abraxaslogs | [open post| first half of the month]

[Alucard has spent perhaps too much time in Ikorr since it has been declared open by the residents there. As such, coming to Luna on the first day of the month feels only fair, and the truth is, he appreciates the homier feel to the place right now. There is a particular familiarity that doesn’t quite align with Wallachia, but it seemingly rhymes. That’s enough for him right now.

Night and day being much the same in the world of Nocwich, Alucard has settled himself in one of the inns, happy enough for an excuse to sit beside a fire in the middle of summer and pretend that he’s looking thoughtfully at it from his table.

What he’s actually doing is trying to determine if one of the games held on the shelves of this particular inn is meant for one player or if there is a requirement for two. So he sits, staring at an oblong board with colored tiles, peg holes, and two sets of pegs - white paws and red fangs.]

Well. [Alucard picks up one of the five fang pieces.] That isn’t subtle at all.

[ Thancred has always made a point of visiting Nocwich whensoever the portals are open to them, and that is even more true now that he's a permanent resident of Nott. There's no denying that he's now rather isolated from the majority of the Thorne Summoned, and while it has become somewhat easier for them to make trips there without attracting attention, he doesn't want to push it.

Nocwich therefore is a much needed way to connect with the Summoned at large as he adjusts to his new home, and he has to admit that Luna is a bit more to his taste than Ikorr.

He isn't quite certain if he wants to spend the night yet. The inns in Nott have been offering him discounts for his help behind the bar or in the kitchen, and it's difficult to beat those prices. However, a change of pace might be nice.

He wanders into the inn to get a sense of it and is pleasantly surprised to find a familiar dhampir seated in the lounge, inspecting a board game of some kind. ]

Subtlety can be overrated. [ An ironic sentiment from someone who specializes in subterfuge. He steps over and sinks into the seat across from Alucard, snatching up one of the paw tokens. ] Shall I play as the werewolves, then?

--Ah.

[Alucard's demeanor warms entirely upon hearing Thancred's voice, and he gestures to the other side of the table. So far as he has determined with the game, it is a racing game where one's paces are controlled with a single die, and one can block their opponent's movements with the right level of strategy.]

I think that'd be the obvious option. Do you want anything to eat or drink before we begin?

[ Thancred hadn't been certain whether or not Alucard would want to avoid the obvious, but it is little more than a game. He glances down at the board, attempting to divine the rules and how it's played, but no doubt Alucard will clue him in. ]

Ah, is the kitchen open for orders? [ He cants his head to the doorway he originally entered from. ] I wouldn't say no. Have you eaten?

[ If Alucard approves of the food here, it must be decent. He has more than a passing interest in the culinary arts, after all. ]

It's open, although I've contended myself with hot spiced cider for the time being. [He's been hiding a well worn mug off to the side. It is glazed a deep blue, and may very well benefit from retirement soon.]

Whatever you want. I'll open a tab properly and we can squabble about who pays later. I expect we'll both try to compensate for each other as a gesture of politeness.

That doesn't sound bad, actually. Perhaps I'll have a mug as well.

[ Although yes, opening a tab might be the best idea at this point. When Alucard quite accurately predicts what it will be like when it comes to payment, Thancred scoffs. ]

Perhaps we should all skip that and split it. Or I can cover this time, with the understanding that you'll pick up the bill next time.

[ Is that his way of finding a way to pay for it? Maybe.

Either way, Thancred pokes his head back out into the hall to find a server so that they can place an order. When he asks if there are any simple fingers foods they could try, the inn worker says that he has just the thing and leaves to obtain their food and drink.

With that, Thancred returns to his seat. ]

In the meantime, shall we begin?

Let's split it then, and have that be the end of it all.

[And that's Alucard just avoiding a fight that can probably go on forever, knowing the both of them.

While Thancred sees to food, Alucard sets the game up properly, so far as he can tell. The board is shaped like an I, with peg holes at each end of the eye for all of the little markers. Alucard has them all set up by the time Thancred begins, along with the dice meant to control movement.

He gestures warmly, sliding it over.]

After you.

[It is only on the last day that Nocwich is open for visitors that Alucard goes to Ikorr. He’s spent two quiet, enjoyable days among the werewolves, and walking through Ikorr’s streets, the faint recollection of how the 800 years that never was comes back to him. How Luna was pushed out of Nocwich entirely, and in walking through the streets, he finally understands why it chafed at the time and why it still lingers. Ikorr is his father’s people, but Luna is closer to the land. Dhampir duality again, and things he’s left unexplored emotionally since arriving in Abraxas....what, two years ago now? Three?

Whatever the number, he isn’t sure how he feels about the revelation. So he works to push it aside, opting for another modern art gallery and being wholly unsure of what to expect.

