Sweet dreams are made of these...

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
( for A-M characters )

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ROOMS BY CHARACTER

A Abigail Hobbs Aiya/Gray Nightingale Adrasteius Anor'thalion Ahsoka Tano Alex Russo Allen Walker Anders Anthony Crowley Asteffiel Axel

B - D Belthazar Spellscry Beverly Crusher Bran Stark Caesar Zeppeli Cayde-6 Cheese Sandwich Clay Terran Coil Cole Davesprite Duke Pantarei

E - I Elecman.exe Elena Gilbert Elize Lutus Felix Harrowgate Fenris Finrod Haruka Tenoh/Sailor Uranus Imperator Furiosa Isabela Issac Lahey

J - M Jade Harley James Barnes/Jim James Barnes/Winter Joseph Joestar Katara Katniss Everdeen/Nova Kirito/Kazuto Kirigaya Kurt Wagner Leanne Loki Maladict(a) Max Caulfield Megaman Mordin Solus

Comments

caesar zeppeli

[mylegacy]

[You come to yourself in the middle of a great entrance hall, all stone walls and columns in an outdated Italian style. There's cold air blowing in through unseen cracks, but there are no windows and no doors. You are at the very center of the room, standing on top of a great, rough stone cross that seems to have fallen from the ceiling.]

[Cracks from the impact emanate out from the cross in every direction, widening as they go until, when they reach the wall, they're wide enough to constitute more a carved-out path than a crack. Each one is painted a different color - or perhaps not painted; the colors are inconsistent and dusty to the touch. Put it to your tongue and you'll taste chalk.]

[Regardless, there are a number of potential paths, all leading to the dead end of the wall: gold, silver, red, white, and purple. There are other colors, too - but we'll get to those. Start after any of these five paths and you'll feel a sudden swell of rage, resentment, determination to reach the end of the path. The urge can be resisted, but it's very difficult, and the psychologically susceptible are most vulnerable.]

[If you are able to resist walking any of these paths, your attention might turn to the staircase. There's a moment, as you look at it, when there's nobody there; then, abruptly, someone flickers into view. It's a young blond man - a boy, really, fifteen or sixteen at most, but if looks could kill, you'd be long dead. His clothes are tattered, not from age but from hard wear; he's bloodstained, with a bruise blooming over one eye, but he stares out at the room from halfway up the stairs as though the world and everything in it has personally wronged him. In one hand, he holds - something; it's hard to see what it is exactly, but the sound of blood dripping from it onto the floor is unmistakable.]

[After a moment, he bares his teeth and snarls, and what comes out sounds animal. Feel free to approach him, if you're feeling lucky.]


( ooc ; hover over the bolded text to find warnings for each scenario. )

[ino]

[ Ino is definitely concerned about where the hell this is and what exactly has happened. It doesn't look good, that's for sure -- and is that blood? No, it looks more like powder.

The state of the place puts her on guard, enough to the point where a flicker of something at the stairs immediately makes her jump into a more defensive position. After all, someone had to have been here to cause all this damage, and -- now that he's coming into clear view, and he makes that sound ... she kind of can't help but wonder if he's responsible.

She doesn't exactly recognize him yet, behind the bruise and all the blood, but as soon as she clearly sees that he's hurt, she moves to step in that direction carefully, with the intent to try and fix him up, if he'll let her. ]

Hey -- it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you.

[mylegacy]

[A normal child who's gotten in trouble, started a fight, and been caught at it would hide the weapon immediately, even if only in a temporary way. The boy on the stairs, however, doesn't move the object behind his back. In fact, he shifts it in front of himself from one hand to the other, allowing it to be seen in the dim light. It's a wrench, dented and bloody, and he holds the weight like he's very used to it.]

[He curls his lips at her when she moves closer, taking half a step back with his foot on the stair above. His voice comes out thickly accented, young but not completely unfamiliar, somewhere dead in the middle between defensive and aggressive.]

Obviously you're not. Nobody hurts me.

[ino]

[ Her eyes shift to the weapon when he pulls it out, and she has to wonder what the hell he hit to dent it like that. Then again, maybe she doesn't want to know.

Her eyes are back on his face when he speaks, though, and ... that accent. There's only one person who looks like that and speaks like that she can think of.

Of course, having a good guess at his identity only makes her more determined to help him. So she actually relaxes a little after a moment, taking another step closer ]

Of course not.

[ Never mind the bruise on your face, kiddo. ]

You've got a lot of blood on you, though. [ She reaches down to rip a piece of her pants off to offer it up to him, like ... a makeshift handkerchief ] Here.

[mylegacy]

[The answer is everything. He hit everything, until something hit him back hard enough to slow him down.]

[He just scoffs at her offer, half-turning his head away and blowing his bangs out of his face.]

It doesn't matter. Stop ruining your clothes, I don't need help.

