driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Bariyan e Kodhi
Broadcast: Whole network | Voice
Action: The Marsiva
When: March 17th or whenever's convenient honestly

Broadcast:

[ Bariyan's voice is low, scratchy, and calm. He's got one simple not-at-all cryptic question: ]

Who here should I watch out for?

Action:

Bariyan's awakening is objectively boring: he'd opened his eyes, gotten out of his bunk, and stared in silence as he'd tried to absorb recent events. And recent knowledge. Then, after some sense of reality had settled back in, he'd merely skulked about the deck until he found... something.

It was black. Mostly. It looked a bit like a cart. At the same time, it looked like nothing Bariyan had ever encountered before.

By the powers of Bariyan's torpid mind and his augment combined, he eventually came to the conclusion that he could walk on it.

It's a treadmill.

He's been walking on it for almost an hour now, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, expression stormy. Looking for all the world like he's trying to storm off somewhere, and getting absolutely nowhere.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Your death is much more tragic," Bariyan says, again, absent-mindedly. Once the idiocy of his reply has caught up to him, he stumbles a bit in his next step, raises a hand to his mouth. "Uhm. Not to compare. I mean to say... my condolences."

"I don't know," Koltira says. "Being hunted down by my own country sounds a bit worse."

He shrugs. "Not that many of them appreciate me now. Or any of us."

"It wasn't quite... my country...." Bariyan shrugs it off. He doesn't want to get back on that track of conversation. He barrels on, hopefully before Koltira can pry into it. "Were there many of your sort?"

Koltira isn't a scholar, but he recognizes deflection when he sees it. Again, he considers pressing for clarification, for more information, but -- there will be time for that later. Plenty of time.

"Which sort," he says. "Elves? Death knights?" He pauses. "Elven death knights?"