agogemod: (Default)
⌞THE AGOGE⌝ MODS ([personal profile] agogemod) wrote in [community profile] agogelogs2017-10-07 12:21 am

THERE WERE MASTERS AND SERVANTS,

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Prepare for the historic Battle of Valmy.
WHEN? Mid September 1792, France.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.




IT'LL BE FINE;
between sainte-menehould and valmy,
1792: revolutionary france.




DEPARTING JERUSALEM

The clean up of the battle is slog. A full day of piling together corpses. Noting down famous men and women. In the heat, the bodies bloat and become fetid, and the smell builds until it cannot be ignored. Insects swarm, and vultures blot out the sun, swooping down and taking back what's been left for nature. Stragglers and the poor pick through the field for scattered weapons and valuables to collect. The bodies of important men and women are taken for burial; the rest are left for scavengers, animal or human.

It's in this gruesome scene that the order comes:
PACK UP, GET READY TO MOVE OUT. THE TARGETS HAVE BEEN NEAUTRALIZED. WE MAKE OUR DEPARTURE LOCAL TIME, DAWN.

DEPLOYMENT: VALMY, FRANCE. IT'S GOING TO BE A WET ONE. WE ARE EXPECTING MORE TRANSFERS ON ARRIVAL.
The present COST soldiers that have been in strict cover begin finishing their work, if they've decided to help the army move out, tend to the wounded, or clean up after the dead. There is no sign of the Commander yet, but maybe you recognise some of your fellow operatives. They seem be taking advantage of a particular event that maybe you stopped to see, maybe you didn't.

Saladin beheads Reynald de Chattilion and his words fill the camp as much as the news of their next move.

A king does not kill a king, Saladin says to King Guy, and the orders run like wildfire through the camp: next they take Jerusalem, and it's in this march, that when the rest of the army moves on that COST slips away. A order to fall back in steady increments; when the time comes, Saladin's army is out of sight, marching toward Jerusalem.

In the midst of all of this, COST operatives begin to disappear, here one moment and gone in another. Such a strange sight, more than one native soldier muses, must be the fault of heat exhaustion.

The Time-Step

The transfer begins, and it starts like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, not painful, not to start with. Just a hum of sensation. But the vibration spreads. Veteran COST soldiers often refer to this phenomena as 'the buzz'. The sensation builds, feeling not unlike standing near a great engine, or the wind rattling the branches of a great tree. There is long a moment of motion sickness, and one cannot always be sure if it is you that is shaking from the inside out, or the world that is shaking you from the outside in. It may just be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea as the world blurs out of focus. A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Some swear they feel a touch of the divine. One thing is for sure: One moment you are here, and the next, you are not.

The soldier next to you might not have been so clever, when it stops and you find yourself standing in the green fields of France, September 1792. She or he throws up as the vibration fades. Everyone seems to stumble sideways for a second. The world turns, and then rights itself. The heat is gone, replaced with cold and wet.



ARRIVAL FOR TRANSFERS FROM JERUSALEM

It's raining.

You're inside of a tent, (another one), and it already seems to be bustling with movements, they call to you in French, which you understand if you did not already: hurry now, they say, you need out of that cuircass before they're spotted. The rest of the army will be following, and the Prussian army to meet it. There isn't much time to loiter around getting sick in this weather. You have a kit to pick up, and perhaps training to do.

ARRIVAL FOR NEW RECRUITS

The first thing you'll notice is the sound of rain. You awake in a tent that seems to be sheltering against the ruins of a farm house, and everything feels damp. It's a wet September morning in 1792, and when the woman across from you in the tent speaks, you understand it to be French. If you didn't understand French already, you sure do now.

If you ask, she'll explain: you are fighting for France, as the Prussian army intends to invade and sack Paris. You may be a citizen, you may be a soldier; you have risen up in defense of France all the same.

She asks you what role you wish to play in the coming battle, and provides you with clothes and supplies to suit. She won't let you leave until you can pass for a native of France, setting up camp in the rain pouring down between Sainte-Menehould and Valmy.