He enters, and the corridor itself is pitch black. The dhampir frowns, then enters the exhibition space and--]

--Well. That isn’t what I expected.

( Kaveh likes to think he has an eye for art that goes unappreciated. It's been the theme of his life, frankly, and he isn't about to start naysaying an artist's personal expression just because he's landed himself in a different world and -- more interestingly -- a place populated by people who have to drink blood to survive. But this... is something else. He should have known something called 'modern art' wouldn't be to his tastes.

Which is why Kaveh is still at the beginning of the exhibition space, staring at what he hopes is a large pile of hair on the ground -- of various colors and textures. It's labeled, helpfully: The Labors of Love.

Archons, he does not know what to make of this. )

I know that art is subjective, ( he offers to the man who'd just walked in ) but I'm really stretching the limits of my artistic sensibilities here and failing to, ah. See the merits of it.

Mm, I think there's missed cultural connections here.

[One particularly fascinating thing Alucard has learned from Ikorr's residents is that even broken art is valuable art. It was one of the things that made his last attempt at a gallery here so rewarding - one artist had creatively repaired pieces, thus adding new meaning to them.

Still. Hair is a lot. Alucard looks around, aware that the chances of an information card that provides anything interpretive is low.]

Not everything lands with all audiences.

Of that I have no doubt. I've made arguments upon arguments about the merits of art to uncaring ears, and this is the first time I think I understand what they must have seen looking at it.

( He doesn't doubt that there's some... greater meaning to it, even if it might just be at the viewers expense for taking it so seriously. Sometimes, Kaveh admits, that's all there needs to be. Though he'd never tell that to a particularly critical individual that he knows back home, given that man's perchance for purchasing the ugliest items to decorate. )

A metaphor, maybe? ( He wanders around it, looking to see if there's anything else that might clue them in. ) As a new arrival, I'll readily admit to being unlearned in the ways of this place still, and their culture.

( So any help would be apprecaited. )

[Ah, a shoe on the other foot moment. Alucard makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, as he can't venture a real agreement here. Art in the way it is both within Ikorr and Libertas simply does not exist in the same way back home. They're centuries away from it.

A metaphor. Interesting.]

Perhaps. Or a reflection of those who come and go in one's life. [It makes as much sense as any other interpretation, and by glancing around, at least no one has scoffed and muttered under their breaths at the attempt to create meaning.]

Ikorr isn't easy to dive into. The most important part of their arts, so far as I have come to understand it, is that they keep the works - even if they are in a state of disrepair or are damaged. Those parts of a piece's history are important and add value.

They keep the works-- ( Kaveh hums, slightly, and it starts to make sense in his head if he looks at it again. The collected memories of those one has loved, and Archons, does Kaveh understand that relationships are a labor, even without the complication of love. How many times have his own fallen apart for some reason or another? His fault, at the end of them, but still-- ) An unusual means of conveying one's history with the concept of love, but I dare say I understand the message behind it -- or one of them, if not the one the artist truly meant.

( A gesture to it with a hand. )

After all, art should make the viewer feel something. Even revulsion and confusion encourage a viewer to think deeper about it. Your insight is much appreciated, I'd be terribly lost without it. ( A beat, and then Kaveh brightens even further. ) Sorry, I've completely forgotten -- I'm Kaveh, an architect back in my world. It's nice to meet you.

Something like this strikes me as especially open to interpretation, given the materials placed into it and the long lives behind it.

[Alucard nods in quiet acknowledgement that he was able to help. Ikorr and Luna, for all that they have opened to the Summoned, are still dense places full of information not meant for outsiders. He is coming to appreciate it more and more, excluding the area of art.]

I suspect you're new. There's no reason you'd instantly know that detail.

[He turns slightly at the name, and then Alucard's eyebrows lift slowly.] Alucard. We share a field, although I am active in the Free Cities here.

—Alucard!

[Jacob waves him over to point at a large, obsidian box on the floor, containing multiple colorful papier-mache casts of—hands? Apparently? There's some sort of mechanism allowing water to slowly trickle into the box, and already a few of the hands are beginning to dissolve.

Jacob's looking down at it with a pensive look, like he's trying to figure out just what this all means. Then:] All right, what do you think of this? Because I think if you're going to make so many casts of other people's hands, you ought to put them to better use than just slowly melting them.

[Alucard is always surprised to find other Summoned in Ikorr. At least, other Summoned who aren't vampires, like himself or Astarion. So he wears the little note of !!! on his face plainly as he makes his way over to the box which is...

...that's sure a box of hands dissolving. He blinks, tilting his head.]

