him, it would appear, the way he's sitting side-saddle on the hover bike and idly smoking a crumpled cigarette, no doubt taken from the trenches. If he means to inform Jon on why he's corrected him, Ryo isn't forthcoming about it. Dante's been on his mind lately, more than he has a right to be on anyone's. He'd wonder what circle this organization would be considered, but Ryo has more to contemplate than that.

Still, even though he speaks, Ryo keeps careful track of the other who has come to join him, eyes sharp and wary from beneath the dark of his lashes. He takes a slow drag of the cigarette, the cherry an unnatural point of warm, rich light against the boreal landscape. When he exhales, the question curls through his fingers like the thin, gray smoke. "Have you never heard of The Checkers?"

Not that it would surprise Ryo if he didn't. Ryo's learned not to be surprised by much these days. Surprise is an opening, a momentary lowering of the armor. And Ryo? Ryo couldn't afford anything.

Edited 2018-04-07 04:47 (UTC)

The music is calmer than what some other people seem to like and play, but it's still loud and chaotic to Jon's ears, especially the wild horns that seem to form a great part of it.

The young man is a little younger than Jon, fair-haired but with the look of some of the other recruits. He's smoking, something Jon had done as little as possible in the trenches, not liking the taste of the air or the way it could make a target of a man at night. Why do it now? And his tone is bland and low in a way that doesn't suit the look in his eyes.

"Missing two what? And no, I've never heard of The Checkers. What are they checking?"

It's not a joke, or he would have followed it with Whether or not anyone can hear them? But maybe his bafflement won't come as a surprise: most of the clothes he's wearing are ones from home, including the heavy armored leather brigandine and the plate gorget, and a sword and dagger are belted at his waist. They don't know what they'll face out here; it seems stupid to go out less armed than he otherwise might, and he trusts Longclaw more than he trusts the guns they've been given, though he has that, too.

Why not do it now? That was typical of Ryo's reasoning. When he could die at any time back where he was from, it seemed to make sense. Even if it appeared that, somehow, he had always come out of deadly situations all the better for it (or perhaps all the worse for it would be more apt), there was still no question that his threats were real and immediate — just because they did not catch him today, it did not mean they would not catch him tomorrow. Besides, the way that mankind chose to cope was in no way dissimilar to the way Ryo chose to; vices were an easy "fix." If nothing else, he was allowed to forget for a while, riding the temporary high or low they provided.

Ryo doesn't so much frown as the corners of his mouth dip, eyes narrowing in some recognition of the man's outfit and what it is he says. He doesn't seem to be fucking with him. If he were anywhere else but here, he would have assumed him to be some kind of entirely too committed medieval cosplayer, but if his time here has taught him anything, it was that this was to be expected. So, sure, so be it.

"Rings of Hell," he says, after a moment. He takes the cigarette from his lips, ashes the tip with an absent flick of his wrist. The embers glow, but he's attentive to them to make certain they do not burn the ground beneath him. "I'd ask if you were familiar with Dante's Inferno, but he's probably before your time period."

Considering how he's armed as well, Ryo's almost positive of it. It isn't to say he's ill-equipped either, but it is hard to tell how much he carries with him. Beneath his trench coat, loose as it is, is a gun or two he's made off with. Unlike Jon, it is with these that he is extremely comfortable. Ryo, despite having little patience overall outside his one exception, seems to have enough to explain today. He rests his free hand against the curvature of the bike's seat, leans a little against it. "They're not checking for anything. That's what they call themselves. They're a band that formed in the 1980s."

He notices the other man looking over his clothes. They're a little unusual around COST: not completely, but a little, and what he's seen of the world they keep visiting makes him understand that some people might associate his time with the past. That doesn't make it less immediate for him, but it's interesting to see the way things may change in the years to come, if the Night King doesn't own all the Earth soon.

If Westeros could one day have electricity and ways to send messages almost as quickly as thinking, that would be a boon. If they one day have the sort of guns he saw in Gallipoli, it will be much less so. The men may have been as merry as they could in the trenches, but it had still been a sort of hell in itself.

"I've never heard of him -- it may be that his world and my world are different. There aren't nine rings of Hell. I don't follow the New Gods, but for those who do, there are seven gods, or Seven Who Are One -- some say it differently -- seven heavens, seven hells.

"My people in the North worship the Old Gods, but, well..." He shrugs dismissively. "The New Gods aren't that new. You still say seven hells when something surprises you."

He takes a moment to puzzle through the rest of what he's been told. Not a war band... not even especially warlike in sound, particularly in comparison to some of the other music he's heard lately... and not a band of thieves. "A band -- a band of musicians? We have musicians where I come from, but they don't play anything that sounds like this, and they don't give themselves names.

"So they were playing this in the 1980s. That's seventy years later than anything I've heard before." He remembers the music that played in the foyer the last time they were at BASE, but without it, he might not have known that music could be captured like this at all.

[You know the drill!]

[OPEN] The Glass Spider Had Blue Eyes Almost Like A Human's

WILDERNESS SCOUTS - OTA

THANKS I HATE IT // AETHERIAN SPHINX

DRAGOKEETS IN MY HAIR

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WAIT DOES HE HAVE HORSEBUTT NOW???

HE DO MY APOLOGIES FOR NOT SPECIFYING

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MUSIC (FISH OR BASE)

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explaining things to dedicated medieval cosplayers: the motion picture

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