[He actually seems a little anxious about it, tense in the shoulders and down his back.]

[ino]

...

[ Caesar, why you gotta be like that. She won't come closer just yet, because she sees that tension, but ... ]

It does matter. [ Her voice is firmer, now. ] Is it okay for your siblings to see you like this?

[ Not that they would necessarily be here, but he spoke so fondly of them ... he can't imagine he would want them to see him like this.

She puts her hands on her hips, her tone disapproving now. ]

At least clean yourself up a little bit.

[truthvalue]

[Souji finds himself slowly treading the path marked in red. He couldn't say why, if asked, that he's drawn to this path over the others, and the idea of resisting doesn't cross his mind. Walking along until he reaches the wall feels like the most natural thing in the world, at this moment.

He stops in front of the wall when he reaches the end, places his hand against the stone, listens to the silence of the room, and waits for what will happen next.]

[mylegacy]

[The first thing that happens is: the wall disappears.]

[The second thing that happens is: night falls, abruptly, all at once. The moon is low in the sky, just peering over the rooftops framing this dead-end alley.]

[The third thing that happens is: someone starts screaming. And the fourth thing, in close succession, is a great spray of blood hits Souji's face.]

[truthvalue]

[... OK. That's different. Unusual, but. Souji doesn't start to feel unsettled until the screaming starts, and it makes his hair stand on end. He goes very still, spine rigid, muscles taut, ready to shift at a moment's notice into defense or attack ...

And then the blood splashes his face, and the shock of this wrong sort of wet warmth is all he can see, all he can think. He wipes at his face with the back of his arm, not caring about the fact that the blood will stain his jacket sleeve, and scans the darkness in front of him for approaching danger.]

[mylegacy]

[The danger is not approaching. It's very much stationary, a broad-shouldered figure at the end of the alley, only a few feet away from Souji. Gold hair matted with blood shines in the moonlight; underneath him, hemmed in by booted feet ready to kick and an as-yet-unseen weapon hovering in a white-knuckled hand in the shadows, is another figure, larger than the first, but cowering, clearly beaten.]

[The man still standing is aware that his quarry is helpless. He doesn't move away, though. Doesn't try to let him up. No. He raises his arm and, in the brief moment between muscles tensing and firing, the weapon in his hand is visible: a wrench, dented and bloody, and none of the blood is his.]

[truthvalue]

Who's there?

[Souji's voice rings out, steady in the darkness; his hands tremble at his sides. He should have a weapon - something, anything. But he doesn't. He's alone.]

[innercactus]

[ Asteffiel.. unfortunately isn't really able to resist much. The sylvari might be more resistant, if he hadn't done what he'd done, or awoken after Mother had been damaged.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he wanders down the purple hall. He does falter a little partially down it, because he recognizes this isn't his feelings, but..

... he's already most of the way there, might as well continue? ]

[mylegacy]

[No matter how long it takes for him to get to the wall, once he does finally reach it, the floor will spin. In typical dream fashion, no matter how far you go, it's never far enough to escape. Especially from this.]

[So the room turns you to face the staircase again, and all of a sudden everything is - not brighter, but newer. Less like a set of ruins, more like a great house that's fallen into disrepair but isn't utterly hopeless yet.]

[There is a man standing at the top of the stairs. Well - not quite a man. He looks almost entirely human, except that he's simply impossibly large; he's also dressed for warm weather when it's almost freezing in here, and he shows no signs of being cold. There's something else about him, too, something that doesn't quite seem human, but it's instinctive, not anything in particular - just a sense, something off.]

[On the other hand . . .]

[On the other hand, he doesn't seem aggressive. A little disappointed, maybe, as though he'd rather you left him alone, but not as though he's particularly looking for a fight. Not mean or cruel. There's something about him that's - well. It's almost honorable.]

[His voice, when it comes, is a double-bass rumble.]

This isn't your fight.

[innercactus]

[ Asteffiel decides he's finally meeting a Norn - too big to be a human, and not bundled up despite the place being cold? Yep. probably a Norn.

... At least, maybe. ]

... I didn't realize there was a fight here... [ He probably could, unarmed as he is, still fight if he needed too. ]

... Who's fight is it then?

[mylegacy]

Didn't you?

[There's a layer of humor in there - not at anyone's expense, certainly not Asteffiel's. This is just a man - or being, at least - who enjoys a good fight.]

There is always a fight. No matter where you go, men and monsters are always fighting.

As to your question . . .

[He points down the stairs. At the bottom, all of a sudden, there is a young man - Caesar, even more recognizable than he was before, at his current Fleet age and appearance. He's bleeding from . . . well, it seems like everywhere. Bleeding, barely breathing, trembling all over. Glaring up the stairs at the inhuman man who's speaking, like he could rip him apart.]

It's his fight. And he's losing.

