Explain to me. I'm curious.
We have always been prisoners here. We have always been used. We have never been people in our captors' eyes. We have known that experience doesn't matter; they'd send any of us to die.
How many times will you plead with them? Do you enjoy it? They'll never listen.
Why is this not prepared for? We can ensure the safety of our fellows - all of us. If another cannot fight, they must be defended. They are not liabilities; they are cooks, healers, couriers, watchmen. They are the people that keep soldiers alive. Your begging only scares someone already at the mercy of another. It will not save them. You could, if you would turn that energy to providing for their protection.
If you will not, I will. We must help each other.
Who among the drafted cannot fight, and is alone? What skills do you have?
Who will defend these people? It will be the most important job of all.
Organize yourselves here. If you can't find someone to partner with, I will help. I'm not going, but I will not let others go undefended.
(OOC: this post is for everyone; respond to each other and threadjack at will!)
We have always been prisoners here. We have always been used. We have never been people in our captors' eyes. We have known that experience doesn't matter; they'd send any of us to die.
How many times will you plead with them? Do you enjoy it? They'll never listen.
Why is this not prepared for? We can ensure the safety of our fellows - all of us. If another cannot fight, they must be defended. They are not liabilities; they are cooks, healers, couriers, watchmen. They are the people that keep soldiers alive. Your begging only scares someone already at the mercy of another. It will not save them. You could, if you would turn that energy to providing for their protection.
If you will not, I will. We must help each other.
Who among the drafted cannot fight, and is alone? What skills do you have?
Who will defend these people? It will be the most important job of all.
Organize yourselves here. If you can't find someone to partner with, I will help. I'm not going, but I will not let others go undefended.
(OOC: this post is for everyone; respond to each other and threadjack at will!)
[House 47, you just got a most unpleasant wake-up call. Namely, loud banging and the whining of a terrified canine. Sigmund has just kicked Capell's door with all of his considerable strength and put his fist through the wall in the hallway.
Because it's not Capell's door anymore.
He's not going to wait to make the courtesy announcement, mostly because he's not sure how long he's going to keep it together. As it is, even over the journal his voice has a tight, brittle quality to it.]
If you knew him, Capell is... [He won't say 'home.' He's not. Home is with him. He won't.] ...gone.
Because it's not Capell's door anymore.
He's not going to wait to make the courtesy announcement, mostly because he's not sure how long he's going to keep it together. As it is, even over the journal his voice has a tight, brittle quality to it.]
If you knew him, Capell is... [He won't say 'home.' He's not. Home is with him. He won't.] ...gone.
( Lightning, Erza, Hope, Katie... Haine still gone? )
Watch, does something seem... amiss to you?
[And muffled, like the journal just caught the sound as he was walking away or closing it-] -blic communication, not a dream journal.
Watch, does something seem... amiss to you?
[And muffled, like the journal just caught the sound as he was walking away or closing it-] -blic communication, not a dream journal.
Stay in the box. [...] No. Stay in the bo- Stay-
[And that's when Sigmund realizes the journal already started recording while he was distracted.]
( Sokka )
( Simon )
( Katara, 99% Unhackable )
( "Action" for housemates )
[And that's when Sigmund realizes the journal already started recording while he was distracted.]
( Sokka )
( Simon )
( Katara, 99% Unhackable )
( "Action" for housemates )
[After nearly two weeks and no weirdness on his part, Sigmund was starting to think he was going to escape for... however long this was going to last. After all, two weeks seemed to be a long time in Luceti terms. Unfortunately for him, it was not to be.
He just stepped out for a moment -- just to get things for breakfast while Capell and Katie were (maybe... hopefully... please) still asleep. It shouldn't have been a long trip, a half-hour at most. So, in true Liberator's luck fashion, he has to be right in the middle of the plaza when this weirdness catches up to him. Groceries, journal; everything that he was holding falls to the ground. This can happen when one suddenly finds themselves about four feet shorter and with flippers instead of hands.
Not being accustomed to suddenly turning into flightless feathered wildlife, it takes him a few moments of standing completely still to realize exactly what just happened to him. And then...]
EDWARD! [...!] No! Nevermind. Stay there. Don't touch me.
