Nicholas D. Wolfwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
holygunslinger) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2017-08-11 11:36 pm
holygunslinger) wrote in driftfleet2017-08-11 11:36 pm
Entry tags:
Edgelord classic rock reference goes here.
Who: Wolfwood and you!
Broadcast: none
Action: Getting used to space, still on the Marsiva, and later on the Huntress.
When: 8/11 and until the shuffle, and then on the Huntress 8/12
[Wolfwood's decided to poke around the new technology, and find out how more than the showers and food processors work. He's really been taking it all in, and trying to absorb all of it, all the novelty and newness of his surroundings. Listen, the guy's been living in Steampunk Tatooine his whole life. He needs to get adjusted to the things he suddenly just knows. He's noticed the implant, the weird little nub behind his ear, and figures, hey. A life for a nub, he's not going to argue.
So far, he's poked around the medical equipment, the food processors, the communications equipment, he's seen if he can make the lights shut off or dim, and has really just been obnoxiously soaking in the sheer amazement he has over what he considers Lost Technology. Come tell him to stop messing with the gadgets, before he does something stupid.]
[... Later, though, he's over it. He lights up one of his last ten cigarettes in the pack and looks out the observation window from a sofa, gathering his thoughts. He has a sinking feeling about all of this, but really can't put his finger on just why he feels this way. It all smacks of semi-malevolence. Nothing as severe as he's dealt with in the past, but he's got a hairy suspicion that as great as it is that he's alive, he's not going to be let to retire so easily. So here's a scowling ex-dead-guy just glaring at the huge window looking out into space. Pensive, and probably looking fairly owly, but still approachable.]
[He's still pretty impressed by the whole I'm in SPACE thing, but it's died down a little, and he's starting to look around the quarters he's been assigned. He rubs his face and then shrugs. It's pretty all right, but something big, weighty, and full of weapons was missing. It just didn't feel like home. Oh well, he figures. He'll just have to make do. He notices that he's not the only one with the security augment on this ship, and he decides, well heck, time to meet the other crew.]
Broadcast: none
Action: Getting used to space, still on the Marsiva, and later on the Huntress.
When: 8/11 and until the shuffle, and then on the Huntress 8/12
[Wolfwood's decided to poke around the new technology, and find out how more than the showers and food processors work. He's really been taking it all in, and trying to absorb all of it, all the novelty and newness of his surroundings. Listen, the guy's been living in Steampunk Tatooine his whole life. He needs to get adjusted to the things he suddenly just knows. He's noticed the implant, the weird little nub behind his ear, and figures, hey. A life for a nub, he's not going to argue.
So far, he's poked around the medical equipment, the food processors, the communications equipment, he's seen if he can make the lights shut off or dim, and has really just been obnoxiously soaking in the sheer amazement he has over what he considers Lost Technology. Come tell him to stop messing with the gadgets, before he does something stupid.]
[... Later, though, he's over it. He lights up one of his last ten cigarettes in the pack and looks out the observation window from a sofa, gathering his thoughts. He has a sinking feeling about all of this, but really can't put his finger on just why he feels this way. It all smacks of semi-malevolence. Nothing as severe as he's dealt with in the past, but he's got a hairy suspicion that as great as it is that he's alive, he's not going to be let to retire so easily. So here's a scowling ex-dead-guy just glaring at the huge window looking out into space. Pensive, and probably looking fairly owly, but still approachable.]
[He's still pretty impressed by the whole I'm in SPACE thing, but it's died down a little, and he's starting to look around the quarters he's been assigned. He rubs his face and then shrugs. It's pretty all right, but something big, weighty, and full of weapons was missing. It just didn't feel like home. Oh well, he figures. He'll just have to make do. He notices that he's not the only one with the security augment on this ship, and he decides, well heck, time to meet the other crew.]
no subject
Hm? [ He looks down at the harp and pulls a glissando from the strings ] This is a harp - a lap harp, specifically, although they can get much bigger. Have you never seen one before?
no subject
Huh-uh. I'm familiar with similar instruments, though. Guitar, piano. Nothing sounds quite as sweet. It's like... Hm. Sounds like what I'd figure clouds would sound like. Like light wisps of them over the moons at night.
no subject
Guitar I only learnt of here, and the pianos that most people talk about are very different to the ones I know. More... refined, I suppose.
[ And if Wolfwood looks, there's a somewhat eclectic collection of various instruments scattered around the small room, some very distinctly alien. And a vuvuzela ]
But thank you! I am very fond of this one, for my father made it for me. Every artist likes to be told that their music is good, however. Would you like to try?
no subject
[He waves his hand passively, then shakes his head. Oh hell, he wouldn't even try to touch something so important as an instrument made by somebody's father.]
