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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Like an aggressive animal sensing a threat, the unremarkable man with the borrowed cane draws to a halt rather than continue on his way. No clever beast turns its back on pursuit. He pivots to face his new friend with the stick planted firmly, though Ralston makes no effort to draw himself up to his full height. His dark eyes do some equivalent work as they drill a look back at the other man.

"We're not the same. You're new."

"You're right! I am."

The cheer and merriment return to his expression. Nero's quite pleased with the human's response to him starting to shift the mood. His ears give a small wiggle in happiness. It's always nice to meet someone who has good reaction time, and recognizes when they're in a dangerous situation.

"Want to fill me in some about what's been going on?"

"Not particularly."

Does he much resemble a nursemaid or tutor? A kind guiding hand who might be reasonably expected to shepherd the uninitiated from the Well to Thorne's most hospitable table?

"Happily for us both, I'm quite certain there are others who feel differently. I suggest you make your solicitations to them."

He doesn't shift from this place where he's chosen to plant both feet and cane.

"You always this paranoid, or is it just with me?"

Nero already spent a bit of time trying to strike up a hostile conversation with him, and it seems the man's too clever to be bullied into talking. But, he decides to give it one last go before he finds someone else to harass since, when all else fails, there is a literal captive audience that he can bother beneath both of their feet.

"Is it because I threatened to out you to some folks?" He smiles, and tucks his hands into his pockets. "I thought a joke between new friends would be accepted."

Against all odds, something in that brings out a smile—or at the very least, a flash of Ralston's teeth. It's not a particularly pleasant expression, more mean than amused, but all the same it offers some variation on the sullen look he's otherwise ground onto his features.

"Someone thinks he's very important."

Paranoia and a lack of interest for entertaining a stranger are two very different things.

"Huh?"

The elf cocks his head to the side, but does like the smile that he is given. He likes seeing the unpleasantness in people; it makes him quite happy. Not so much because it reaffirms any deep philosophy that he has about the world, but it's just always nice to see.

"What's that supposed to mean, friend?"

"You've given me very little reason to care what you do or don't know."

It is the most direct answer to the question. Threatened him? With what? To report that he was trying doorknobs in some quiet corridor where no one was meant to see. Hardly a high crime, he suspects. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was after a quiet place to be alone. The list of possible lies he might tell to explain himself must be at least as long as the one this stranger might produce to indict him.

"Now hurry along, won't you? Surely we both have better things to do."

"Fair enough."

Nero gives another shrug of his shoulders as he hasn't given the man any reason to assist him. It's starting to feel more and more like a waste of time for the both of them, as well. He does have a few more things that he needs to do -- like harass the people down in the dungeon because they continue to seem like a lot more fun than those wandering around the castle.

"See ya later, weirdo." That's all that he can really give. He tips his head as he shoves his hands in his pockets and leaves.

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