Eater Of Crayons (eaterofcrayons) wrote in freakmuck,
Eater Of Crayons
eaterofcrayons
freakmuck

  • Mood:
  • Music:
I'm still dragging my feet on a post that'll talk about daily life for people in the city, meant to detail such things as radio and television, one's chances of being randomly selected as food by the more predatory citizens, and what there is to do besides wander around and run into people. There's been lots of work-type stuff lately. Anyway, instead of making any progress toward that end, I'm just going to slap up another bit of poseness.

This one touches upon what happens when a newbie wakes up in the fountain and happens across one of the city's more long-term residents. Every new person wakes up in the fountain IC'ly and OOC'ly. Some characters enter play having been in the city for a while, but even they attained consciousness in a dirty concrete basin at one point with the angel statue looming over them. Not all of them remember it so well though. Remember that thing about the water from my first post. ^_^

Anyway...



It's a mite weathery out, grey and blustery, threatening rain but so far just throwing old, dead leaves about. It always seems the most dry right before rain comes, and the city hasn't seen any for a while. The air holds a crispness to it that tends to chase people indoors. Thus, circumstances allow for one colorful individual to be stalking the plaza alone. His high-soled boots carry him noisily through the carpet of leaves, but he's either aware of where he is or simply so engrossed in his reading that he pays no heed to where his wandering takes him. The literature of choice is nothing less than a classic...as in, terribly outdated. An issue of TV Guide from some time before dirt was invented, thumbed through with the occasional bob of the reader's head. His shuffling footfalls seem deliberate in their casting of leaves into the air, scooping them off the ground to give them over to the wind. The bits of dead vegetation don't have long to become a nuisance however, as they begin to smolder, wither, and blacken to ash before they've managed to blow more than a foot away.

There are occasions when wings prove to be a bit more useful on the ground then one would suspect. Take now, for example.. There aren't many nerve endings in the things, and so if she keeps them just slightly stretched away from her body and folded forward just /so/.. she can block out most of the wind from getting to those parts of her that feel it more acutely. A coat would be better, but one makes do with what one is given.. And at the moment, Sophia isn't given much. She sits - or rather, perches - on the edge of the fountain she crawled up out of not an hour ago, staring up at the statue there.. You know, if she was superstitious, she'd think this was some kind of sign. The mere thought twists her lips into a smirk of bitter amusement. .. Well, s'better then no amusement at all. One fanned ear twitches slightly at the sound of footfalls, and as her tail swishes fitfully behind her, her head lifts and a claw skillfully avoids skin as it brushes a bit of her black hair from her crimson eyes. A bit of scanning is all it takes to find... ... .. What the hell is that? .. Looks like a man. Walks like a man. .. Dresses like a man - sort of. But then you have the skin.. the hair.. And of course, the surroundings don't help either. ... Well, whatever it - or he - is.. He's the only living thing she's seen in the last hour. She's not going to let opportunity pass her by! Graceful to the end, she lifts herself up straight and then hops off the fountain ledge, turning towards the odd looking man as her wings fold closer to her back. Clearing her throat once, she calls out, "Oi.. Excuse me?" There's a very faint British accent there.. Though it's easily missed. Especially on the off chance you've never heard one. "If you don't mind.. I think I'm a bit.." ... She glances around, lifts a hand and scratches the side of her cheek as her tail swishes again. ".. Turned around." Understatement.

King Salamander freezes in place the moment someone speaks. Rule number one about living in this city: nobody raises their voice. It draws the bad things. Then again, the fountain is the best place to scout for fresh blood..hmm. He stands quietly for a moment, raising his chin with his gaze directed straight ahead. Only after she's finished speaking does he turn his head to look her over, blinking once and then cracking a smile. "Y'are. Hell's that way." He spares a hand to point straight down, bobbing his finger for emphasis. Hmm. Dark meat. Intriguing. The grey-skinned man smirks at her and asks, "Been here long? Or did you actually waste -time- coming to that conclusion, about yourself being all.." His downward pointing finger stirs the empty air idly, "turned-around-like?"

... Oh, you're going to be difficult, hm? Briefly, Sophia's eyes narrow, loosing the light that made the red in them seem to glow, instead giving the illusion of a rusty color in their depths.. Well, fine. Be difficult. The moment of pissiness passes easily enough, as in the same fluid motion that narrowed her eyes, they return to normal and she paints on an entirely pleasant expression, smiling with lips parted enough to show off her two sets of fangs - both on the top, the outer pair longer then the inner. Good for tearing things, don'cha know. She doesn't mean it to look like she's trying to be intimidating.. but that doesn't mean that's now how it might come off. She continues to approach him until they are within proper conversing distance, and then says, "I think we've gotten off to a bad start, hm?" A single clawed hand sweeps up to touch her stomach as she bows a little, the fitful tail behind her forced to stillness. Rule Number One. Try to stay on the good side of people who could potentially be helpful. "My apologies. I'm afraid I am new here, so please forgive me for seeming rude." Rule Number Two. If you can seem humble, do it. People seem to love thinking they're superior to you. Maybe he'll yank the board out of his butt long enough to offer a few explanations. .. Or maybe she's wasting her time. Never know until you try.

