[open] I'm learning to live

[frontlinetitties]

Who: Gideon Nav and OPEN
Where: Around Thorne Castle, and a visit to the dungeons.
When: throughout the month
What: various interactions
Warnings: TBD but probably none



The Dungeons - open to prisoners and welcomed

[She's been avoiding the dungeons. There has been enough to deal with for the last little while, like the heady rush that comes with having someone finally see something worthwhile in her, for being chosen for her capabilities rather than stamped down and discarded in a decaying tomb of a place that was never meant to thrive. The shock - bright and sharp as a snapped stem - at finding herself back inside her own body, whole and undamaged and very much alive. Being cast into some strange new world, life in the castle, the horizon, all of it-- all of this has acted as the perfect distraction against really acknowledging that, unlike her, some people have been cast down and locked out.

She's been toying with telling herself that they probably deserve it. That if they've been locked up down there then there's probably a very good reason for it. Only, it's an excuse that knocks hollow against the inside of her skull, knowing as he does that life has the propensity to be anything but fair. And she supposes it’s high time she started asking questions.

So she's here, at last. Here with an offering of bread rolls - fragrant and still warm from the ovens - that she's pilfered from the dining hall, like a sad apology for her neglect and wilful ignorance. For any of the other castle residents, she might be ran into whilst loitering before the stone stairway leading down into the dungeon's depths, looking guilty and uncertain. For the residents of the dungeons, she'll come looming out of the shadows, looking entirely forbidding all draped in black and bound in six feet worth of solid muscle. Until she opens her mouth to speak, anyway.]

Sooo, I figured you might be hungry?

Training - open to welcomed

[The sword she managed to procure during the first month's festivities is more than a little shabby, leaves quite a lot to be desired, but it's hardly the first time in her life that she's had to work with less than the best of tools. Cavaliers back on the Ninth were never particularly handy with a blade. Not since the legendary Matthias Nonius and he'd been dead a thousand years at least. They'd been bred for how much bone they were capable of lugging around rather than their skill with a rapier, and as such what had passed into her hands was the least rusty and decrepit of an array of very rusty, very decrepit weaponry indeed. Only her longsword had been a thing of raw and savage beauty-- but the less she thinks of that the better, lest she fall prey to something embarrassingly akin homesickness.

Whatever, the sword she's now deep in practice with is shabby, but not the shabbiest. It'll do-- and indeed, there's a fast-ascending animal joy in the way she's training with it now, even alone in the empty courtyard, with nothing but stationary dummies for sparring partners, she finds herself slipping into that sideways place where time slows down and the physicality of the fight becomes everything. Perhaps you've merely come to watch her train, or maybe you want to join in?

Eventually, she'll spot whoever is hanging around from the periphery of her vision, and turn, cutting a dramatic arc through the air with the blade before sweeping low in a bow. It's always nice to have an audience.]

Yo. You here to train, or...?

Wildcard

[Run into her wandering the halls? Catch her snooping about the castle or listening in to a conversation? Devouring more than her fair share of food in the dining hall? If you have an idea just hit me and I'll roll with it!]

Comments

Dungeon

[cryptsleeper]

[Even with the new prisoners, the same faces come to the dungeons on a predictable basis. Alucard's been careful to take note of each of them so far as the view from his particular little depressive cell allows for. Hector, for better or worse, is always around at the same time. Geralt's bard doesn't have a predictable schedule, but he'll turn up sooner or later. Other faces visit cells further away, the intent almost always a temporary reprieve from the past--

--how long has it been at this point?

So the new face is unexpected, almost as much as the heavy, heady scent of fresh bread. Intoxicating, even when one hasn't been shoved in a damn dungeon.

But a new face is also worrisome at this point in time. There's still the matter of the prisoner who's gone missing, and right now taking anything stolen feels like an invitation for the guards to given in to their worse natures.

So from his spot pressed against the wall (away from easy reach of the guards), there are cold, gold eyes that stare back at the looming figure.]

And why should we accept the risk you carry?

[frontlinetitties]

[She supposes she shouldn't be surprised by the chill gleam in his eyes as he levels his gaze at her, nor the unwillingness to take her paltry offering. She is a bit though, and realisation that the prisoners might be punished for accepting food from her comes like a kick to the gut; sharp and momentarily silencing. The quiet that comes in the wake of his question feels huge and loathsome to her though, so after those first few startled seconds have passed, she forces herself gamely on.]

It's bread. How much risk can there be in that? You're already in prison. And I take stuff from the kitchens all the time.