[And that's how there came to be an angry little penguin in the plaza that morning, alternately trying to kick and nudge scattered groceries back into a bag so that it can drag it home (nevermind that the bag weighs twice what it does) or futilely struggling to turn the damn journal off with a pen clutched in its beak. Mostly this is causing lots of scribbling and squawking and the odd shot of angry penguin.
So, so angry.]
((Replies from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
notsoaringblade, for angry penguin justice
He just stepped out for a moment -- just to get things for breakfast while Capell and Katie were (maybe... hopefully... please) still asleep. It shouldn't have been a long trip, a half-hour at most. So, in true Liberator's luck fashion, he has to be right in the middle of the plaza when this weirdness catches up to him. Groceries, journal; everything that he was holding falls to the ground. This can happen when one suddenly finds themselves about four feet shorter and with flippers instead of hands.
Not being accustomed to suddenly turning into flightless feathered wildlife, it takes him a few moments of standing completely still to realize exactly what just happened to him. And then...]
EDWARD! [...!] No! Nevermind. Stay there. Don't touch me.
[And that's how there came to be an angry little penguin in the plaza that morning, alternately trying to kick and nudge scattered groceries back into a bag so that it can drag it home (nevermind that the bag weighs twice what it does) or futilely struggling to turn the damn journal off with a pen clutched in its beak. Mostly this is causing lots of scribbling and squawking and the odd shot of angry penguin.
So, so angry.]
((Replies from
notsoaringblade, for angry penguin justice[This morning, there is a series of images appearing in the journal. Nothing more, nothing less. Ask what's going on, and you'll probably get more of the same. Luceti is a strange place, isn't it?]
( For Albert and Caesar )
( For Katara )
( For Richard )
[With those messages taken care of, Sigmund makes a quick round of the house to check that everything and everyone is well before he starts his morning routine. Unfortunately, this leads to a less than thrilling discovery. Aya's room is empty. Gone. He knows he should be pleased that she's not trapped here any longer... so why does he feel that twinge of loneliness and guilt? He'll knock on both Ed and Capell's doors before he goes, so that he can give them the news. ...Individually. Individually would probably be best.
Oh, and there was that matter he wanted to speak to Edward about, as well... But perhaps today isn't the best day.]
( For Katara )
( For Richard )
[With those messages taken care of, Sigmund makes a quick round of the house to check that everything and everyone is well before he starts his morning routine. Unfortunately, this leads to a less than thrilling discovery. Aya's room is empty. Gone. He knows he should be pleased that she's not trapped here any longer... so why does he feel that twinge of loneliness and guilt? He'll knock on both Ed and Capell's doors before he goes, so that he can give them the news. ...Individually. Individually would probably be best.
Oh, and there was that matter he wanted to speak to Edward about, as well... But perhaps today isn't the best day.]
[It's fairly early in the morning when Sigmund comes stumbling into town. To say he's in bad shape would be a severe understatement. He's got several nasty gashes, some thankfully starting to scab over, some not, most of them bandaged with what he could rip off his undershirt without getting his armor off. The side of his cuirass is dented in a way that guarantees broken ribs underneath it. He seems dazed, and his eyes are a little glassy, both from blood loss and... something else. Everything looks wrong to him, although less wrong - more subtly wrong? - than hours ago. Yesterday? He's not entirely sure. Probably only yesterday.
His breathing is shallow, and he can't move more than twenty or thirty feet at a time before he needs to crouch down and rest. Despite that, he's making this trip take twice as long as it would otherwise by refusing to go straight through town, and instead moving furtively and sticking to sheltered, out of the way areas when he can. There's something of the injured wild animal about him, and he'll react about the same if approached.
He's having trouble thinking straight, but he knows he needs... something. Things to clean his sword and armor, right. Edward would be upset if they... if they... Edward would be upset. So the smithy will be his first stop. If no one's there, he's leaving them one hell of a mess for later. Sorry 'bout that. The tipped rack and general filth were an accident, promise. With that taken care of, he'll be intent on heading for his house. At least it's a short walk now.
He just needs to rest for a while. Really. Everything is under control.]
[Written, shakily, much later in the day]
The creature that was in the village yesterday has been dealt with. Those who were attacked may rest now.
(OOC: Aftermath of this.)
