Juicy

Mote

FINALLY I am so sorry.

I'm used to posts being infrequent and taking an eternity on other sites. I'll start getting into the swing of things!

Mote

"Y' like horses in a field 'bout to get whipped, starin' 'stead of runnin'! You want the damn mutt? Act like it!"

Past the great expanse of fen and forest was the shoreline of Woed-- the beach, and before that was a ravine to aid the transition from grass and soil to sand. But, even before all of this, back where the earth squelched undertoe, where the open sky suffocated under leafy canopy, and where there was only obscurity, solemnity, and-- worse of all-- snakes, there was rumored to be a cottage or two. A refuge for the reclusive, those unknown who vied to remain so. This was, until, in a sudden bout of urgency, they emerged like living dead from the wilderness and began a hastened scramble down the cliffside to the beach. They grimaced, they grunted, and they hobbled, but-- and this is when one gentleman was engaged in enthusiastic conference-- they had managed a considerable distance, leaving holes and footprints in the sand.

“They,” the figure of crumbled posture, their every step teeming with rheumatism and fragility. And yet, the antique mysticism of their dress-- a miscellany of fabrics and jewelry and beads-- and, most telling, the scowl carved into their gnarled and textured face-- shadows cast and caught like the web of wrinkles faded in the intoxicating glow of the Mote growing closer, closer. Mind, it would be impolite to make any presumptions of the travellers, to make any presumptions of their presumptions of this traveller. Their appearance there was instantaneous. Did she shock, scare? Well, all in all, she was a hag.

Regardless, her story did not involve or address any others in the vicinity. The hag was unconcerned. She was in the midst of removing her soft-soled shoes. She was bracing for arching another dune. There was, kneeled in the sand--

--"Move.”

--someone pushed aside for the Mote.

And then, it was almost too close. It was almost too perfect-- imperfect: coarse, and scarred. Those engravings immersed her in a hypnotic, consecrated color. She strode forward into the surf as if sleep-walking.

The old woman muttered under her breath: "Disrespectful... Reactin' t' magic like this."

The maelstrom of miscellany churned onward and above her; she met it mournfully, the woman, without considering the matching revolution at its base. The sea turned and turned as she, in a step, and then another, approached the object of her infatuation, her sympathy. Those wrinkles-- culminated ire and scorn-- smoothed and languished in her solemnity, and her headscarf was coming loose.

She could see the dog, and something clicked. Her eyes, once wistful, filled with color, darkened. The woman's brow folded over. She whisked around to see the other figures standing, then. She whisked back to see the dog, trapped and spinning. She whisked around towards the kneeling, palled little girl; the more-dignified man accompanied with such fascinating perplexities as a pirate's eye patch, a hunter's bird of prey; and then the owner of the dog...

And then the woman whisked back towards the dog. And then around again. And then! "Alright, alright! Get my cane, you worms! Y' like horses in a field 'bout to get whipped, starin' 'stead of runnin'! You want the damn mutt? Act like it! We'll pull 'em out! I said get my cane! Hurry up!"

Shattered Universe: Dimensional Warfare

The desperate cry had evanesced and died within the tight covet sandwiched between sealed doors. Fortunately, the pile-on had itself began to die. An liquid crept, near-invisible past the mass of alien lifeforms, along the floor. The ones that lived, scattered.

In a flash, the vagrant, newly-exposed, struggled to stuff a writhing mass down its throat. A barrel flashed, and he looked up into the blast.

Introducing: Kirby!

What a wonderful, spontaneous adventure this had proven to be. Kirby himself had a stifled memory, but in his short-term were fast-fading memories entailing clones and brawls and apples and such. Something he had no responsibility to remember, nor intention to engage in. But the universe at large apparently needed Kirby more than Pop Star did, and he found himself sucked into a maelstrom of rejected content, spat out into what appeared to be intergalactic strife: the inevitable result of betraying continuity. He might have been presumptive in his attempt, but it was hard for Kirby to really gauge himself; he wasn't a fan of introspection. Yet, doing anything else was rendered difficult when the superstar found himself incapacitated like a round, rosy-cheeked ice cube. There was nothing more humiliating.