MISSION OBJECTIVE

The forces of COST have gotten word that Regency operatives have gone to Revolutionary France, intending to turn the tides in one of the most historically important battles in European history. The Battle of Valmy, which decided the entirety of the French Revolution and all that follows it, must be won by the French army, as it was in history.

Unlike the incident in Jerusalem-- you may remember it, you may not-- COST has managed to get here before the day of the battle. Make no mistake; it's coming soon. But this time, you and your fellow travelers have time to prepare.

The French Army has managed to get ahead as well; they've maneuvered around the Prussians, cutting off their supply lines. You and your fellow soldiers are now chasing the invaders as they head for Paris. This is time to prepare and ready your forces. The fight is coming soon.



STAY DRY, STAY SECURE
A few things are strongly remembered about the Battle of Valmy; one of them is the rain. It's really pouring out here, and you're in the thick of it. Rain is a dangerous thing for an army such as this; during this era of warfare, gunpowder was an essential commodity, and wet gunpowder is useless gunpowder. Secure the supplies, rescue supply carriages from muddy sinkholes, steer the horses, check supplies, and try to keep the essential materials for victory dry.
TRAIN UP
General Kellerman and Dumouriez are training peasants in basic military tactics. While veterans make up the core of this army, there are a substantial amount of peasants, and most here have never seen battle in their lives, or ever held a gun. Many are equipped with only rudimentary farming equipment. Help train or be trained so you're ready when the Prussian army arrives.
MEDICAL
Plenty of people need medical attention, not from battle wounds so much as malnutrition and overwork. These are mostly peasant laborers, and they're not entirely fit for battle. Help people get as rested and ready as possible.
ESPIONAGE
We have reason to believe some of the 'peasants' are actually Regency spies. Root them out by seeing keeping an ear to the ground for suspicious activity. They don't know all the words to La Marseillaise? Off with their head! Be careful not to attack time travellers on your side, though!
MORALE
Keep spirits high! Sing, dance, and generally try to keep people from succumbing to fear. Despite the rain and the mud, despite the seemingly impossible odds, the average soldier is full of excitement for battle, ready to fight to the death to defend their freedom.
SUPPLY AND SEEK
Since the French army is behind the invading force, they've cut off the enemy's supply lines. This means that, should the Prussians become encamped here for any amount of time, they won't be able to send for food and munitions from their home country. It's your job to make sure it stays that way. You may see someone riding on a swift horse in a Prussian uniform, attempting to sneak through French lines and try to get word back to mother Prussia. Chase them down, and make sure they can't get their reports back home so a second force isn't sent-- or worse.
BE A COMMUNITY ORGANIZER
This battle is one that's widely known for its popular support-- for the most part, France unites against this invading force with alarming cohesion. Someone gifted with a clever mind, or perhaps a clever tongue, may be able to use that. The French army passes farms and peasant villages along the way-- make rousing speeches, and try to recruit more to the cause, secure donations of food and weaponry, anything you can get.




thingpuncher: (face) (dickprince.)

MIDNIGHTER | OTA.

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-07 02:01 pm (UTC)(link)
a. I WANNA LIVE LIKE COMMON PEOPLE.
Midnighter runs into a few problems right off the bat. Well. They're not really problems, more like minor, niggling annoyances, but they're there all the same. For one, he can't reasonably cover his face in this... setting, time period, thing. It's not that he needs to, he's got no secret identity to protect, especially not here. It's just that this is very obviously Midnighter business, and he'd prefer to be wearing his work uniform, or as close as he can get, during it.

But he can't without attracting even more suspicion. Whatever. The result is a man in his late twenties, dressed like any other sans-culotte, except his hair is notably not in the current fashion. He's not going to wear one of those stupid fucking tricorner hats to hide it, fuck 'em.

