Arthur E. Hastings (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smilefornow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2024-03-22 01:00 pm
smilefornow) wrote in abraxaslogs2024-03-22 01:00 pm
Open Log
Who: Arthur + OPEN
When: Late March
Where: Solvunn Primary Settlement, Horizon
What: Arthur is having a bad time with the weather
Warnings: Language, will add more if needed
Primary Settlement
The one benefit to the weather is that there is plenty of downed wood to collect. Arthur always needs wood, particularly now that he's volunteered himself to help with Ed's inn. And of course there are plenty of broken fences and posts and front steps that need mending. Stigr Bjarni isn't the only carpenter in the settlement, but he has a Summoned working for him right now and so they often seem to be busy. It's strange, to think that people actively want things that Arthur helped to build and seek him out to repair their shutters or build them a new milking stool.
If only the weather weren't...this. He's seen The Wizard of Oz. He knows what tornadoes can do. And if ever there were a world where a twister could pick up a house and drop it on a witch, it's this one. While nothing has reached house throwing levels, Arthur doesn't trust the weather. It could get worse any moment.
He's on his way back home to Stigr's house. During something of a lull - or what passes for one - he'd been out at the edges of the settlement, repairing a chicken coop, and picking up good wood as he went. He's got a nice sack of it slung over his shoulder, and his wooden box of tools in one hand. At least until a particularly strong gust sweeps up and catches Arthur full force. There is not much weight to him, even now, and he's awkwardly burdened by sack and box. The wind catches him and he spins, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance. His tool box drops. The latch lets go. The sack slips off his shoulder. Branches and chunks of wood spill out as it goes. An attempt to catch at least one of them fails miserably and Arthur Hastings goes heels over head onto his arse.
"Fuckity duck!"
His glasses join the list of things now dropped and scattered and at the mercy of the elements.
"Fuckity duckity!"
Horizon
Good Dog, even the Horizon is under assault from the elements!
In Arthur's domain, Blandings Castle is covered in snow and lightning cuts across the sky above it. This is not what he expected when he slipped into that sleep that isn't sleep to escape the sound of the tornadoes. No, the terrible weather is waiting for him here, too. And nothing he does makes any difference. Try as he might, he can't think it away. That's simply not fair. He ought to be able to banish storms from his little patch of magic not-world if he wants.
The old English estate that he's created as his personal paradise is anything but. And there are no delightful Hollywood crews to descend in the cold and turn it all into a merry lark, like in the story when the boiler went out in winter. That had been a good one. But in reality, it's simply unpleasant and the empty castle has taken on an unwelcoming air.
Frowning, he heads round and down to the pig shed. The Empress, his enormous black Berkshire sow, is inside and grunting in displeasure at the weather.
"I know, old girl." Arthur opens the pen to coax her out. "Sound and fury, and all that. Come on, let's have a ramble. Maybe it's nicer somewhere else. I don't think folks mind ramblers, I've had a few come through...."
And anyone who wants to keep others out can build a wall. It's not as though he plans on entering anyone's buildings uninvited or snooping around. He just wants to try and find a nice place to spend some time. With his pig.
Still wearing his early 1900s tweed suit and cap, he sets off down the road that leads out of his domain and into the rest of the Horizon.
Somewhere has got to be free of terrible weather....they just have to find it.
When: Late March
Where: Solvunn Primary Settlement, Horizon
What: Arthur is having a bad time with the weather
Warnings: Language, will add more if needed
Primary Settlement
The one benefit to the weather is that there is plenty of downed wood to collect. Arthur always needs wood, particularly now that he's volunteered himself to help with Ed's inn. And of course there are plenty of broken fences and posts and front steps that need mending. Stigr Bjarni isn't the only carpenter in the settlement, but he has a Summoned working for him right now and so they often seem to be busy. It's strange, to think that people actively want things that Arthur helped to build and seek him out to repair their shutters or build them a new milking stool.