"Po... yu..." He resigned and hoped the predicament might solve itself.

Shattered Universe: Dimensional Warfare

Hopefully the GM didn't intend to pilot every individual critter, especially in the midst of an attack. It'd really limit what we could do about said attack.

Shattered Universe: Dimensional Warfare

I'm not comfortable w/ joining Discords for roleplays, so I myself wouldn't join it if it were even made.

If you're disappointed in the pacing, guys, you're free to take the initiative and improve it. There's a lot of standing around and reflecting on nothing so far, really. I'd expect some indulgent action in a RP like this, right? Go kill some zomboys.

Shattered Universe: Dimensional Warfare

???

| Elsewhere in the Union Station. |

The service airlock was placed conveniently for the wandering and those vying to enter amidst chaos when they could. This included jaundiced, parasitic, creatures who crossed the earth on tentacles tapering into feathery red feelers. This included, too, the vagrant, who had no apparent reason to interrupt other than being at their receiving end.

Currently, there was a struggle, or had been-- in an instant: the vagrant disgorged the remains of one foe with such projection, it eviscerated two others. Then he turned to another which had crept up behind him and took to smashing it with his foot, its soft body giving a delicious squelch-- then, yet another fell on top of him. As if a cover had been pulled over the vagrant's eyes; and then he was engulfed again, and again; he was under a mound of soft, squelching bodies fallen from above. They enveloped him with their smothering tendrils as if to not augment the muffled cacophony outside with his cries for help.

Mote

I'll probably have to delay the post for a day... Presumed I'd post something yesterday and that, uh, didn't happen, lol.

Can always respond OOC, though, so if ya'll want to bounce off ideas in the meantime, always feel free.

Mote

Ahh, I was working on something when TMS posted

But now I'm a bit disoriented on where everyone's characters are positioned relative to the mote. I actually thought Capella hadn't approached it yet.

Mote

Sounds awesome! I can definitely start working on my first post, too.

Mote

And mounting its back / Flew up to the moon

- Birth Name -

Umayma Bari.

- Age -

56.

- Hair Color -

Grey.

- Eye Color -

Brown.

- Appearance -

A ruddy-skinned woman whose age scores her in wrinkles and raised moles, sagging flesh at her neck that dips like a wattle, while her face remains tautly creased after decades spent scowling. Her ears are broad, her nose is fat and flattened, and her eyes leer darkly, nastily, behind her grimy bifocals and beneath the wide brim of her hat. Billows of old, white hair puff from its folds like the smoke from her drag on her pipe. The hand which grips her cane is a clawed and gnarled one that stands to attention on lengthy nails atop its wood-carved perch. With her stooped and broken posture, each step is staggering, deliberating. The woman's glare, nonetheless, carries confident intention, as if she could all the same snap your neck for staring.

The madame, too, is clearly one who revels in moody mysticism, based upon the convolution of her dress. Otherwise, she could seem none too curious without her hat's crown brimming with flowers, down, and strings of beads abound. The same stone jewelry trails across her figure --- a continued, though , train of thought -- with stones round her neck, stones round her wrists, and big, stone rings on her fingers, all with opaque sheen, whether annular or carved into animals or human faces. Her apparel is motley in color and texture; a violet, paisley robe with blue accents and ratty ends cloaks a fleecy bottom layer wrapped tightly by waist-binding scarves. Another such fans behind her -- implying there's a headscarf beneath that broad, old hat -- as she treads with a precarious urgency. And the broad, old hag keeps hobbling in spite of the stares. Her lips appear to shrivel, smashed shut; how rare her husky voice doth not rise to belabor those about her. Tonight, she must have found something far more important.

" Tch, if you have questions, ask 'em. Time is fickle. Don't dare waste any a' mine. "

- Miss Grouse, where were you born, and where now do you call home? -

"That's Madame Grouse, love."

