abraxaslogs | INTRO LOG #2

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INTRO LOG #2

Intro Log #2

It has been two months now since the initial group of summonings first took place. Castle Thorne, or at least the part above ground, is buzzing with a vibrant air of hope following the 'success' at the Singularity. Eager smiles and excited chattering are to be found in nearly every corner of the castle and surrounding town. The honored guests may find grateful looks turned their way more often than not. A new and brighter day seems to be dawning on the kingdom.

In the dungeons it's a different story entirely. The mood is somber and uneasy. The prisoner taken for trial has yet to return, and no word has come regarding her or her fate. There has been no mention of any further trials as of yet and guards seem to have little patience for unruly behavior or even conversation. Some seem to not even look at or acknowledge the prisoners at all.

[ Feel free to continue threads from the TDM here or start your own! As cell and room assignments will be short-lived due to this month's event, you're free to assume whichever cellmates and roommates you like instead of officially signing up as long as there are ICly no more than four people in a cell or room at once. ]

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"...ah. You're one of those optimist types."

Ciri's sitting on the floor against one of the walls, knees up and elbows resting on them with arms straight and fingers clasped loosely in front of her. She cocks her head, and absently blows a wisp of fair hair out of her eyes when it sweeps across her vision. The lighting in here isn't the greatest, but the scar is impossible to hide; it cuts across the left half of her face and curves around her cheek nearly to the line of her jaw, lending her an inadvertently intimidating look in the shadows.

"I suspect a place like this will work that out of you right quick."

She says it with a half-smile, wry and amused, but not mean. It's kind of cute, but that sort of thinking probably won't be a comfort for long. Ciri knows next to nothing about this place, but that much, she's pretty sure about -- considering the cold welcome and the manacles and such.

His eyes linger on the scar on her face, because-- well, of course they do, it's a big scar and he's not exactly got the steeliest of spines.

"Well, you know, optimism isn't-- it's not necessarily a bad thing," he replied with an easiness that reeks of 'fake it 'til you make it'. "It- it gives you hope, like th-there's something to look forward go, maybe?"

It's not like this is the worst prison he's ever been in, funnily enough, this one just has actual bars. "But I, uh. I take it you've done this sort of thing before then, miss...?"

"Ciri," she fills in for him when he trails off, straightening her back against the wall and lifting her chin higher to get a better look at him.

"I've been in my fair share of scrapes and pickles. You're not wrong. Optimism has its place. So does realism. It is key not to confuse the two."

The way he stutters and fidgets, the poor guy looks terribly frightened and uncomfortable. Ciri feels a little bad for him, but it's not like she can offer anything; she's in the same situation, even if she's handling it better.

"They just bring you in?"

The sum of Martin's parts is... harmless. A friendly, soft-looking man who's never seen a day's real labour in his life. He could probably pass for a nobleman if he didn't give off a constant, desperate anxiety.

"Yep. Uh, fresh out of the well, and all that," he adds with a tone that's meant to be a bit silly and pompous, but he continues normally. "I'm Martin, I've. Uh. Had a couple of... of weird things happen like this before, to be honest, but. Well, it's never fun."

"Fresh out of the well, myself. Not keen on being thrown to the abyss between worlds, or whatever that place was-- so here I am."

She gives him a wry smile, then pushes off the wall to stand, nodding around at the cell.

"Cozy place. Could use a tapestry or a vase to brighten up the décor."

The joking's meant to put him more at ease, hopefully, though Ciri understands this situation isn't exactly... easy. So far, she hasn't been able to talk to many people, and the mages' explanations on the way down here were hardly comprehensive. She's so used to having everyone after her unique abilities that Ciri hardly questioned why they'd summoned her at first, but having realized now there are many others in this situation, she has to wonder if anything ties them together. It takes an enormous amount of power to do magic like this, the sort that can pull people out of their own spheres and into another. Why summon this particular group?

"When you say weird things like this... what do you mean?"

"--oh! I, uh." He gives a slight chuckle. "I spent the last few... days, weeks maybe?" He shrugs. "Running through a not-person's infinite corridors trying to get back out before it murdered me. It was very stressful."

Which he's not really showing any signs of now. Either he's full of shit or just has a fantastic poker face.