He wanders around the outskirts of the marching army, holding a long pike, with a large hammer strapped to his belt. It marks him out pretty obviously as military, especially when a few stragglers stop in town to gather supplies.

Midnighter isn't the rousing speeches kind of guy. He's the 'make sure nobody gets stabbed, unless it's time to stab, in which, stab everybody' kind of guy. This, apparently, makes him seem like a soft target for the little shrimp who tries to pick his pocket.

Joke's on fucking Gavroche, he's got no cash on him, and incredibly fast reflexes. Midnighter holds the kid out in front of him, kid dangling by his wrist in Midnighter's grasp, held up to eye level.

"What's the magic word, pipsqueak?"

The urchin, looking a little dazed, murmurs, "please."

Midnighter seems genuinely confused for a half second. "What? No. That's not it."
b. SING ALONG WITH THE COMMON PEOPLE.
Midnighter does not know the words to the songs these people are singing, and he's not entirely sure how to fake it. Yeah, he knows French, he mostly knew French before he fucking got here, but he didn't know the national anthem.

Instead, he spends his time barely mouthing the words-- he looks like a shitty Disney animatronic-- and keeps an eye out for the similarly confused. The army marches and sings, and Midnighter spots someone who looks as confused as he does.

The briefing said there would be spies, right? Maybe if he bags one, they'll let him get the fuck out of here.

Someone singing poorly and generally confused may feel the slight pressure of a pike poking them in the back. Not enough to hurt, to pierce skin or clothing, but enough to be noticeable. "Hey. It's 'the blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France, you jackass."
c. YOU'LL NEVER DO WHATEVER COMMON PEOPLE DO.
Finally, something to do.

Maybe you're riding a horse, or maybe you're on the back of a supply cart. Maybe you see the Prussian horseman racing past the French army as though his life depends on it, maybe you don't. What you can't help but not notice is Midnighter jumping onto the horse you're riding, the cart you're driving, whatever, and shouting, "Sorry, this vehicle has been requisitioned for the Revolutionary cause!"

He's found that when he says shit like that, he can get away with almost anything.

And then he's off, and you might be pulled along behind him as he chases that Prussian horseman, expression one of supreme glee.
d. YOU'LL NEVER FAIL LIKE COMMON PEOPLE.
Before today, Midnighter had never held a musket, but it only takes him about five fucking minutes to learn it. He watches some chucklefucks teach some other losers how to shoot, how to aim, how to load powder and musketball, how to fire, and he watches again and again, and that's good enough for him. He's set. The computer does the rest.

He doesn't have the skill of someone who's fought with a musket a thousand times in dozens of battles, but he's good enough for government work. Or... anti-government work. Fuck, this political shit is confusing.

He sees someone kind of struggling, and grabs the ramrod, the musket, the bullet, whatever they're having difficulty with, without asking. "Here, lemme show you." It's not a request. He's just a generous guy like that.
e. I WANNA LIVE WITH COMMON PEOPLE LIKE YOU.
[Wildcard, bitches! Seriously, do whatever, I love this period and have no problems with whatever shenanigans you might want to pull Midnighter into. If you're not sure, feel free to reach out, I'm [plurk.com profile] wehwalt or pel#5780 on discord.]
Edited 2017-10-07 14:02 (UTC)
hakanai: ([Uncovered] The quirk of his lips)

a.

[personal profile] hakanai 2017-10-07 03:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Midnighter is not the only one who feels the loss of their face covering. Yoshitsugu perhaps feels it even more; before he'd joined up with COST nobody had ever seen his full face with the exception, perhaps, of a few medical folk. Now everyone gets to see it.

His discomfort doesn't show, however. He seems completely calm when he comes across the child dangling in the air and raises a slender eyebrow. Dressed in the clothing of a civilian, with a phrygian cap perched on his head (more for the comfort of a hat than blending in), Yoshitsugu looks completely nonthreatening when he walks up and pats the failed pickpocket once on the shoulder.