His breathing is shallow, and he can't move more than twenty or thirty feet at a time before he needs to crouch down and rest. Despite that, he's making this trip take twice as long as it would otherwise by refusing to go straight through town, and instead moving furtively and sticking to sheltered, out of the way areas when he can. There's something of the injured wild animal about him, and he'll react about the same if approached.
He's having trouble thinking straight, but he knows he needs... something. Things to clean his sword and armor, right. Edward would be upset if they... if they... Edward would be upset. So the smithy will be his first stop. If no one's there, he's leaving them one hell of a mess for later. Sorry 'bout that. The tipped rack and general filth were an accident, promise. With that taken care of, he'll be intent on heading for his house. At least it's a short walk now.
He just needs to rest for a while. Really. Everything is under control.]
[Written, shakily, much later in the day]
The creature that was in the village yesterday has been dealt with. Those who were attacked may rest now.
(OOC: Aftermath of this.)
Are there any musicians here? It has been too long since I was able to enjoy a performance. I would like to hear a song from your world. If you will indulge me, I will share one from mine.
[If any of those musicians (or anyone else) happens to be around house #47, they might hear some quiet flute music from that house's porch. Sigmund is mostly just playing for himself, but if anyone stopped by to listen, he'd play louder for them. He's in an unusually good mood, barely even a hint of his usual morbidity or ill humor. What could possibly be causing that?]
(OOC: Sigmund's AU needs no linked explanation. He did not disappear in a blaze of idiotic glory. That's really all you need to know.)
[If any of those musicians (or anyone else) happens to be around house #47, they might hear some quiet flute music from that house's porch. Sigmund is mostly just playing for himself, but if anyone stopped by to listen, he'd play louder for them. He's in an unusually good mood, barely even a hint of his usual morbidity or ill humor. What could possibly be causing that?]
(OOC: Sigmund's AU needs no linked explanation. He did not disappear in a blaze of idiotic glory. That's really all you need to know.)
[Sigmund would love to be helping to get these monsters under control, he really would. It's been far too long since he's had a proper fight. Unfortunately, that is going to have to wait a while, because certain nine year old girls in his care pick the worst times possible to run off. This child is going to worry him to death. Which means that, at the moment, he is searching every last inch of the village, attempting to not look like he's not in danger of collapsing from lack of sleep. He may just be in danger of collapsing from lack of sleep. It's not even a big village! It shouldn't be this difficult to find her!
Matters haven't exactly been helped by the summon sprite that decided they were now the very best of friends. There is a Hydrake flying after him with all of its derpy little might. If he makes a sudden stop, it tends to collide with him and chirp-squeak loudly in protest. He is generally trying to ignore it, even when it viciously attacks things in his vicinity by... blasting them with a spray of bubbles. Hydrake is not exactly the most formidable of allies.
He'd stop his hunt for a moment, if someone being chased by a zombie horde or a giant dragon or something ran by. No time for leisurely chatting, though. He is a man on a mission.]
Matters haven't exactly been helped by the summon sprite that decided they were now the very best of friends. There is a Hydrake flying after him with all of its derpy little might. If he makes a sudden stop, it tends to collide with him and chirp-squeak loudly in protest. He is generally trying to ignore it, even when it viciously attacks things in his vicinity by... blasting them with a spray of bubbles. Hydrake is not exactly the most formidable of allies.
He'd stop his hunt for a moment, if someone being chased by a zombie horde or a giant dragon or something ran by. No time for leisurely chatting, though. He is a man on a mission.]
[It's been a little over a week now since Sigmund accidentally deafened part of Luceti. Tonight isn't a good night to talk about it; part of him suspects that he never will be.
But tonight is a good night for mourning. The air is still hot, heavy with a storm building... and around house #32, with something else. Sigmund is perched on the roof, with his now finished flute, even though there isn't a ladder in sight. He's got a blanket spread out, and a couple pillows for later. His journal is up there next to him, though he hesitates in opening it. But... he does owe the town an apology for damage done, even if it was accidental.