"Weird is actually..." He makes a kind of shrugging face. "Kind of my job? I'm an assistant archivist, we- we take recordings, of other people finding weird, spooky stuff like- l-like infinite horror mazes, or getting lost in giant underwater hells, or- or magic books. That sort of thing."

Ciri... blinks at him. It takes a minute to parse what he's even saying, as it doesn't really make a lot of sense to her.

A not-person's infinite corridors? Is that a euphemism for something? What in the world...?

"Are you a mage of some sort, then?"

"Oh god no," he laughs, and it actually sounds kind of sincere. "No, no-no no I'm just. A bit of a nobody, really, I'm not special. If I'd been able to use magic back on my world, uh." He lifts a hand and rubs his neck, idly scratching where the rough tunic rubs (and causing even more visible red marks). "W-well, I rather don't think I'd still be sane, first of all."

"...hah." Ciri laughs too, more of a huffed exhalation through her nose.

"I suppose that's a fair conclusion to draw from most mages."

She cocks a hand on her hip, watching him curiously. A nobody. Not special? Perhaps.

"They did say we're down here because we were summoned by mistake."

"Of course we were." And there's a sudden sharp hint of bitterness under all that fluff, but it's gone again when he continues with good humour, "I can't imagine anyone picking me on purpose for something."

He looks up at Ciri again and gives a light gesture up and down. "But you look like you must've had a very exciting life. I wonder what it is that makes them think someone like you is a cock-up."

Ciri's brows rise, her lips quirking in a skeptical half-smile. She raises her arms out to her sides in an exaggerated shrug, as if to say: Really?

"Do I, now? That's flattering."

It isn't. She's dressed the same as him, though on her the clothes are baggy and the top a little short. She has no weapons here, not even pins for her hair, which hangs loose and messy around her shoulders, in need of a wash. But the scar that cuts across the left half of her face is a distinguishing and (to some) intimidating feature she knows bitterly well, and no amount of sweeping her bangs over it will hide it.

Her exciting life is one she'd much rather have less excitement in it, at this point. And she sincerely, desperately hopes the mages in this world truly do not know a thing about her, or what she can really do.

"Seems they've made a large number of mistakes, judging by how well-populated the cells are down here. We're surrounded by cock-ups, as you say."

His own word being turned on him gets a little shock of laughter out of him. "Well, I suppose there must be enough success stories out there that it doesn't really matter how many of us they keep here. You always keep spare-- bits of paper, o-or ink around, if you happen to make a mistake writing a letter, you know?"

Disposable, dispensible, utterly worthless until they're needed for something the ones not locked up can't do. Seems about right for him.

"What a practical yet aggravating way to put it."

Ciri shakes her head, cocking one fist on her hip.

"You may be right. I know as much as you do, though -- so who knows if we're spares, if we're to be forgotten down here, or if they've some other use for us? For that matter, we do not know what, exactly, the 'success stories' are meant for either. Maybe this is the better outcome. Maybe not."

Ciri hasn't had a chance to do much asking around yet.

"In any case, we won't be solving any grand mysteries in here for now. If we're to share a cell, you should choose your bed. I have no preference."

Top bunk or bottom, buddy?

Well that's a fun new way of being described. He rather likes it, actually.

"I'll take the bottom, then, if it's all the same to you," he says brightly. "I-I'm not exactly the most, uh. Limber, of folks." Plus he's already sitting there.

"That is why I asked."

It's unclear whether she means his unnecessary 'if it's all the same to you' or the fact he doesn't look particularly limber.

She watches him a moment, lips pressing together into a small frown.

"Your neck is all red, and you keep scratching. You haven't brought some illness with you, have you?"

"Oh-- what? N-no, of course not." He frowns. "I don't..."

He lifts his hand to rub his neck nervously, and feels the slight raised lines he's given himself, and his eyes widen. "Oh, ah." And he looks sheepish again, now with a light pink flush to his face.

"S-so, the thing is... I don't like. Bugs? And the clothes are really itchy, it just. Reminds me of them, in a sort of way..."

"Hm."

Bugs? The clothes aren't comfortable, but she hasn't considered the scratchiness reminiscent of insects. At least not until now.

Ciri shrugs.

"Then take your shirt off, if you dislike it so much."

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INTRO LOG #2

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