"Perhaps the magic word is 'sorry.'" A short pause, and then he adds: "Or something more forward? I've heard plenty of colourful language and threats from the other children around here, there's plenty to choose from."

It's probably a joke. Probably. You wouldn't be able to tell from the look on his face, which is still calm and even.
thingpuncher: (face) (uhhhh no?)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-07 04:40 pm (UTC)(link)
"No," Midnighter says, more toward the child than the interloper. The computer calculates there's a 79% chance this guy is a fellow traveler, if only because Midnight can count the amount of Asians running around in Ancient France on one hand. Less than one hand.

The kid keeps staring between Midnighter and the this new guy in a red hat, wondering what's about to happen.

"The magic word is 'I'll do better next time.'" Midnighter grumbles. "Your hand's too heavy, I felt you right away. Way too conspicuous."
hakanai: ([Covered] Intense eyes)

[personal profile] hakanai 2017-10-07 06:09 pm (UTC)(link)
"At least if it's someone who is paying attention," adds Yoshitsugu. "Fortunately you didn't also lose your hand. There are better places to find enough to fill your belly."

He glances at Midnighter, smile widening just a fraction more, and then back at the child. Ah. Interesting.

"Don't try my pockets, either, because you'll only find strange horrors in those depths and even a light hand won't get past them. Those who have more to their name tend to be more careless about their belongings, hmm? Something to remember."

It's a somewhat charitable comment by his standards, even with the 'horrors' comment, but hey, this is a child, and Yoshitsugu remembers what it's like to have little to your name.

He does nothing to help free the child, however, choosing to simply wait.
thingpuncher: (face) (everybody wang chung tonight.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-07 06:17 pm (UTC)(link)
The child looks between them like they're crazy, which, fair. Midnighter rolls his eyes and drops the kid, who lands flat on his ass. He glares at Midnighter, makes a surprisingly crude gesture with his hands given that the little cherub can't be older than eight, and scampers away.

"Kids these days," Midnighter grumbles, because he heard someone say that once on TV. "Hope they don't cut off his fucking head." Or... whatever they do in this place. The 'cutting off heads' thing feels vaguely familiar, he must have seen it in a movie somewhere.

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trainwreckoning: (sigh)

A

[personal profile] trainwreckoning 2017-10-07 09:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Jacob is doing about the same thing as Midnighter, wandering and looking. He spots Midnighter about a second before the urchin tries to steal from him, and that- that was impressive. Jacob never caught the urchin that stole from him (stupid urchins. Stupid Clara.), but it's satisfying to see one of the little shits caught.

He walks up with a sigh, overhearing their conversation. "Not even a bit of cheek? The magic word is 'Excuse me, good sir. I tried to take your wallet, but I'm an embarrassing little amateur and got caught.'"

He leans down to eye level with the kid, turning sincere. "If you're not sure about the target's reflexes, test 'em first or use a distraction. Now this - " He holds up a bit of money in front of him. " - is yours if you meet me back here tonight. Five hours. Hopefully you're better at listening."

He pockets the money and stands, eyes going to Midnighter. "Do carry on, but I ask that he can still walk for my purposes."
thingpuncher: (mask) (i have a plan.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-07 11:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Midnighter sees Jacob coming, and a grin crinkles his face just slightly. IT's of the people he liked best from the shitty desert vacation. It's also definitely someone Midnighter never got around to taking his mask off for. He wonders if they guy'll recognize him.

He watches the little give and take between Jacob and the silent Gavroche impersonator, and the smile widens. Even better. The guy's got some serious flair. Nothing wrong with that.

He drops the kid, and the little urchin scurries off to wherever he came from. Midnighter turns to Jacob with a full on smile, teeth and all. "Racketeering is illegal, y'know." He doesn't sound particularly condemnatory.
trainwreckoning: (eleven)

[personal profile] trainwreckoning 2017-10-08 01:19 am (UTC)(link)
He recognizes that smile now, that tone of voice. "Midnighter," he says with far too much amusement and interest, smirking and looking him over quickly without thinking. It's interesting to see him like this. And... well, he can't deny that he's rough and handsome-looking like this.