Up for a little music by the moonlight, Luceti? One note still sounds oh-so-slightly off-key, and the playing is a little hesitant in places, but the musician certainly knows what he's doing. Long memories are sometimes lacking on little details, is all. He weaves through several different styles and melodies before the last note trails off. And then, as if that was all merely warm up, starts into this. The playing has a layer that wasn't quite there before, a sense of being fond, reverent, and unbearably sad. Much more care is given to this song than any of the others. And when it finishes? Silence. Try to get his attention if you want, but you'll probably find him even less talkative than usual. Tonight isn't a night for explaining. It's a night for peace. And he's going to stay on the roof, and that's what he's going to get.]
But tonight is a good night for mourning. The air is still hot, heavy with a storm building... and around house #32, with something else. Sigmund is perched on the roof, with his now finished flute, even though there isn't a ladder in sight. He's got a blanket spread out, and a couple pillows for later. His journal is up there next to him, though he hesitates in opening it. But... he does owe the town an apology for damage done, even if it was accidental.
Up for a little music by the moonlight, Luceti? One note still sounds oh-so-slightly off-key, and the playing is a little hesitant in places, but the musician certainly knows what he's doing. Long memories are sometimes lacking on little details, is all. He weaves through several different styles and melodies before the last note trails off. And then, as if that was all merely warm up, starts into this. The playing has a layer that wasn't quite there before, a sense of being fond, reverent, and unbearably sad. Much more care is given to this song than any of the others. And when it finishes? Silence. Try to get his attention if you want, but you'll probably find him even less talkative than usual. Tonight isn't a night for explaining. It's a night for peace. And he's going to stay on the roof, and that's what he's going to get.]
[A couple of inkspots appear on the page, as if the owner of the journal is pondering what to write. Then a short pause, and it switches over to voice. Or perhaps "voice." After a minute of nothing but the wind and the faint sound of the river, the entry is cut off by the sound of the journal closing.
... Or is it?
About a half-hour later, there is a muffled thump and the sound of pages flapping through the air before another soft whump. Did someone... punch something over? Faintly, there's a note on a flute. Another, another... an... ear-piercing shrill.] I don't understand why this is so- [Soft grumbling. If one listens closely, they can pick out the occasional word. Something about some "Veros" character, and several shocking allegations about questionable portions of his anatomy. Yet another pause, and then...
SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Shortly followed by a small splash.
...
And then hurried footsteps and a much larger one.]
... Or is it?
About a half-hour later, there is a muffled thump and the sound of pages flapping through the air before another soft whump. Did someone... punch something over? Faintly, there's a note on a flute. Another, another... an... ear-piercing shrill.] I don't understand why this is so- [Soft grumbling. If one listens closely, they can pick out the occasional word. Something about some "Veros" character, and several shocking allegations about questionable portions of his anatomy. Yet another pause, and then...
SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Shortly followed by a small splash.
...
And then hurried footsteps and a much larger one.]
[Filtered from Leonid, just in case]
I must apologize to my students. Recent events have made finding time for lessons difficult. I believe I we will be able to continue this Saturday.
If there are any others who wish to learn swordsmanship, I am capable of taking four or five more students. Those with less experience will receive the bulk of my attention. Respond if you are interested.
( Misc. Action )
I must apologize to my students. Recent events have made finding time for lessons difficult. I believe I we will be able to continue this Saturday.
If there are any others who wish to learn swordsmanship, I am capable of taking four or five more students. Those with less experience will receive the bulk of my attention. Respond if you are interested.
( Misc. Action )
[Good evening, House 32. Your wayward hero has returned to you after his quiet vacation right off of his mortal coil, all expenses paid by the Dreadknight. Or rather, he has been returned, and is sitting propped neatly up against the front door with his also wayward boot in his lap.
How odd.
But closer inspection might explain it, as he seems to have somehow bruised all of his knuckles, as if he was punching walls for the last few hours. Or faces. Faces are always a possibility. If the Malnosso are keeping a file on him, it probably says, "CAUTION. Subject is violent and belligerent. Keep restrained or sedated at all times." It would also reveal that he is not unconscious. He's just... having a little trouble coming to terms with the way the ground is moving. So he reaches up and knocks on the door, softly at first, but if he has to keep trying, it'll get louder every few minutes as his arm stops feeling like Halgitian jelly.]
Edward. Edward.
[He's only sitting here until his legs remember that they have bones in them. He'll drag his own drugged ass into the house if need be, thanks.]
