abraxaslogs | [open]

Who: Michael Ralston & Various
What: Catch-all for August
When: post-Horizon, but will probably use this space as I see fit throughout the month.
Where: Castle Thorne
Notes: Feel free to hit me up on discord or plurk if you want to plot something or want a ~*~bespoke~*~ starter. Prose or brackets are a-okay; I'll match your preference. See Ralston's optional opt-in info HERE .

THE CASTLE.

There is a man in Castle Thorne who walks with a cane and has made little effort to seek out anyone's company. By all accounts, he is easily missed and cuts a fairly unremarkable figure—he is neither particularly tall or short, nor especially good looking or plain. In fact if not for the tell-tale tunic and trousers and a penchant for haunting the guest quarters, he might be easily mistaken for some servant or native of the castle who is only as interested in these out-of-world travelers as he is employed to be.

And yet—

[A] Here he is, making use of the library available to Thorne's 'honored guests'; he has rooted his way to some back series of shelves, and is presently standing at the foot of a ladder clearly doing the mental math on scaling it to reach an upper series of books when movement at the end of the stack draws his attention. Ralston snaps his fingers at whoever has had the distinct misfortune to cross paths with him, saying,

"You. Step this way for just a moment."

[B] Or he is in some quiet courtyard available to Thorne's guests, sitting on some bench in the shadow of a high stone wall where the air of the day is most temperate. He has an orange in hand, and is peeling it slowly with every appearance of waiting for someone. Ralston's dark eyes search out any figure who happens to pass across the yard. If he happens to recognize them as either an ex-prisoner or someone who has demonstrated a particular talent for the little magic spells being taught by the Thornean mages, he will whistle to get their attention and motion for them to come closer. Worst comes to worst, he might flick a bit of orange peel in your direction to clarify the urgency of his demand for conversation.

[C] Or, rarest and strangest of all, Ralston might be found in some part of the castle where he shouldn't be. Perhaps it is a merely a rarely used back staircase, or a quiet corridor in some wing of the castle which guests have ostensibly been discouraged from visiting, or he is quietly letting himself into a room in which he has no business being.

WILDCARD.
[You know the drill. Feel free to hit me up on disco or plurk if you feel moved, but I can roll with pretty much anything.]

Threaded | Flat

He waits two days.

Whether it makes any difference to exercise such patience in the aftermath of their return from Horizon, from the edge of the Singularity, through the portal and back to Castle Thorne is hard to say. After all—he petitioned for Kirigan's release, didn't he? It's hardly as if their association is unknown. He might have bent Kirigan's ear the moment they woke scattered in that encampment and it would have been no more suspicious than it is now: the pair of them engaged in some quiet tête-à-tête in a shaded walkway at the fringe of some little side garden off the guest quarters.

Ralston has perched himself against the rail which divides walkway from garden. It is late in the afternoon; this square is more shadow the sunlight, cooling the sweat that has begun to prickle at the back of Ralston's neck as a result of the walk that led him here.

"A wall," he says. It is in the tenor of a statement, not a question. "Hardly subtle, General."

"... Me?" The creature that steps out of the shadows at the end of the shelves is very likely not what Ralston was expecting. Keeping his forebody low makes him look even longer than he is, sinuous as he comes into the blue glow of the lantern hanging from the ladder. The tunic, though, looks outright silly on him.

"Sneaky, sneaky."

Nero makes his presence known purely by calling out to the young man. He has his hands shoved in his pockets as his mouth is curved into a wide, pleased smile. His eyes drift from the human to the door that the "welcomed guest" was attempting to let himself into.

"Hoping to uncover some secrets of this place?" He cocks his head to the side. It seems like it would make sense. There is still a lot that isn't known, too, but that makes sense. "Or up to some other naughty doings?"

Magic isn't the same as muscle. Muscle withers alarmingly quickly when given the chance. Magic doesn't work like that and he knows it. It's all knowledge and muscle memory and wielding whatever's out there to draw from, more like riding a bike than hitting the gym... but that doesn't mean he's got any intention of taking the risk.

Practice may not make perfect, but it makes sure.

To that end he's out in one courtyard or herb garden or empty study chamber or another each and every day, the same cause that brings him striding easily out into a certain courtyard in search of a peaceful place to—

Well. So much for that. There's no need for the whistle or the peel, just a few seconds of patience as Stephen arrives at the inevitable conclusion that it would be a waste of time to bypass Ralston now when they're going to end up enclosed in the same few walls by end of day. A resigned rise and fall of his brow and then he's stepping out across the cobbles to greet the roommate who probably appreciates the courtesy as little as Stephen appreciates giving it.

"Don't tell me, you've got a date."

Hi, great to see you, aren't you glad he's here.

closed to the darkling.

A. The Library

c

riffing off castle b 👉👉