Besides, I don't want to abuse something so sentimentally priceless.
no subject
This has survived five rambunctious younger brothers and several thousand years of war, I don't think she will mind a gentle hand!
no subject
[He's taken aback by the longevity of whatever species Maglor is. The whole of his people's history was lost, about two hundred years, and five generations ago. But he finally accepts the harp and tries to emulate the motions Maglor used to make the same sounds, showing that he's heavy-handed and clearly not made out for fluid motion when it comes to musical instruments. But he laughs it off and shakes his head.]
Makes me sound clumsy in comparison to when you do it.
no subject
You've never met one of my folk before, I take it - we are the Quendi, the Speakers, the Firstborn of Arda. But Men have always called us Elves.
[ He reaches across to correct Wolfwood's fingers gently ]
Only because you aren't used to her. Like this, see? Gently. She's a lady, after all - you want to coax, not force.
no subject
[New words always get a try. And at the gentle instruction, he got a smile. And he's more careful and graceful with it the second go round. He slowly and carefully plays each string, catching the progression of notes, before he does what he can to translate a tune he knew on guitar. It falters, but it sounds fine on the harp.]
This really is something else.
no subject
[ He listens appreciatively ]
You underestimate your own skill, I think!
no subject
[Wolfwood tries another, softer, slower tune, a hymn he'd learned for Sundays. It's melancholy, and sweet. Here and there, he can be caught mouthing the words to it, but the playing is taking up most of his concentration. Continuously translating the chords from guitar to harp.]
So are you regularly a space-faring race, or is this just as novel for you as it is for me?
no subject
Far too much overlap. [ he agrees sadly ]
No. [ he shakes his head, listening to Wolfwood play ]I had never known such travel was possible until now. Well... [ he adds thoughtfully] ...there's Earendil, but his is a singularly unique case and so far as I can guess the Vingilot flies relatively close.
no subject
I knew it was possible long ago for my people; we actually got to the planet I was raised on by way of space travel, generations ago. The technology was lost to us, unfortunately.
[Wolfwood hands back the harp and leans against the wall again.]
Thank you for letting me play her, she's got a lovely voice.
no subject
That tale is a long one, but it has a good ending. In brief, however - Earendil the Mariner sails the Vingilot through the skies, a star of Hope to those of us below. He cannot be that high! My father's Silmaril is bright, yes, but he must be fairly close if we can see it, even as only a star.
But there, you mean you are not from Earth, but some other planet then? How fascinating!
[ His hands brush the harp absently, coaxing tiny ripples of sound as they talk ]
no subject
He sounds like a living myth. That's incredible.
[and then he nods.]
We're originally from Earth, though a lot of that's lost to us, too. A lot of what we know about it? Is passed down in stories. We have holy scripture that's survived, and myths and legends of Earth, but it's all really just hearsay at this point. The oldest historians aren't fully sure what's true or not. Even the oldest guy I know from there was raised on the ships that fell on Gunsmoke in a horrible catastrophe, and he's not exactly human, so he wasn't from Earth so far as we know. We're all kind of a lost people, now. Doing the best we can with the resources we have, trying to get by. But we're a sturdy species, we adapt.
What was your home like?
no subject
Earendil the Mariner, the looked for that cometh unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope, bright star of the morning, above Middle-earth sent unto Men!
[ As he half sings, half chants the words, the harp rings under his hands, and the image almost unfolds in Wolfwood's mind's eye, a silver and crystal sailing ship with a man at the stern, a star bound to his brow.
He listens quietly to Wolfwood's own tale and sighs softly ]
That is a sad tale indeed, my friend, although as ever Men impress me with their ability to get up and adapt to their situation!
Arda is... beautiful. [ He smiles quietly, coaxing the images of green woods and great mountains from his harp, laying them before Wolfwood, the lands that he has walked and fought for ] I have not explored more than Middle-earth, of course, so I do not know what lies beyond the eastern deserts, but the lands of Middle-earth are fair, for all the grief that has been visited on her people of late. Up in the cold north the winters are long and the summers short, and the ice never melts, but breaks off to float in the bay in jagged mountains. Only the Lossoth live there, and they are a mostly nomadic people with few great settlements. As you come south the grass grows green and the hills are gentle once you pass the Iron Hills. The forests there are young, regrown after the great wars and devastations of the First Age, although you can find some remnants of the original woods, still. Those lands are sparsely populated, ever since the kingdom of Arnor fell, but with the King sitting on the throne of the reunited kingdoms again, it will prosper, I think. Go East and the Misty Mountains lift their proud heads to the skies - the dwarves had their kingdoms under those mountains, once, before Durin's Bane and the dragons drove them out. They still linger though, and the dragons are mostly dead now. Perhaps one day Khazad-dum will once again be cleansed and beautiful. Beyond them the last of the Old Forests of the First Age still grow, and the green fields of Rohan, where the Horsemen of Eorl have their homes, and further east and south again lies Gondor, there on the edges of the the Mountains of Ash.