( Written, Some Hours Later // Private to Leonid )
How odd.
But closer inspection might explain it, as he seems to have somehow bruised all of his knuckles, as if he was punching walls for the last few hours. Or faces. Faces are always a possibility. If the Malnosso are keeping a file on him, it probably says, "CAUTION. Subject is violent and belligerent. Keep restrained or sedated at all times." It would also reveal that he is not unconscious. He's just... having a little trouble coming to terms with the way the ground is moving. So he reaches up and knocks on the door, softly at first, but if he has to keep trying, it'll get louder every few minutes as his arm stops feeling like Halgitian jelly.]
Edward. Edward.
[He's only sitting here until his legs remember that they have bones in them. He'll drag his own drugged ass into the house if need be, thanks.]
( Written, Some Hours Later // Private to Leonid )
[Today there is a Liberator dragging his sorry self back into the village, and cursing the Malnosso for dumping him on the opposite end of the village from his destination. He doesn't look too bad for returning from a kidnapping, although he's bruised his lip somehow and his white shirt appears to be stuck to his chest by little spots of dried blood in a peculiar pattern. He's also missing a shoe.
It's a long trudge back to community building #6 with only one boot.
It's going to be a trudge that seems even longer when he gets there to find his apartment unoccupied. What. But wait, there's a note. ...He just passed house 32 to get here. Veros, why do you do these terrible things to him? ...Aside from the obvious. He looks at the note, and then in the direction of house 32. Note, house, note, house, note, house... journal.
They were the ones that decided to move residences without him.]
I have returned. Edward, bring my shoe.
((OOC: And, back. If I still have tags, I'm getting to them now. Figured you don't need an extra post clogging your flists.))
It's a long trudge back to community building #6 with only one boot.
It's going to be a trudge that seems even longer when he gets there to find his apartment unoccupied. What. But wait, there's a note. ...He just passed house 32 to get here. Veros, why do you do these terrible things to him? ...Aside from the obvious. He looks at the note, and then in the direction of house 32. Note, house, note, house, note, house... journal.
They were the ones that decided to move residences without him.]
I have returned. Edward, bring my shoe.
((OOC: And, back. If I still have tags, I'm getting to them now. Figured you don't need an extra post clogging your flists.))
For my students, lessons will be this evening at the barracks. I will see you individually for now.
( Action, cut to save your flists. )
((OOC notes I forgot the first time: *facepalms forever* this post is for the people who expressed interest in playing out a spar or a lesson. Like I said before, if you'd prefer not do that, just drop a comment here, or a pm, or whatever, with how your character's general skill level and how they'd act during the lesson so that I can get an idea of Sigmund's impression of them. It's kind of important to how he'd plan more lessons, so I'd really appreciate it.))
( Action, cut to save your flists. )
((OOC notes I forgot the first time: *facepalms forever* this post is for the people who expressed interest in playing out a spar or a lesson. Like I said before, if you'd prefer not do that, just drop a comment here, or a pm, or whatever, with how your character's general skill level and how they'd act during the lesson so that I can get an idea of Sigmund's impression of them. It's kind of important to how he'd plan more lessons, so I'd really appreciate it.))
To those I spoke with about further training:
I will be at the Barracks this Wednesday evening. You may meet me there so that I can asses your skills.
If there are others without knowledge of self-defense, I am still capable of taking on more students. I would suggest you consider the opportunity carefully. You may not always have the luxury of another to fight on your behalf.
[Filtered to his Edward, 40% unhackable]
Edward, I wish to speak with you. My room, if you would.
[OOC Notes of Doom: If there is interest, I will toss up a post or a log on Wednesday for the class. Otherwise, if you could just leave me a note or pm me or ping me on aim or something, so I can get an idea of your character's general skill and attitude about the whole thing and how Sig will react to them.
Also, I know I still have tags on the last post. Gettin' to 'em now. Sorry about that.
...Oh. And the start of Sig's relationship post is here, if you wanna see that.]
I will be at the Barracks this Wednesday evening. You may meet me there so that I can asses your skills.
If there are others without knowledge of self-defense, I am still capable of taking on more students. I would suggest you consider the opportunity carefully. You may not always have the luxury of another to fight on your behalf.