[innercactus]

.... That is a good point. [ There's the Elder Dragons, and even without their threat, a lot of things in Tyria want to eat people. Or hurt them or eat their pets.

Sorry big inhuman dude, Asteffiel was thoroughly distracted by the injured Ceasar.

He's definitely hurt. That's not good. So eyes wide with worry, he darts over to his side. ]

I can heal you? Is that okay?

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[you know, he'd really rather not. the paths don't appeal to him in the slightest. this stone is more worrying to him; he doesn't know what it means, but it seems like the perfect setup for human sacrifice--and that always leaves a bad taste in his mouth, you know?

so he just stands there, for a long time, contemplating the room and the cross, until--ah, the owner of the room appears, snarling and angry and getting blood all over the floor.

now it's his kind of party. he smiles politely, folding his hands behind his back.]

Hello, friend.

hover 4 translation :|b

[mylegacy]

[There's not the slightest hint of recognition in his sharp green eyes, although maybe from the other side it's a little easier. He's a little slighter, a couple of inches shorter, blood-spattered, but birthmarks still dot the highest part of his cheekbones and there's still some manner of arrogance in him, even if its edges are smoothed a little in the present in contrast with this feral thirst for a fight.]

[His lips pull back again, but this time words come out, and the strange thing about them is that they're in two languages at once, something foreign and something understandable, and they sound both fierce and desperate, as though two voices are speaking together, both of them his.]

Io non sono tuo amico!

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[that's... strange, but maybe not the strangest thing he's run into so far. he's starting to put the pieces together. he wonders what that is in his hand.]

Why do you say that?

[his smile widens a little, and he takes a careful step forward, just to test... avoiding the cracks and the cross entirely, if he can manage.]

[mylegacy]

[He doesn't answer in words. In fact, it doesn't look as though he's going to answer at all, not at first - not until Robin steps forward and then, then.]

[It's like a switch has been flipped. The aggression was there before, but it was under control. There's no control in him now, and for all his obvious youth he's clearly done this so many times it's part of his blood now, lunged at an aggressor in the space of half a second, closed the distance between them with a wordless shout of fury at everything, his weapon - a wrench, dented and bloodied, the embodiment of ugly rage - pulled back and ready to swing.]

[He doesn't answer in words, but the answer is clear all the same: Nobody is friends with me.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[it is probably a good thing that Robin's both inhuman and far more aware than he seems--because he's already ready to dart out of the way, bending just out of range of this particular blow of fury.

he skitters back, light on his feet--arms still down, but he's ready to move. ready ready ready, and laughing a little on the edge of his breath.]

Really? Even after everything we talked about?

[sinuosity]

[ Nyssa comes to herself in a vast room, fully armed. This is a pertinent detail only because she has been fully armed in all these dreams — like all these people so far have asked for her as she is and not something she is to be made into. She likes it better, though it's kind and it shouldn't be indulged. ]

[ The architecture is Italian, perhaps the 30s. Her feet echo on the dust coating the stone cross on the floor. She eyes the paths. Purple, for kings, white for mourning and death, red for blood and celebration, gold and silver. None of these paths are hers. Instead, she looks up at the boy, spies his curled hand and the fury in his gaze. If looks could kill — she was meant to be Ra's, and Ra's resists death until they have made history. ]

[ So she sets an arrow into her bow, and she shoots whatever it is out of the boy's hands. ]

[mylegacy]

[His weapon - a wrench, big and heavy and dented and bloodstained - clatters to the floor, as he jerks his hand away, grabs it with his other hand to massage the shock out of it. But he's only looked away briefly, and now his attention is back to her, just as angry but before, only more targeted.]

Non mi rompere i coglioni. . . .

[It comes out low, a warning, and the Italian resonates clearly along with the meaning: fuck off now.]

[Something else, though, too - something in his eyes. Fear or hatred or something nameless, it's not clear, and he's certainly not about to name it for her.]

[sinuosity]

[ She understands Italian. A different man not in a dream would have her knife between his ribs for speaking to her that way, but Nyssa is learning otherwise, and Sara is her guide. Sara would try to help this boy; she would clean the blood off him the way she knew how: with gentle, patient, steady hands. ]

[ Nyssa is none of these things, but she loves Sara. She will answer how she knows: chin up, eyes forward, on the boy. In his language, she says, ]

« Good, I have your attention. There is no way out. It's you and me against this place. If you would draw steel know that I am not easily bested.​ ​»

[mylegacy]

[His eyebrows raise fractionally at her comprehension; otherwise he doesn't react. He doesn't move, not forward or backward. Nothing in his face is any more positive or negative than it was before.]

[So there is something else there now. Resignation?]

« Not you and me. I fight with no one. Besides-- ​»

[With a glance to the side, then down at the cross below her feet, he spits over the rail, disgust, dismissal. Though not of her.]

« It already beat me. ​»