- Yes, Madame; excuse me. -

"Right. When I was born, then.

"...t'was a long while ago. When I knew those who birthed me. My father and my mother came from far away, and that's all I can remember. S'ppose it's why I looked so exotic in my youth. Curly hair and all; ha! Didn't see that in other girl when I was growin' up. Not like I got treated well for it neither. Grew up with a mother, see, 'n' she didn't look like me. That's it. No father. Not sure if 'at's how it's meant t' be but, hey! Ah-hah-hah! I turnt out alright, I think I did.

"'course, Mother and I lived in a village far from this here coast, in a little cottage-- mm, I can remember the smallness of it. Ain't lived in nothin' much larger since, I reckon, but 'least here, it ain't feel like no cave, hee-hee! Had to keep the windows open as t' not feel buried alive, we did! But those were good times, otherwise, with my, uh, "second" mother, before she thought it better for me t' leave. Been runnin' for a while, see. Though Weod ain't so bad, now. Th' winds near this here coast are good for m' joints, I suppose. It ain't no Heimshire, f' sure. Wistful 'bout the country, I am."

- Do you have any comrades? Close family, or friends? -

"No, I do not. Well-- no, there was Mother. But she is long gone. Persecuted, yeah, for her "oddity." Thought 'er to be a witch, as if it were somethin' t' fear. 'Tis a shame, but in the end, I lived, she did not. Such is fate.

"Bah! You've got me thinkin' solemn 'bout my past, boy! Sure, I've got other comrades and friends and so forth, but they mean as much as dust t' me nowadays. Society, er, "loyalty," I suppose, will get y' connections like that. Mmph, and I bet 'cha those women ain't achieved nothin' in the five or so years I been gone from 'em."

- Can you go into specifics? -

"What, about those ol' wenches? Ain't nothin' worth sharin', boy. They been trailin' me ever since I were a child. Crazy coots; claimed they knew Mother, took me in, and taught me... taught me magic. I suppose I oughta be blunt about it. Yes, they were a secret maternal society -- the Roost Sisters... well, they still are, but I ain't trust 'em half as much. Did I call 'em crazy yet? They're mad, mad women!

"But I know what you're 'bout t' ask: about the 'magic' part, about the 'secret' part. 'm sharp in my days, boy. I can't tell y' what I can't. What I saw when I was practicin' magic... well, I practiced the magic, you received the miracles! That's how it oughta work. Ain't nobody can handle all th' knowledge. I've seen creatures y' never will. I've done things y' never will see nowhere else. That's all I'm tellin.'"

- Alright. Where do you go when you're angry? -

"Hmph. I leave. I travel, didn't I say? If I'm bothered, I get up, and I leave, and I don't return. 's mighty... calm, walkin' away. Leavin' bygones as they are. Uprootin'. I ain't no tree; heh."

- What is your biggest fear? Have you told anyone about it; yet, who would you never tell? -

"Mm. Fear. 's a funny thing. Awfully inconvenient t' feel, really. S'ppose I've no fears, then! Nope! Ain't scared of no person, ain't scared of no concept. Been a witch t' long for that. I run when I'm angry, not when I'm... scared.

"No; I don't fear being pursued or nothin'. Specially ain't scared of them Roost Sisters, and what they'd want from me, and what they're... capable of. And why they'd... do somethin'... to her...

...What's your next question, boy?"

- Well, do you have a secret? Unless that's related to your magic? -

"Yeah, I used to practice all sorts a' witchcraft 'n' such. ...y' knew? Ah. I told y'. Yes, I remember.

"Fine, if you're obsessed with secrets, I'll tell y' what I did with the magic. That'll have t' suit you. Truth be told, I ain't make a livin' out of it or nothin'. Mostly small things, helpful things. Riddin' Heimshire -- twas where I used to live -- of all kinds a' pests, ones y' ain't ever pictured. Had a penchant for charms, see. Even the most common plant-based ingredients could create somethin' useful, whether a cure for some a' the worst poxes I'd ever seen, or good fortune, even! Yeah, some dried sage an' a handful a' fig seeds, plus a lil' somethin' else, with the right enchantments, could improve your luck findin' love! S'ppose a youth like yourself would find use in somethin' like that, a-hah-hah!