If only the weather weren't...this. He's seen The Wizard of Oz. He knows what tornadoes can do. And if ever there were a world where a twister could pick up a house and drop it on a witch, it's this one. While nothing has reached house throwing levels, Arthur doesn't trust the weather. It could get worse any moment.
He's on his way back home to Stigr's house. During something of a lull - or what passes for one - he'd been out at the edges of the settlement, repairing a chicken coop, and picking up good wood as he went. He's got a nice sack of it slung over his shoulder, and his wooden box of tools in one hand. At least until a particularly strong gust sweeps up and catches Arthur full force. There is not much weight to him, even now, and he's awkwardly burdened by sack and box. The wind catches him and he spins, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance. His tool box drops. The latch lets go. The sack slips off his shoulder. Branches and chunks of wood spill out as it goes. An attempt to catch at least one of them fails miserably and Arthur Hastings goes heels over head onto his arse.
"Fuckity duck!"
His glasses join the list of things now dropped and scattered and at the mercy of the elements.
"Fuckity duckity!"
Horizon
Good Dog, even the Horizon is under assault from the elements!
In Arthur's domain, Blandings Castle is covered in snow and lightning cuts across the sky above it. This is not what he expected when he slipped into that sleep that isn't sleep to escape the sound of the tornadoes. No, the terrible weather is waiting for him here, too. And nothing he does makes any difference. Try as he might, he can't think it away. That's simply not fair. He ought to be able to banish storms from his little patch of magic not-world if he wants.
The old English estate that he's created as his personal paradise is anything but. And there are no delightful Hollywood crews to descend in the cold and turn it all into a merry lark, like in the story when the boiler went out in winter. That had been a good one. But in reality, it's simply unpleasant and the empty castle has taken on an unwelcoming air.
Frowning, he heads round and down to the pig shed. The Empress, his enormous black Berkshire sow, is inside and grunting in displeasure at the weather.
"I know, old girl." Arthur opens the pen to coax her out. "Sound and fury, and all that. Come on, let's have a ramble. Maybe it's nicer somewhere else. I don't think folks mind ramblers, I've had a few come through...."
And anyone who wants to keep others out can build a wall. It's not as though he plans on entering anyone's buildings uninvited or snooping around. He just wants to try and find a nice place to spend some time. With his pig.
Still wearing his early 1900s tweed suit and cap, he sets off down the road that leads out of his domain and into the rest of the Horizon.
Somewhere has got to be free of terrible weather....they just have to find it.
no subject
But the amusement is strictly for the man's wording, and not his predicament. For that, Zagreus only has sympathy.
"May I be of assistance?" he says, holding out one hand to help him up.
no subject
"Oh? Very popular in Wellington Wells. So is 'fuck it in a bucket'." Sally had always been fond of that one. He's not sure knows this voice, though. And he certainly can't identify anyone by vague, blurry shape.
"Ah...do you happen to see my glasses anywhere? I'm afraid I lost them when I....fell. Without them, you may as well be a talking tree as far as I'm concerned."
...he realizes after he says it that there's not a zero percent chance he is talking to some sort of tree man. There is some sort of percent chance.
no subject
It had seemed a bit of an odd choice to Zagreus, to be honest. But since the man apparently is having issues with his sight, Zagreus can only assume that the curious little device that he'd been wearing over the eyes had something to do with it.
no subject
"Ah, yes, the thing I was wearing on my face. Bad eyesight, the glasses have...sort of magnifying lenses in the frames so when I look through them I can see." He knows he botched that explanation, but he's put on the spot here. It's the best he can do under the circumstances without confusing the matter further.
"And Wellington's where I came from. You're certainly right about our colorful vocabulary."
And unique slang and terminology. That tends to happen when a community has been in isolation for decades.
no subject
Thankfully though, botched description aside, Zagreus is able to get from 'thing that was on the man's face' to the object he can see on the ground.
"A device that can allow you to see when you otherwise could not? That is impressive," Zagreus says, as he picks up the glasses. He takes a moment to admire them, and wipes off some of the dirt and mud before pressing them into the man's hands. "Here, I've found them for you mate."