But he waves that thought away. "If you think a gang leader is going to follow the law, you're quite mistaken."

He grins, though, happy to see that Midnighter made it here. "I think they actually managed to find some coffee, if you're interested."
thingpuncher: (face) (you know what a big nose means.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-08 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
Midnighter takes the hammer from his belt, mostly to idly fiddle with it. It's always good to have a weapon on hand. He grins, and the look of sharp, excited fondness on his face grows and grows as Jacob talks.

"We've just accosted a street urchin and entrapped him into a life of crime, and you're asking me on a date? You move fast."

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horsepowered: (x7. Surprised)

D

[personal profile] horsepowered 2017-10-08 01:08 am (UTC)(link)
Firearms are....interesting.

The work of reloading is not too different from reaching into a quiver and reloading arrow after arrow, the shots meant to be in rapid succession to the point where the entire process should be automatic. But Chiron has had a lifetime of practice with the bow, and as of now a good...thirty minutes. In that time he's managed about six shots, and while his aim was as good as ever, the rest left something to be desired.

"You could--" he started, when a hand suddenly butted into his work. He looked up, then decided that it was actually better to not argue about this.
thingpuncher: (face) (uhhhh no?)

Re: D

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-08 01:29 am (UTC)(link)
Midnighter takes the musket, loads the pistol in with a bit of gunpowder and cloth, and forces it down the musket's barrel with the ramrod. He clicks the flintcock, setting off a little spark that slowly begins to feed into the musket.

"So, when you're at this stage, you've only got a few seconds to aim."

He frowns, brow crinkling, and twitches the musket in the air without looking. It fires, and not far off, a fat pigeon falls dead to the ground.

"You, uh, aim by looking down the barrel. Usually."

He just... forgot.
horsepowered: (x2. Centaur mode)

[personal profile] horsepowered 2017-10-08 01:49 am (UTC)(link)
"The aim isn't the problem, actually," Chiron said, his eyes lingering on the pigeon. Hopefully someone will enjoy a meal, as the bird is rather on the chubby side.

His gaze then returns to the musket, and gestures to the whole thing. "Reloading is taking more time than I'd like."
thingpuncher: (face) (upstanding citizen.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-08 03:26 am (UTC)(link)
Midnighter, inveterate showoff, is already reloading the thing. "Practice makes perfect. Or just carry around like ten loaded muskets. I'm sure the quartermaster won't mind." Midnighter rolls his eyes.

"Wouldn't you be better off in the medical tent, doc?"

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acchakat: seethesoldiers @ insanejournal (Than to be fuckin' with you)

d-ish but mostly e

[personal profile] acchakat 2017-10-08 02:39 am (UTC)(link)
Drogo does not like this. He dislikes how everyone forms a neat line, and he especially dislikes what they wear. It's tight, uncomfortable--there is no hides, no grass, just cotton and far too constricting. He is a broad shouldered men, and these sleeves were meant for someone skinnier.

He wears his hair in a braid and bells in his hair, still, but he has shoved a tricorder onto his head all the same. Mostly it's to stop the woman from saying anything else in the crass, strange language he does not know but somehow has learned. He cannot kill her, but he can wish.

Drogo's watching the men prepare their sticks made of fire, lips curling into a snarl the moment anyone approaches him. Someone nearby helps another--square jaw, blue eyes, hair that reminds him of the Lamb Men--and he makes a rumbling noise of disapproval low in his throat.

"Weak," He says simply. It's difficult to tell if he means the helper or the help-ee.
Edited (did not mean to use a sexy icon) 2017-10-08 02:39 (UTC)
thingpuncher: (face) (bar crawl with a homocidal maniac.)

lmk if this is 2 much.