King Salamander likes to think he's one of the most laid-back people he knows. It'd be highly disconcerting to learn that someone thinks he's got anything wedged in his posterior. The King don' swing that way, baby. He arches a brow as the demon girl makes her supposition, as though wondering where she's getting her conclusions. Bargain basement conclusions are to blame for so many of the world's ills, don'tchaknow. "We did?" Eh. Newbies. "When did that happen. Oooh..waiit..did I hurt your feelings?" His tone is playfully mocking, presuming a familiarity that doesn't exist yet. He enjoys a smirk at her expense and then shakes his head. "Take it easy, kiddo. I guess you really are new here, huh. -I- thought it was funny.." He seems oblivious to the fact that his magazine has just caught fire, crisping at the corners farthest from his hand, burning inward rather quickly. "Tell His Majesty what's wrong," he offers, turning toward her to spread his arms in a flourish, "and I'll make it all better."

Okay. She's decided you're /odd/. And she's met with really screwed up people in her life, too, so this is saying something. .. Still, at least he's not making with the snide - .. overly snide - humor anymore. The hand at Sophia's stomach is dropped and her expression goes rather flat, eyes flaring up again. "That was my attempt to get your help by buttering you up. This is my attempt to get it by being perfectly honest. Yes, I am.. new. .. I think." Or she could have just blanked on another huge chunk of her life. Sighing, she crosses her arms under her chest and resumes tail swishness. She looks a little.. indignant at the idea of those spread arms, wondering if he expects her to cry on his shoulder or something.. and instead, she straightens up to her full height, wrinkling her nose. Yep. Odd. "Listen.. I realize you probably can't give me any answers but there's no harm in asking, right?" Her head jerks towards the fountain. "I crawled up that thing about an hour ago. Considering it doesn't smell enough like fog here.. I'm guessing I'm not in London anymore, right?" Please say no. If something happened to make it /this/ ... icky looking.. She's going to cry. .. Or at least be very upset. "So.. What is this place, and.. do people /often/ wake up in that fountain?" .. God, she hopes not. It kind of smells down there.

King Salamander lets his hands drop to his sides, burning TV Guide and all, and repays the flat look with one of his own, a rueful smirk that suggests his patience has been tried by the girl's lack of humour. "No," he concedes, rolling his eyes, "It's not London. It's not anyplace hip enough to be worth a name. Nobody can give you answers, and anybody who does is lyin'. If you -want- answers I could make some shit up, buuuut..." He shrugs sloppily, gesturing with the smoldering remnants of his reading material. Finally he just releases the bit of ash from his fingers and wipes his hand on that odd coat. Looks like crushed velvet, except that the grey shades..move. "Heh. Anyway, yeah. People wake up there all the time. They're never sure how, and they can't ever get back to where they really wanted to be. So I guess this is 'welcome to here'. Or something. Want donuts?"

That patience might be a tried a little more before the day is up. Really, she's not usually this humorless.. But it's been all around a bad evening for the demon girl. Her wit has escaped her for the moment. No name? That gets a bit of an arched brow - though the black-on-black makes it a little hard to tell - an a curious look.. but she doesn't question it. The offer of made-up answers is replied to with a shake of the head. "Thanks, but no thanks." Her eyes drop to what remains of the TV Guide he'd been reading.. and she's forced again to curious confusion. Well, at least his joke before lets her know she's not finally made it to hell. .. Though she wonders just how close this place will turn out to be. .. Ah well. Her crimson gaze briefly strays over the man's odd attire.. before a single word penetrates the fog of confusion and smacks into her brain like a hammer into a gong. Immediately, she perks up, lifting her head and saying a little more eagerly then she'd wanted, "Yes!" Ugh.. Back-peddle comes shortly there after. "Uh.. I mean.. .. Yeah. I'm starvin'." And she likes donuts. heh. Another pause follows as she rustles her wings against her back, and adds with a half a grin, "Uh.. I'm Sophia, by the way." She debates very briefly the intelligence of offering her hand to a man who's book just burned up in his hand.. but, deciding her own protection from that certain element was given to her to be put to use, she sticks that black, clawed hand out there. Take it or leave it - she's at least going to try to be polite. She's a good lil' demon, she is.

King Salamander's eyes light up -literally!- as the demon girl's attitude appears to improve. Muuuch better. "Kickin'," he replies, bobbing that faux-flamey head. He takes the proffered hand within his own and gives it a firm shaking, but doesn't relinquish his hold until he's dipped forward at the waist to meet it halfway, raising the captive hand to his lips for the merest brush across the knuckles. After that, his grip relaxes to let her do as she pleases, and he offers his name. "King Salamander, at your service." He makes his posture into a bow with a flick of his empty hand and then rises, smiling smugly. The look fades briefly, and he amends, "Not that that means I'll do what you tell me to, understand. 's just an expression. Sophia, huh? Nice name. Suits you. Now." He pivots sharply on the ball of his left foot, noisily stirring the leaves beneath his feet as he faces westward. "Donuts." And with that, he takes the lead, striding imperiously across the plaza with his coat-tails flaring in the breeze and his arms slightly raised at his sides as though to give himself as much wind resistance as possible.

