driftfleet | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Anyone! Everyone!
Broadcast: If you want!
Action: On the FLOOT LOOP stations! Or the planet!
When: WHENEVER time is an illusion.

[you know the drill! this is a mingle for the stations floating around the bizarre forest planet, or the forest planet itself!

want to get away from the forest illusions? are you stopping for supplies? were you just really craving a bowl of Floot Loops for some reason? whether you are backdating for pre-planet shenanigans or just want to mess around, this is the post for you!]

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[What the actual hell.]

If you have nothing to say to me, I strongly suggest you be on your way.

[he appears to consider, for a moment... before he decides to calmly climb down from on top of his ship and walk towards Fenris. on the bright side, he doesn't appear to be anything more than human--the daylight doesn't even lend much glow to his eyes. on the other hand, he paints a fucking skull on his face. your call.]

[He's seen so much worse. Fenris just assumes the guy is part of a cult...or something. There are a lot of creepy-ass cults about. Fenris considers walking off, but that would mean turning his back on the stranger, and he'd rather not do that. So he remains where he is, tensing only slightly, ready for battle if it comes to it.]

[cult is a good guess? he watches Fenris' body language but stays very calm himself. he doesn't look like he's walking up for a fight. it really looks like he's just... observing him. trying to figure him out. like he could see him better if he was closer.

how close would Fenris let him get? because he's going for a little closer than casual conversation range, here.]

[Fenris doesn't let him close at all, he carefully steps back, one hand raised in warning.]

That is close enough. What do you want with me?

[...he stops walking when Fenris steps back. his gaze finally goes somewhere else after a moment, as he thinks; nothing about this is panning out easily. but he doesn't have sharp teeth, doesn't seem like a ghoul, and so far hasn't gone out of his way to try murdering him, so...]

Your magic. [he sounds like... a gravel driveway, really. very low and monotone.] What is it.

[Not a wise thing to ask, Fenris, really. At the mere mention of the word magic, he tenses, his brows furrowing.]

It is not magic. [It is. And it isn't.] It is something that was inflicted upon me.

[the nice thing about anger is that it's usually honest. he tilts his head again, a little.]

A curse.

[Fenris's hands clench, an automatic response from the first clear memory he has. A memory of screaming and agony. Of being marked, forever.]

It is called lyrium. My former master burned it into my skin.

[he thinks, for a moment.

and then he just. starts walking away.

that answered his question, so. off he goes.]

[Thank the Maker for THAT. Fenris will just continue on his brooding, hoping that's the end of that insanity.]

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