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-08 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
Midnighter likes a challenge. Mostly, though, he likes being an ass. He sees the guy observing them-- he can't not, the dude is built like a barn and twice as angry-- and quickly forms a plan. The computer gives him the schematics he needs. It's all in working order.

"Watch this," Midnighter says to the recruit he was helping. And then he lights the musket, holds it over his shoulder so it points backward, and fires in Drogo's direction. The musket ball goes right through Drogo's hat, making a nice little hole in one of the folded corners, but not a hair on his head is harmed.

Midnighter turns his head to look back over his shoulder, providing Drogo with an incredibly shit-eating grin. "How's that for weak?"
acchakat: seethesoldiers @ insanejournal (Bitch I don't give a fuck about you)

it's beautiful i'm gonna cry :')

[personal profile] acchakat 2017-10-09 05:53 am (UTC)(link)
The stone arrow hits, and Drogo's gaze shifts from the musket and quickly to the hat. He plucks it off his head with loosely bandaged hands--not from practice; it's another Dothraki tradition he refuses to let go of--and he examines the hole.

Clean through.

Drogo's gaze zeroes in on Midnighter at once, and he rises, striding towards him without so much as a blink.

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handtowels: (discontent ❄ bitter)

c; between this and b it was a hard choice

[personal profile] handtowels 2017-10-08 11:52 am (UTC)(link)
Takatora is doing his best to make himself useful, and being both tall and strong, physical labour is one of the ways in which he can help. He's in the middle of securing a load that's come loose on one of the supply carts when it suddenly lurches into motion, heralded by Midnighter's cry.

"Gah...!"

Only a reflexive grab keeps him from toppling off of the cart.

As soon as his balance recovers he scrambles to finish his work before they loose anything and then clambers over the supplies, trying to get a good look at the new driver. He's none too pleased when he yells, "What's going on?!"
thingpuncher: (face) (he looks like fucking cassidy.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-08 01:24 pm (UTC)(link)
"High speed chase!" Is Midnighter's instinctive reply. The white horse speeding out ahead of them, saddled with a man in Prussian military uniform, is still pretty far ahead, but they're gaining, inch by fucking inch. There's too much shit on this cart, too much dead weight, and it's slowing them down. He can already see how tired the horse is getting.

"Help or jump off!"
handtowels: (certain ❄ focus)

[personal profile] handtowels 2017-10-08 02:43 pm (UTC)(link)
"What—"

But then Takatora sees the Prussian, and his blue eyes widen.

Shit.

They can't risk losing or damaging their supplies unless it's dire.

"Give me a moment!"

If he uses his musou when he jumps off then he can avoid injury, but he'll need time to gather the energy. Instead, Takatora stands the best he can for a better view, waits a few more yards, quickly glancing around to make sure no one else can see, then focuses.

The French could use that horse — it would be a waste to kill it unnecessarily.

Ice bursts out of the ground under the white horse's hooves. No more than an inch thick, difficult to see and treacherous ground to gallop across. The horse looses its footing, slips and both horse and rider crash to the ground. The now frightened horse panics, struggling violently to get back up and neighing in terror. The Prussian, if they've not already been, will need some luck to avoid getting crushed.

Now's your chance, Midnighter.

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alsohawkeye: (spidey sense is tingling)

b

[personal profile] alsohawkeye 2017-10-08 03:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Just for a second, Kate's worried she's been found out. She knows the tune of La Marseillaise, who doesn't? and she can kind of hum along and fake it, but she doesn't know the words like any true patriot would. What happens if she gets caught? Will COST help get her out of being hung as a spy? Is it hung or hanged? It's hanged, isn't it-- wait.

A couple things click together at once and she's pretty much already rolling her eyes by the time she's turned far enough around to confirm that, yep, she recognizes that face. She's dressed like a civilian and doing her best to pass as a young man, though her best pretty much consists of men's clothes, a tri-cornered hat tugged low to shade her face, and crossed fingers. She helpfully tips her head up to make sure Midnighter can see her flat expression.