[So far, no one has ever chided her for it, there have been no admonishments. But perhaps that's merely because she's been chosen, whatever the hell that really means. Perhaps its entirely a different matter if she's caught taking it to the unfortunates down here, rather than keeping it for herself. But she's here now, may as well plough on.]

If any of the guards come by I'll just say I gave it to you. Then it's my fault, not yours.

[cryptsleeper]

And the guards grow less inclined to indulge this sort of thing by the day.

[It is a flat, unemotional statement of fact. No implications like you haven't read the room, have you? lurk underneath. Only the reality of the situation from a rather literal ground level, given Alucard's butt being planted squarely on the floor.]

Pass by, it isn't worth attracting their attention right now.

[frontlinetitties]

[She's only vaguely aware of the worsening situation, of the feeling that things are growing taut as a tight-wound spring. Put it down to the fact that her adept has had them focused down around other things; on training, and on research. For whatever great task they've supposedly been brought into this world for, a purpose that Harrowhark seems to have thrown herself into with frankly suspicious - yet not uncharacteristic - intensity.

Tensions have been rising though, and from the solid bluntness of his reply she's beginning to suspect she should have started asking questions long before now. Forgive her; it's her first real taste of something that passes for freedom.]

Are you worried about yourself, or me?

[If she's such an honoured guest then she has nothing to worry about... probably. Possibly.]

[cryptsleeper]

Myself.

[It's a response that feels weird on the dhampir's tongue. Selfishness, this level of self interest, it is still unfamiliar ground. That he still takes a little pause though feels like some sort of sign though, and the tiny part of himself that still adheres to the morality he was raised with tries to cling.

It doesn't hold on for long.]

But you've clearly calculated your own risk.

[frontlinetitties]

[Calculated may be giving her just a tad too much credit. Even for she, someone who grew up in a house that had tried to murder her when she was a babe in the cradle, in that dark pit of a place cracked vertically into an inhospitable planet's core, the idea that she could incur severe consequences for sharing out a bit of pilfered bread seems too monumentally petty to give credit to. And if this is that kind of place-- damn, but she's had enough of secrets and sneaking and a lack of transparency to last her a lifetime.

It's his fears for himself, ultimately, that concern her more. She narrows her own aureate gaze, and leans back against the cold stone wall just outside his cell.]

Yeeeaaaah, sure. I've calculated it. But what are you so worried about? What else is going on down here that would give you that kind of concern?

[cryptsleeper]

[That's a "I did not and this may be a slight error" if Alucard's ever heard it. Thankfully his face doesn't react (it wants to. badly.) There's only a moment of quiet consideration, trying to determine exactly how not abreast the bread bearer happens to be.

So the response is flat, the undercurrent of really? almost kept at bay.]

Would you prefer the reminder of the impending execution, the implication that people down here were mistakes according to the mage who caused all of this, or the fact that one among our number has been missing for several days?

[frontlinetitties]

[Truly a valiant effort on his part, and if she picks up on that slim slither of incredulity in his tone, she doesn't show it. Instead her brow furrows up and something in her expression wavers, the quick flicker of wanting to believe they've been brought here by some benevolent outside force that only requires their help, that have no glaring ulterior motive. Call it the desperate naivete of someone who wants to belong.

She has heard things, though. Just rumours. That's all they ever really are, right, if she hasn't seen the evidence for herself?]

Isn't he in for attempted murder though?

[If she sounds uncertain though, it's because she is; execution seems archaic, deplorable, even to her. And the disappearance he mentions, people down here because they're 'mistakes'?]

You didn't do anything to piss them off when you got here?

[cryptsleeper]

I believe so, yes. [But hardly the point he's making right now.

There's a not-smile in the response to that question though, fangs just poking through. One that's sure of one thing: there's a good reason this person has yet to come to the dungeons.]

Fought back when I was first pulled from that well. If that counts, then I fail to see the need to make it so long a sentence.

Training

[petcromancer]

No, I was merely entranced by your glorious muscles.

[Having roomed together for over a month now, Gideon might well be accustomed to Hector's brand of deadpan. He holds up a water skin.]

It's hot out. Thought you might be thirsty.

[He's been wandering around the castle, plotting out the best route a person might use to get out of the dungeons and away into the town, but playing the concerned roommate is as good a cover as any.]

[frontlinetitties]

As well you should be.

[She says with a grin, ignoring his deadpan tone as she moves to slide her shabby blade into its scabbard at her back; it's a decent two-hander at the very least, a fact she suspects Harrow is less than approving of, but no matter.