My immediate thought is a commentary on the passage of time, which probably carries different weight to a species that is as long lived as those in Ikorr.

The passage of time washes all trace of us away and whatnot.

[Jacob hauls himself up and perches on the very edge of the box, looking down at the many, many hand casts. Most are still intact, but with the water steadily coming in, it won’t take long before this box is full of little more than mush.]

Suppose if we’re going there, it could be a metaphor on—not just time, but how people come in and out of your life. Even the ones who ought to always be there. [He gestures to the hands.] I don’t believe all of these were cast from the same hand. Some look a little smaller, others larger, and I’ve seen a couple that are missing a finger here and there. Either the artist was rich enough to hire models just for their hands, or these are from the people already around them.

Something like that.

[Alucard is careful as he bends down, curious about the exterior of the box to begin with. It is aged. Well worn and seemingly loved, the build up of years making it look more remarkable rather than less.

His eyes go to the hands at Jacob speaks. The dhampir nods along.]

I'd bet the second option, if I were to bet at all. And--

[The dhampir pauses. The water level hits a certain point, but then begins to lower itself. It drains. The hands that are no longer in tact seem to rebuild themselves.]

Oh. Now that's a clever bit of magic.

So—a statement on how fleeting relationships are, when you're that long-lived. Seems a lot of effort to make that.

[And then the water hits a point and drains, and the mushy hands suddenly reconstitute themselves. Jacob startles, surprised, then gives a little self-deprecating chuckle.]

All right, I'll give them this, that's clever. Although now I'm not entirely sure what it says, anymore.

The effort could very well be a part of the point. Things take year, decades, centuries, and for what?

[Okay, agreed. The hands suddenly no longer melting does change the meanings of the piece.]

That someone also wanted to show off some magic skills?

What, like, "oh look how bloody clever with magic I am," that sort of thing?

[He can't think of a new meaning for this artwork now that this has happened. Ugh.]

Suppose there's not much of an artwork if it lasts only a few hours before everything's dissolved.

What, you haven't met someone inclined to do exactly that?

[Bullshit you haven't, my dude.]

No, it isn't. But if one's looking for meaning, I think there's something to memory and how it can ebb and flow. The truly important things remain.

All right, you do have a point there.

[He knows a few people back home who would be insufferable with magic at their fingertips. Certainly even more than he was during that whole god business back then.]

You forget all the little details, but you remember what matters. Even after all that time... [He goes quiet, remembering those eight centuries here, in this world.] How did they manage to hold on to those memories, I wonder.

[He'd forgotten so easily.]

And from experience, I can tell you that vampires are very much all that person. With a few exceptions.

[The undead are a dramatic people. Alucard is convinced it comes from living so long.

The way Jacob trails off is a little odd, and while Alucard does not wish to assume anything of where the man's mind has gone, he could make at least one guess. He offers a soft exhale that has a note of empathy for wherever that thought just went.]

I think the art is a way of doing just that. Or maybe I'm assuming too much, given how trite it sounds when I say that out loud.

[There’s a lot to be said for sitting out in the desert for a little while with one’s own thoughts. It helps, and it allows for a particular amount of decompression that simply is not viable in the city itself. Alucard has always appreciated the physical break with civilization, but he’s felt it especially in his bones this time around.

He returns to Cadens as a man, hair down, dressed in light linen layers, a bag slung over his back of mostly dwindled supplies, and sword hanging loosely at his side. It is the last part that sees him invited to join one of the traveling wagons back to Cadens for the last day-and-a-bit of the journey. It has not exactly been a secret that the desert routes are infested with more bandits than ever, and apparently any random traveler with a sword counts as protection now.

There’s a frown on his face as the little caravan stops for rest and water, and Alucard is fairly sure that he recognizes another Summoned with the group.]

And where did you join this caravan?

--I think that she’s in section C, left side. If not, come find me and I’ll double check the listing.

[Alucard doesn’t really work at Old Public Hall. He’s just here for a few hours to cover staff lunch breaks, since he’s willing to work for free and trying to turn the venue into a viable production space for several in-need fashion designers was partly at his suggestion. In many cases, it means helping to direct deliveries or people to meetings, using the bar as the primary information desk.

It feels a little ridiculous, being sat behind the bar with glassware (empty, gathering dust) behind him. But it is something to do that is all-consuming, and Alucard can’t begrudge that. His eyes turn back to the page he’s writing on, and he continues again until interrupted.]

Yes?

[Never mind the ink smudge on his nose.]

[open post| first half of the month]

Luna | OPEN

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Ikorr | OPEN [help make up fun and exciting modern art!]

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Apologies this somehow got lost in my inbox!

The Bad Lands | OPEN

Cadens, Old Public Hall | OPEN