That tail goes stock /still/ as widening red eyes watch her hand go up, his head go down.. and.. ... That's a first. Yep. Deffinately /odd/.. But not too bad, when he's not being a smart-ass. ... Or at least when she's of a better mind to appreciate the humor. King Salamander? ... As Sophia pulls her hand away carefully, briefly looking down at it as if it's changed somehow, she takes a moment to ponder this. Is King his name? .. Or is that really his title? Is he really.. a /King/.. or... eh.. Gah. What does it matter? u.u She'll figure it out later. Like, after she's eaten. His addendum to the pleasantries offered gets him a bit of a smirk as Sophia nods her head, and teases, "And here I was so hoping to have you for a slave." The comment about her name suiting her gets him another arched brow - though this one is aimed as his back as he starts walking away. .. Yes. Donuts. Boots clunking against the ground, rocks, or bits of what sidewalk remains, Sophia takes a few quick steps to catch up with the eccentric fire man, keeping to his side and a little behind. As he takes up as much room as he can, the demon's wings stretch out a bit behind her.. though whether she's just flexing stiff muscles, or subconsciously trying to out-do him, is up for speculation. "So.. Where are we going?" And if he says 'To get donuts', she will consider tripping him. Seriously consider it.

Can the Salamander King be blamed if someone can read his mind? Really, his nature dictates the answer he gives, as he replies without missing a beat. "To get donuts," is his predictable reply as he presses on toward a relatively nice, clean part of town. The western end of the city has a touch more class than the rest, as the demoness will learn soon enough. Her guide sweeps along as though he were at the head of a grand procession, and perhaps in his head he can hear the music of a marching band..or something. Random odds and ends around him burst into flame as he passes by. Bits of paper, clumps of grass peeking through gaps in the concrete..even a bottle left in a windowsill blackens from the inside as though someone had dropped a match in it. At some point he's fished a pair of rectangle-rimmed glasses from his pocket, platinum frames with mirrored lenses, and he sets these over his eyes as though deciding to just be overbearingly cool all of a sudden. 'Cool', of course, according to his own definition of the word. Like, almost room temperature.

Gods. Is this guy a peacock or /what/? Still.. Being on the way to get nice, soft, cakey goodness in the form of a centerless circle tends to improve one's mood, and ability to see the humor in things. And the peacock is proving t be quite amusing. Ebony lips twitch into a half grin as one of her hands comes up just in time to try and hide it, the other burying itself in a pocket. "Of course," she mumbles in reply to Captian Obvious's answer. How could she have been so foolish? Rather then try to get the answer out of him she's seeking, she'll just.. go along for the ride, eh? As they walk, whatever bits burst into flames nearby are stomped on or switched out of the way with her tail. The drawing out of the glasses and subsequent movie-like placement of them on his face while he strides down the street is.. well.. cause for more hidden grins. "You're just.. /movie/ cool, aren't you. Makes me wonder which one of us is the farthest from home.. Hollywood is a long ways away, after all." Hey, if he can tease,she can too! Besides, she's gotta get her digs in for the 'hell' comment. heh.

"Hollywood wouldn't last one minute of me. And I'm not cool..." With a half-turn so perfect he must rehearse it in the mirror, the King raises a scolding finger and looks to her from overtop the rims of his shades as the fires in his eyes burn just a bit brighter, "I'm hot." Then he winks, and straightens to press onward with his chin tilted just a bit higher and a self-satisfied grin securely plastered across his face. "Can anyone really be positive just where 'home' is?" He lets that query hang in the air as he turns down a side street, allowing her ample time to reply as she sees fit without any sort of response from him. As the trek takes them down a sloping side-street, he speaks up again. "Once you've been here a while you'll start to get a pretty abstract picture of where you came from." He reaches what looks like a hole blasted in a wall with a curtain pulled across it, and parts the fabric with one hand, turning to her again as he tacks on one last bit. "By the time anyone does get home, they're going to be disappointed. Who knows? They might even wish they were back here."

Okay, this is a grin she's not going to hide. He earned it. So, a fangy smile greets the King of Hotness, as the demoness bows her head 'apologeticly' and says, "I stand corrected." Straightening up, it's fairly obvious the joking and his obvious ability to appreciate it in turn seems to have made the winged girl a bit more relaxed, as she stretches her arms skyward and then folds them behind her head, looking far more laid back. The question of knowing where 'home' is gains a slight, empathetic sort of smirk. "Point. .. Wow, that was almost /philisophical/. Beauty, wit, /and/ brains." Tail swishing back and forth with each step and wings occasionally flexing out a few inches, Sophia continues walking in her designated position to the side and one step behind his majesty, ruby orbs sweeping left and right in between glances at the Odd But Funny One. Pausing before the.. well.. hole in the wall he reveals for her, Sophia's arms drop back to her sides and she arches a brow curiously at his wondering.. before Sophia just flashes a toothy grin and says, "After you, your majesty."
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 1 comment