"Ahh, but I've said too much already, I have. Y' can take my word for it, or you can think me mad, just an avid gardener with some herbologist dabblin', trappin' rabbits in her garden rather than trolls. 's up to you, boy. And that's all the things 'bout magic I can bear to tell you."

- What makes you laugh out loud? -

"Ahh, I'm old enough to laugh at anythin', boy! Well, anythin' I say. 'm the funniest person I know, a-hah-hah! That's only halfways a joke, eeh-hee!"

- Surely you must have been in love once? -

"Oh, dozens 'a times! For every year I've been alive I'm been in love! The countryside, for one, got rollin' plains that are a joy t' walk, and y' get a magnificent view of the sky. And y' ain't know love before you start keepin' a garden. It be like child-bearin', I've said. Your life start revolvin' 'round your plants, eeh-hee!

"Oh, but you mean people-- suitors. How trivial. Must be 'cause 'a how I was raised, but I ain't ever seen a man as "necessary" to nothin'. Housewivery ain't no life, after all. Life is... nature, wanderin', meetin' new people, never holin' in a single place. 'n' you'll meet people y' hate and that you love in amazin' ways that way. To be wed is t' take it all away, all the freedom of life. So, yes,
I have loved many men, but I have never settled or married.

"'m too old to meet anyone new anyways, so don't get any ideas, a-ha-ha-hah-hah!"

- What would be hard for you to part with? -

"Mm, I could go anywhere I wish... s'ppose I'd miss my walkin' staff here... my garden, most certain.

"No, I've... already parted with what I love."

- Truly? What was that? -

"...I can't make charms no more. Couldn't tell y' why."

- ...my condolences. But, do you have any memories of your childhood kitchen? The smells, the sounds? -

"Hmph. As if could remember so far back! You're puttin' some real pressure on me, boy!

"Not like there's any real meaning in an old kitchen, anyway. 't comes down to bein' young, 's why everything feels like it matters, then. You're so... naive is the word. Only children care 'bout their childhood, is what I'm sayin'. Y' ought to forget it all when you're my age! It's a blessin' bein' this old, dammit!"

- Please, Madame, can you answer the question? -

"What? About... smells, sounds? Bahh, I dunno...

"Herb gardens have always been in m' life. So, the smell of thyme. Youth like y'self probably haven't smelt fresh thyme straight from th' ground. That and it's more a feminine thing to tend t' gardens, I s'ppose. But Madame Halcyon would use thyme in much of her recipes, yes. I remember it bein' nice on stewed rabbit. An' don't look at me like rabbit ain't a perfectly good meat! Y' wouldn't have hesitated if you were at that grand table with a plate of it in front of you. Mmph, and the smell... indescribable, it was. Ain't never had a better meal that weren't cooked by her."

- Can you describe another strong memory from your childhood-- -

"--no, nothing I've ever eaten. Smelled like heaven, too, if that's a place that exists. She was a meticulous woman, Madame Halcyon. Liked not just organizin', but the process of it. Kept a bell and everythin' for every meal she cooked, usually dinner, but insisted on making lunch too. T' the others, she complained 'bout havin' too much work, but really-- and she told her favorite pupil this-- she thought no one else could do it like she could! Didn't want t' feed us young-uns garbage anymore, I s'ppose, a-hah-hah!

"Ahh, those were the days, with the smell of broiling meat drifting from the open window. Meanwhile, me, young and sprightly thing, curls bouncin' in the breeze, wandering 'mongst the corriander-- garden-tending. Ah, but one day, I found somethin' off-puttin' out the corner a' my eye. Couldn't tell for sure, but it was some lil' man, barely a foot high-- far shorter than me now, a-hah!

"I was mighty frightened then. Couldn't stand to look at 'em! I raised quite a bit of noise, an' Madame Halcyon comes rushing out.