It's only with his appearance - and his proffering of the water skin - that she realises just how hot it really is, just how long she's been training for. Beads of sweat glitter her brow, and she finds she's pretty thankful that someone thought of her like this. Touching, really, that somebody did.]

Thanks, you're a pal. [She crosses the space between them in a few broad strides, takes the water from his hands.] Got bored of staring at bones?

[That's what necros do for fun, right?]

[petcromancer]

[He hands over the canteen.]

Yes, you know how it goes. Have to get some sunlight every once in a while so nobody mistakes me for one of the corpses.

[He looks around the training yard. It's not the kind of place he'd normally frequent.]

Just keeping in shape, or do you think you need to be battle-ready?

[frontlinetitties]

[She's silent a moment as she draws deeply from the canteen, the water tasting crisp and bright after her hours of ceaseless movement. She has spent so much of her life eating up the long, dull, grey hours in Drearburgh with training and exercise that it feels second nature now, something she simply returns to, almost without thought. She snorts a laugh though at his jest about the corpses, though.]

Yeah, you might wanna watch that. You could end up looking like Her Dark Ladyship, the Bone Empress. A fate I wouldn't wish on anyone.

[It's a ribbing softly punctuated by something like affection, but don't call her out on it whatever you do.]

And gotta stay swole, you know? You don't get a body like this by sitting on your ass all day. But...maybe I do need to be battle-ready. We still don't really know what they've brought us here for, after all.

[petcromancer]

And here I thought that was all the make-up.

[He wonders if he could pull off the skull look. His appearance has never been his first priority, but he can't help but think about it at least a little with two skeletal roommates constantly in his line of sight.]

It's good to be prepared for whatever comes, though it would be easier if they'd tell us what the hell it is they need of us.

[He's not particularly bothered by the thought of this teen being ready for battle. The world he comes from doesn't pamper children, and more practically, if his roommate generates bodies, that's more materials for Harrow and himself to use. It's efficient.]

Now if you do get called on to kill anyone, try to avoid dismemberment. It makes a corpse harder to work with.

[frontlinetitties]

Even without the make-up she'd still have the appearance of a desiccated spider.

[Really, the insults come from a place of affection. Or perhaps it's just a habit left over from the time before the raging hate she'd felt for the other woman had burnt out and turned - slowly - to something softer. But she's looking at him consideringly even as she wipes the thin sheen of sweat from her brow, holding out the canteen to return to him with her other hand.]

That's your speciality, is it? The beguiling corpse?

[She hopes it makes her sound super knowledgeable and shit, even if it's something she'd learnt from listening in on conversations back at Canaan House, and the reasons for it being discussed at all had been rather disturbing ones.]

I'll try not to dice 'em up too much.

[petcromancer]

[Hector's brow wrinkles at the unfamiliar phrase.]

'Beguiling corpse'...? No, I turn them into Night Creatures. They aren't beguiling. They're just... new life forms. And they're generally much happier if their frames are intact.

[So yes, Gideon, if you're able to show a little restraint for Hector's sake, he'll be most appreciative.]

[frontlinetitties]

[She looks at him a little blankly, blinks her lambent eyes at him in evident confusion. She's no necro, doesn't have so much as a necromantic bone in her body as far as she knows, but something about that statement doesn't match up to what she’s gleaned from being around necromancers her whole life.]

New life forms? But they're corpses, right? Corpses are dead.

[She's never heard of any necromancer being able to create new life from death. Binding a soul - or souls - to a form already dead and then preserving it necromantically, sure. Teacher had been such a monstrosity. But real life, new life? None save the King Undying, the Necrolord Prime-- God himself.]

prison.

[wiedzminka]

[ Desperately bored more than hungry, sick of sitting in her own head thinking too many thoughts she'd really rather not consider anymore, Ciri jumps on the opportunity to talk to someone new right now. The woman's forbidding air and size are hardly a deterrent.

Ciri had been stretching against the side of her bunk's frame, but straightens up when approached and steps closer to the cell door; it's not far at all. She gives the stranger a good, long up-and-down look, then leans forward with her hands clasped loosely around two of the bars. ]

I believe there's an old adage about not taking sweets from strangers. But I suppose bread isn't sweets.

Why are you offering it to me?

[frontlinetitties]

[Gideon returns the appraising gaze with one of her own, stands a little straighter beneath it. Muscle held taught on some distant impulse to look good and impressive even when the person she's hoping to impress is supposedly a criminal of some kind. There's the slim slide of something like guilt along her spine even as she thinks the word criminal, though. Who's to say what these people have supposedly done, and meanwhile her closest friend and ally has been a veritable war crime since the moment of her conception, and yet has been welcomed with open arms.

