just shine your light for everyone to see

[leitstern]

Who: Jasper + Open
What: First visit to Horizon
Where: Horizon + Thorne
When: Throughout March

[Starters below! Find me at safekeeping or Discord for plotting!]

Comments

[sorser]

[It isn’t the first time Stephen’s aided a newcomer’s entrance to the Horizon, but it is the first time he’s thought to wander to their own domain once the urge to build gnaws at them properly. Curiosity is a keen motivator, after all, and it drives him to investigate what kind of home-away-from-home Jasper would make for himself; a man prickly around the edges, but having proved helpful all the same, difficult to get a read on when much of their repartee had been barbed exasperation.

And this— Well. This is not exactly what he expected to find, this bridge doused in hues of lurid purples, a dark sky looming above like a void. Stephen stands, eyes trailing from demonic statue to demonic statue.

Okay.

He approaches Jasper, who looks pale. Uncertain, maybe. The usual confusion that fogs the mind of all new arrivals to this plane, but Stephen wonders if he’s trying to reconcile the ominous nature of what he sees with a faraway memory he cannot quite reach.]

Nice decor.

[—is his greeting as he draws closer, his red cloak a-flutter behind him.]

[leitstern]

[Jasper stands in silence a moment. His attention lies diverted between his guest and his domain. The gothic railings, the ominous sky, the fortress walls and the demonic statues crouching at the end of the perilous bridge. He crosses his arms and uneasily looks at nothing in particular. Nails dig into his arms. His mouth fumbles over words and he turns around looking like a man lost in the wrong place.

The purple streams and motes of energy - magic, one might say - leaving his body seem to belong to the place.

His eyes widen in confusion and his voice lacks its usual frustration. The presence of another seems hardly bothersome.]

I rather wonder of your definition of nice.

[He would rather view the sun but creating one is a bit beyond his imagination.]

[sorser]

[It doesn’t surprise him that Jasper looks like he belongs — it’s his domain, after all, and it would be stranger if he didn’t. But there is something about his demeanor that doesn’t quite align, even if their exchange of words have been few. More than just the confusion, but the lack of a harder edge to his mild sarcasm, usually met in kind.]

It’s yours. I’d wonder at your choice to create something that isn’t nice.

[He moves closer to a railing. Chances placing his hand against one, leaning against it.]

Reeks of magic.

[leitstern]

[His expression twitches in confusion. Who is this man to recognise magic yet know nothing about it? That he understands power is attractive but this uncertainty in the air - in truth his insecurity - makes him conscious of where he stands. He follows towards the railing and leans against it, finding comfort in copying movements.

His silence lingers for a moment. The man is right. Not only is this place surprisingly unpleasant, it reeks of magic.]

A strange kind of magic, is it not?

[These remains of the world tree are confusing. He rubs his hand across his mouth.]

I hardly expected the power of creation to be so bleak.

[sorser]

[Again, a reply unlike what he would have expected. Seeing an individual stripped down bare of their memories, and standing amid what they would create for themselves in this raw form? It is interesting to Stephen; oddly vulnerable, and he refrains from making a remark done in his usual shade of sarcasm to avoid an unnecessary meanness to his tone.]

No.

[He looks out a little more, before standing back up straight and glancing over at this domain’s host.]

I would’ve have expected it, either. What do you make of it?

[leitstern]

Nothing.

[The word is hushed. One short word that shares everything yet explains nothing about his character. His thoughts clench, seized by the lack of memories that would inform his opinion of his domain. This world is one he wishes to offer opinion on. The tired resignation draining his face shows his difficulties and his lips press together.

Fingers clench the railing. He pushes away in frustration and crosses his arms over his chest before facing his guest. It hardly becomes him to be unable to advise and be recognised for his wisdom.]

I hardly possess all the facts to pass judgement. But it is a cold place; I suppose creation must have its opposite.

[sorser]

[Nothing. It's about expected, though Stephen had wondered if there was something else there. Something faint, tugging on the threads of memory, but coming up just short. It had been that way for him, in retrospect.

Still, he won't press. This seems to be a, ah... tricky sort of situation. Lacking memory but dredging up a place like this, all the same.]

Why don't you try your hand at creating something different, then? Liven this place up? It's a little too dark and gloomy for my tastes.