"'What on earth is ailing y', you blithering mangrove?' I remember she said. 'n' you know I wasn't takin' her sharpness, I wasn't!

"'Don't call me names!' I said before anything else. 'There's somethin' in the garden! It's disturbin' the herbs!'

"Madame Halcyon weren't pleased by me lettin' the creature wander, but she weren't the type to assume it mundane, a ground squirrel or even a deer. She hustled, hem of her gown pulled all taut, with her face even tighter-- much younger in her age than me in mine, eeh-hee! Yes, she seemed almost scared 'erself, so serious! But she came across the beastly thing eventually, me trailin' after her like a chick to a hen. Bastard was chewin' on the basil! Mm, did lil' ol' me learn some foreign language that day, a-hah-hah!

"Madame Halcyon was enraged 'bout 'How'd it get in, what dead weight let it in," and then she dove into her apron and started flingin' what looked and smelled of vinegar. Straight handfuls, dabbed in her hand, then flung at the creature. Now, I was just initiated, so I'd no clue what madness had taken the woman. Just standin' there, ogglin', tryin' to make sense of it all, I was. But then, before my very eyes--and I swear this ain't untruthful-- the droplets hittin' the creature made a hiss with a contact. Somethin' like a snake, I swear it. The beast couldn't stand it! Startin' squealin' like a babe, it did, and went flying through the fields. Madame Halycon was in hot pursuit! And of course I followed suit, my nosy self; such a scene!

"Oh, but the beast had gone and clamboured to safety up the lattice a' ivies entwinin' the wall-- wall 'round the manor, anyway. An' Madame Halcyon was already promisin', ravin' to me or really anyone or anythin', that she was 'bout to make major renovations, have some major talking-tos with 'er cohorts. But I was so curious, I braved her anger to ask her pointedly, what on earth I'd just witnessed there.

"Her answer was blunt: a charm, see. One for wardin' off malevolent spirits like the lil' man in the garden. And oh, how I begged her to teach me to make it! It was the first time I'd ever seen a charm in th' flesh, I was an anxious lil' thing! But Madame Halcyon did promise... in-retrospect, twas the day that marked her my mentor in the arts a' witchcraft. Twas also the day I found m' callin', it was. Yes..."

- And what do you want most of all in your life? -

"I... would like my magic back. That is all."

- I'm curious: what is your interest in the motes? -

"Did I not but answer this question, boy?"

- No, I don't believe you did, Madame. -

"Recently, I did, yes. Seconds ago, actually. Tch. Trying to trick me in m' age, then. Shameful, t' take advantage of your elders."

---

Elsewhere, in Heimshire...

This was, according to the calendar, the fifthieth anniversary of Madame Halcyon's demise, and the newly-elected head of the Roost Sisters Society was not pleased, for such occasion she felt emphasized her status as a replacement quite extensively. Brood she had all week, encapsulated in the dark, dank depths of their decaying base of operations -- the room which had originally been situated for orphans before that program ceased now housed the decrepit woman clothed in black; there had been turmoil about the organization for a few years, now, but another issue had recently arose, that which concerned the preternatural. (How ironic for occasions related to witchcraft to be a rarity amidst witches rather than monetary disputes.) Alas, the creature fabled to roam the forested outskirts of Heimshire was no figment, and certainly not something which minimal resources could account for.

Indeed it was inconvenient that the Sisters' greatest solution for the malicious and magical had departed with much hostility. On edge, she'd been, ever since Madame Halcyon and her generation had thinned out in favor of new leadership.

The center of such leadership, meanwhile, fixed a hardened stare on the documents in her lap, apparently capable of reading without a candle lit. In her sudden resolution, however, the woman must have made some conclusion on how the handle the predicament at hand with so much already on her plate. Ultimately, it came down to prioritization and sacrifice-- of a woman unaffiliated and thus, no longer her concern. While Madame Grouse had abandoned, she would have no choice but to assist if the creature came to her, yes?

---