[Filtered to his Edward, 40% unhackable]
Edward, I wish to speak with you. My room, if you would.
[OOC Notes of Doom: If there is interest, I will toss up a post or a log on Wednesday for the class. Otherwise, if you could just leave me a note or pm me or ping me on aim or something, so I can get an idea of your character's general skill and attitude about the whole thing and how Sig will react to them.
Also, I know I still have tags on the last post. Gettin' to 'em now. Sorry about that.
...Oh. And the start of Sig's relationship post is here, if you wanna see that.]
Residents of Luceti-
I am Sigmund. It is possible that some of you may recognize the name. To those I have not yet contacted, I apologize. The circumstances of my return have been less than ideal.
It has come to my attention that there are those here lacking in basic self-defense. This is a situation that must be remedied. For those interested, I am willing to share my knowledge of swordsmanship. If there is enough response, I will organize lessons. If not, I am still capable of teaching a few apprentices.
Be aware, though, that I will expect dedication and commitment, and will not tolerate foolery. Battles are not games for children to play at.
If I do not respond immediately, be patient. I've other business to attend to.
[And in his bedroom, that other business is... writing. A great deal of writing, in fact, on loose paper and interspersed with hurried sketches. The stacks of paper are starting to grow large and messy, indicating he's been at it for quite some time. To someone who knows Sigmund, the contents would be familiar. An anecdote of his childhood in Halgita here, a sketch of the throne room there; a description of the Cobasna Timberlands and the ships at Zala on one stack, and the next stack over, an account of meeting Balbagan written around a drawing of his ax. It is as if he is feverishly trying to write his entire life down... almost as if he were afraid of forgetting it.
Every so often he pauses and glances at his journal, which he has propped open against a candlestick he stubbornly refuses to get rid of. A few other sheets of paper have been sacrificed for a sort of improvised paper screen between him and the book. Damnable things. If only the ease of communication didn't mean such an affront to privacy.]
I am Sigmund. It is possible that some of you may recognize the name. To those I have not yet contacted, I apologize. The circumstances of my return have been less than ideal.
It has come to my attention that there are those here lacking in basic self-defense. This is a situation that must be remedied. For those interested, I am willing to share my knowledge of swordsmanship. If there is enough response, I will organize lessons. If not, I am still capable of teaching a few apprentices.
Be aware, though, that I will expect dedication and commitment, and will not tolerate foolery. Battles are not games for children to play at.
If I do not respond immediately, be patient. I've other business to attend to.
[And in his bedroom, that other business is... writing. A great deal of writing, in fact, on loose paper and interspersed with hurried sketches. The stacks of paper are starting to grow large and messy, indicating he's been at it for quite some time. To someone who knows Sigmund, the contents would be familiar. An anecdote of his childhood in Halgita here, a sketch of the throne room there; a description of the Cobasna Timberlands and the ships at Zala on one stack, and the next stack over, an account of meeting Balbagan written around a drawing of his ax. It is as if he is feverishly trying to write his entire life down... almost as if he were afraid of forgetting it.
Every so often he pauses and glances at his journal, which he has propped open against a candlestick he stubbornly refuses to get rid of. A few other sheets of paper have been sacrificed for a sort of improvised paper screen between him and the book. Damnable things. If only the ease of communication didn't mean such an affront to privacy.]
[Good day, Luceti.
Today, there is a man striding boldly into the village wearing nothing but the (previously) white New Feather pants. They are more muddy than anything else now, especially in the back and on the knees. He is also carrying a tree branch as though it was a weapon of great power, and has his journal tucked under one arm. Some of you might even recognize him.
He doesn't appear to be going anywhere in particular. Just looking around, somewhat consternated.
Also, it is cold. And raining. This is not ideal.]
... This is not Fayel.
Today, there is a man striding boldly into the village wearing nothing but the (previously) white New Feather pants. They are more muddy than anything else now, especially in the back and on the knees. He is also carrying a tree branch as though it was a weapon of great power, and has his journal tucked under one arm. Some of you might even recognize him.
He doesn't appear to be going anywhere in particular. Just looking around, somewhat consternated.
Also, it is cold. And raining. This is not ideal.]
... This is not Fayel.
Not Fayel
getting a bit concerned
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chasethestars
chasethestars