Something just doesn't quite add up.

Feeling chided - by the woman, by her own conscience, she isn't quite sure - she awkwardly clears her throat.]

I just figured you might be hungry. So are you?

[She says, trying to affect a casual air even as she takes in the chill and dreary surroundings, how far a cry these mean little cells are compared with the frankly offensive luxury that surrounds them in the castle proper.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri slips her arms through the bars to effectively hug them as she leans forward against the door, cocking her head with interest at the renewed offer. Why the pushiness? Why is this stranger even down here? A do-gooder trying to help prisoners out of guilt? She's seen a couple of those, but usually they're here to visit someone in particular.

She shrugs. ]

Maybe.

Who are you, and why are you offering?

[ Not that asking outright guarantees a true answer (or any), but not asking seems ridiculous at this point. She's not starving. The food isn't actually that motivating. She's just... curious. ]

[frontlinetitties]

I'm Gideon the Ninth.

[She says, with ownership now despite that she had been dragged up, rather than grown, in that slow-decaying house of murderers and revenants, in a place where she had never been anything but an unholy reminder of the terrible act committed when she was no more than an infant. She stands a little straighter despite herself, regardless of the fact that guilt still twists sharp somewhere in her breast, as she beholds the woman behind the bars.

Maybe she did something really fucking nasty and deserves to be in here... but it's not what she's been hearing. Isn't what she's started to suspect about this whole crazy setup.]

And I just... I wanna know what you're in for. What did you do that pissed these guys off so much they threw you straight in a cell?

[She isn't exactly the slippery type; maybe coming right out with it is the best way forward here.]

[wiedzminka]

[ ...the ninth of her name? That's a lot of generations. Ciri doesn't ask, even if it does sound odd to her.

Neither does she supply her own name in return. She waits, patiently, for the woman to get over her hesitation, watching her through the pauses with steady emerald eyes. When the question comes, she doesn't seem surprised.

Ah. It is guilt, then. Ciri has no idea if this woman is a native to Thorne (are they even allowed to visit?) or someone from another world like the others in this cell, but it doesn't matter; her answer is the same. ]

I haven't done a thing worth such crass treatment. [ at least not here. ] If you really wish to know: I found myself in a foreign world, dragged here without my consent, only to be told I am not what they seek and should wait out some 'trial' in these cells. I don't even know what I'm meant to be on trial for.

What? Did they tell you something else up there, where you get such a glut of fresh-baked bread you deign to share it with such unfortunates as us?

[frontlinetitties]

[There's no reason really for her to feel guilt over the treatment of some perfect stranger, but it slices into her anyway, hot and ugly as the woman looks at her with eyes so green they look almost preternatural. Maybe it's only that she knows how it is, to be nothing but a thrall, a serf, a servant, and a bunch of those other pretentious synonyms that mayonnaise-looking motherfucker Silas had thrown at her back in Canaan House. If she knows what it's like to be locked up in the dark for no reason besides ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time, then it casts something of a fetid shadow over the gilded blessings that have been accorded her here, for just as little reason.

Too fucking bad. She'd really wanted this whole chosen ones thing to mean something more than another shitty, shady plot outside of her own control. She ignores the barbs in the other woman's words in favour of slouching back against the damp stone wall at her back, and sighs.]

That's just it, they haven't really told us anything. It's all just vagaries and bullshit. We've been chosen to helps save the world, or worlds, or something. And you guys are some kind of threat. But they haven't said what, or why, in any direction. Not really.

[wiedzminka]

[ The flash of anger is as quick to fade as it was to appear. Ciri listens to this confession without surprise, nodding knowingly but not without sympathy. So it is as she suspected: this woman is one of them, one of the summoned just like her, except for not being thrown in the dungeon for no reason. ]

Is that why you came down here with your bread-based bribes? You needn't bother. I don't know any more than you do.

[frontlinetitties]

They weren't meant to be a bribe! Or not exactly a bribe. More of like, a peace offering? Or maybe they should be a 'sorry I've been turning a blind eye and living it large' apology gift.

[It's embarrassing really, how ready she had been to believe that they'd been called here for something important because there was something special about them. It made a kind of sense; Harrow is something special, if an insanely talented necromancer born of an extinction event counts as special. And what is a necro, without a good cav?

But their oh so generous hosts and that creepy Ambrose have been nothing but a bunch of tight-lipped and shady assholes since the moment they arrived.]

I really just needed to know if there was a reason you were down here. You know, a good reason, not a 'just arrived here as clueless as anyone else but we don't like the look of you' reason.