Tekhetsio (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heresyandlace) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-12-03 01:51 pm
heresyandlace) wrote in driftfleet2015-12-03 01:51 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Tekhetsio and YOU!
Broadcast: Fleet-wide!
Action: Way-station!
When: Nebulously sometime after they're all back on their ships
→ network etc.
[aside from antics within the calibrations, Tek hasn't been seen much. on the Marsiva, he'd mostly holed himself up in his room, hiding from the rest of the Fleet as much as he could. and upon returning to his ship, he had slept for several days. but, apparently all of his hermiting has not been enough of an escape. so, after waking up and doing a little bit of spontaneous redecorating, he boards one of the shuttles (which he normally avoids touching) and wordlessly sets off into the darkness of space.
he flies far, and he flies without explanation. he gets as absolutely as far away as he can from his own ship and from the Marsiva. and while he does so, he logs onto the network and sends out a broadcast, calmly reciting something that has been haunting him for several weeks--]
--To see an almost certain horrible death... you know how crowds all sit at the edge of their seats, praying subconsciously for a spectacular accident--and then to be whisked away from it so suddenly--brought to the edge of tragedy, and then to have their better natures win out, showing them how much nicer they always knew they were... that was the supreme thrill.
→ and then on some way-station
[when he finally lands, it's on some nameless way-station. out here, he can at least pretend to be somewhere else. and to complete the illusion, he is wearing a completely different face and form when he exits the shuttle.
today, as Tekhetsio spends hours wandering the way-station and pretending to be interested in the automated shops, it is done as a woman. just as unnaturally flawless as Tek's male form is, the woman perusing the way-station's wares and lounging with a book in the plastic park is built to be gorgeous-- with long dark waves of hair and curves in all of the conventionally desirable places.
and she seems friendly, at least. she offers polite smiles to anyone who happens to glance her way, and slightly more inviting expressions to anyone who seems to be appreciating the view. because this girl likes being looked at, and isn't shy about making that fact very clear.]
Broadcast: Fleet-wide!
Action: Way-station!
When: Nebulously sometime after they're all back on their ships
→ network etc.
[aside from antics within the calibrations, Tek hasn't been seen much. on the Marsiva, he'd mostly holed himself up in his room, hiding from the rest of the Fleet as much as he could. and upon returning to his ship, he had slept for several days. but, apparently all of his hermiting has not been enough of an escape. so, after waking up and doing a little bit of spontaneous redecorating, he boards one of the shuttles (which he normally avoids touching) and wordlessly sets off into the darkness of space.
he flies far, and he flies without explanation. he gets as absolutely as far away as he can from his own ship and from the Marsiva. and while he does so, he logs onto the network and sends out a broadcast, calmly reciting something that has been haunting him for several weeks--]
--To see an almost certain horrible death... you know how crowds all sit at the edge of their seats, praying subconsciously for a spectacular accident--and then to be whisked away from it so suddenly--brought to the edge of tragedy, and then to have their better natures win out, showing them how much nicer they always knew they were... that was the supreme thrill.
→ and then on some way-station
[when he finally lands, it's on some nameless way-station. out here, he can at least pretend to be somewhere else. and to complete the illusion, he is wearing a completely different face and form when he exits the shuttle.
today, as Tekhetsio spends hours wandering the way-station and pretending to be interested in the automated shops, it is done as a woman. just as unnaturally flawless as Tek's male form is, the woman perusing the way-station's wares and lounging with a book in the plastic park is built to be gorgeous-- with long dark waves of hair and curves in all of the conventionally desirable places.
and she seems friendly, at least. she offers polite smiles to anyone who happens to glance her way, and slightly more inviting expressions to anyone who seems to be appreciating the view. because this girl likes being looked at, and isn't shy about making that fact very clear.]
no subject
No one can hear us. I checked.
You're not a Mundy. I'm not a Mundy. And that's the only need for secrecy I have.
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[Normal, non-magical, unaware people. Dragons are certainly not Mundys.]
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Magical beings can be just as judgmental and vicious, here.
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But they're the only ones I have to hide what I am from.
[He offers a cigarette to the pretty lady.]
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she's absolutely still frowning, though.]
That is what I'm talking about. Have you no magically-skilled slayers where you're from? Are there no power-hungry mages looking to capitalize on valuable inhuman parts? Or heros of all species looking for a monster to destroy?
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Just the Adversary, and he's in the Homelands, not the mundy world.
[Frankly, HE is the scariest thing most of them have to deal with. Most of Fabletown isn't silly enough to try and take on the big bad Wolf.]
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[and she's still holding the cigarette, looking at it like she's trying to decide what to do with it.]
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Well, I hope they don't give me a reason to need to eat them.
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much more interested in bitching, this one is.]
Are you immortal? [--almost sounding accusing about it.]
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Haven't died yet.
[Yes, he really is as far as he knows. He's been through a love of punishment.]
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First time, they took an axe to me. Cut me open, piled stones into me and threw me into a river. That was fucking annoying, took me three weeks to get rid of enough of the rocks that I could get back to shore.
don't feel obligated to reply if this is too old!
How old are you, anyway?
Your face is too old :P
Snow reckons I'm at least nine or ten centuries. Bufkin, when he's sober enough to talk, thinks I'm probably closer to fifteen or twenty, at least.
GASP
[...this news is enough to cause her to look even less impressed about the whole thing.]
You seem awful unsure about a lot of this information, you know.
no subject
[Wolves cared about seasons, about food supply. Fables, on the whole, didn't worry overly about years passing by.]
I never kept track of them until Snow brought me into the community and I had to start pretending to be a human. Learn about things like dates and years.