And once Arthur puts on said glasses, he might finally get a good look at Zagreus. Who, as it turns out, has a couple of odd visual traits. His eyes are mis-matched - one green, and one a hellish red surrounded by black sclera. And his feet appear to be burning red-hot - literally - with occasional embers flickering off them.
So, definitely not a tree man.
no subject
Arthur sets them back on his face gratefully, blinking a few times as his vision swims and sets and everything comes back into focus. Much better! Everything else is still miserable, but he can see properly again. Amazing what such a small thing can do.
Well, his savior is certainly not a local. In fact Arthur isn't entirely sure what he is, but that's becoming relatively normal. There's all sorts about, both natives and transplants. This one looks rather....burny? He's going to assume that's normal. Sometimes it is.
"I'm afraid we don't get tornados in Wellington Wells, I'm not built for them." He awkwardly picks himself up off the ground, brushing himself clean as best he can. His trousers are filthy with mud, though, and there's nothing he can do about that.
"Arthur Hastings, jolly good to meet you."
no subject
"They do take a bit of getting used to, don't they? We don't have them in the Underworld either," Zagreus says. "But...perhaps I can help you collect your things?"
Because there do seem to be quite a few of them, now strewn across the muddy ground. Hopefully none of them were delicate...
no subject
Arthur has been here long enough to know not to make any assumptions. He visited Hell just a few months ago. And looking at the man...it's not far out of the realm of possibility at all.
"And thank you. The tools are the most important, I need them to work." The wood...well, he has some very good branches and bits, but they're more easily replaced. Dog, he's going to be spending the rest of the day cleaning and treating them now. So much for a nice relaxing cuppa and the book he's reading. That bliss will have to wait.
"Which is what I was doing when the storm picked up again. And just watch, I'll be out again tomorrow to fix the same fence all over again. That's just my luck."
no subject
A movement which Arthur will now be able to see often involves him shifting through space, using something like a short-range teleportation combined with phasing. The end result is that Zagreus dashes around rapidly, leaving streaks of red light behind him as he employs this particular ability.
no subject
It's the Summoned thing.
He begins retrieving some of his dropped wood, trying not to stare at Zagreus as the man moves about. Or at least not stare too hard - it's very difficult not to stare a little.
no subject
"Surely if you weren't up to the task, you wouldn't be requested so often?" He adds, as he returns the gathered materials to Arthur. If he's noticed Arthur staring, he doesn't appeared to be bothered by it.
no subject
"But they hold us in a very high regard, just because we've been brought here from other dimension. Like...I don't know, like we're all the Pope or something." It can be off putting sometimes.
"We're special to them. So they like to be able to say 'oh, a Summoned made my chair!' or 'this bread was baked by one of the Summoned!'."
This is how Arthur understands it, at least.
no subject
Bit of a strange name for a god in Zagreus's opinion, but...who is he to judge?
"Then...I suppose what you're doing is giving them an added value. An intangible benefit. Like a little bonus!"
no subject
Arthur's hoping to use language that will be easily understood. Also he's only partially clear on what the Pope does, but Catholics thought he was just the best. He's basically the high priest of the Catholic church.
"Huh, I suppose. It just feels bloody strange. I'm...well I'm a bureaucratic cog from the tiniest nation in the world. I really shouldn't be revered."
He's nobody, from nowhere. Possibly quite literally by now, Wellington didn't have long. He isn't some fantastic magical man or otherworldly being. Well, technically he's an otherworldly being, but a very normal human one. Not like Zagreus, who is clearly someone powerful and important. He can tell that just by looking at him.
no subject
"If you're here though...the local gods must have chosen you. I don't really know much about them yet, but I imagine they must have had a reason for doing so. They clearly see something in you, so...perhaps you should give yourself some more credit."
After all, Zagreus might be an immortal god, Prince of the Underworld...but that didn't mean that mortals weren't important too. Their lives might be much briefer, but that didn't mean they left no mark on the world.