"You again." But then there's one more piece to click into place here. Brows draw together and then one rises, sharply arched. "Wait, is that Les Mis? Did you seriously just quote Les Mis at me? Wow, I had you pegged as like a...whatever-the-opposite-of-that-is kind of guy. Death metal? Really obnoxious techno?"
thingpuncher: (face) (bar crawl with a homocidal maniac.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-08 03:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Midnighter's expression brightens into cocky delight; he was fucking around, but she still caught him straight up. A computer in his brain means his memory is perfect for lyrics and shit, whether or not he likes the song in question, but that's hardly something he's going to point out when her assessment of him is so hilariously jumbled.

"I thought the stereotype was that we liked musicals." So far, that's the most obtuse way he's ever outed himself (then again, he usually outs himself with a polite invitation to break in the bed at his place; not exactly an option here, for several pretty obvious reasons). "Nice to see you too, Arrows."
alsohawkeye: (pic#7273503)

[personal profile] alsohawkeye 2017-10-21 05:46 pm (UTC)(link)
"What?" Kate doesn't get it right away because yeah, that is kind of a weird time and place to out himself. She'll put it together at some point. For now, she smiles back and assumes 'we' means 'New Yorkers' because he seems like one. (It's a compliment!) She shrugs, "I mean I guess we kind of do? But it's almost never worth having to go to Times Square." Ugh.

"Anyway, hi. I guess you survived the horse after all." For all the bickering last time and that look she gave him a second ago, she seems reasonably pleased to see him now. Familiar faces and all that. "Having fun?"

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rappels: (pic#11765245)

kind of a mostly e

[personal profile] rappels 2017-10-09 03:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Aloy very quickly decides she's not a fan of this.

She thought she was good at blending in, and now that she remembers why she's here, she's not nearly as hesitant to do so. However, when she'd signed up to save the world (again, thanks) and the importance of not drawing attention to yourself was mentioned, she'd envisioned a very different context. She was good at slinking through brush, not drawing attention as she readied a strong arrow, and even the most alert of machines would miss her presence.

Not, you know, wearing clothing that absolutely hinders that.

She's uncomfortable in these clothes they've been given, because she's fairly certain she's never worn a dress in her life, but even worse, wearing the... cage around her midsection makes it impossible to breathe properly. She hadn't let them tighten it to the "proper" level, because she refused to be hindered any more than she had to, but still, all she can think is how ridiculous it is. How is she supposed to fight in this?

She sees Midnighter as she's pulling uncomfortably at the corset's edge, and of course she doesn't recognize him, at least assuming he was wearing that mask when they met last. If he wasn't, just ignore the previous part of that sentence, but at least it also doesn't really matter. Aloy half laughs humorlessly, then nods to him as she looks at his hair.

"That's a giveaway," she comments dryly, but it's not clear whether she sees the irony here or not. Her own hair is pretty much a giveaway too, since she has far too much of it to try and pass as a boy, and she's too stubborn to take up the local style for now. Her thick hair with braids and beads is definitely not the style du jour.
thingpuncher: (face) (adult human with opinions.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-09 04:24 pm (UTC)(link)
He wasn't wearing a mask, no, but his face was pretty comprehensively (and purposefully) hidden by the black fabrics of his turban, veil, and random bits of cloth he'd kept loose and hanging over the rest of him. Now, face uncovered, eyes bright, haircut ridiculous, he looks like a sans-culotte with mange.

So, fair point.

"I can do a lot of things, kid," he says, after the urchin's scurried away. "Growing my hair at will isn't one of them."
rappels: (pic#11734825)

[personal profile] rappels 2017-10-09 04:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"Oh," she says first as she recognizes him from his voice, though her tone in itself says a lot. It's not completely unfriendly, but it's not really a warm recognition either. She definitely remembers him, but mostly how difficult he had been, albeit helpful. But the latter part feels like something she doesn't want to admit.

"It's you. I didn't recognize you without the—" Aloy motions to her own face, since she doesn't know what to call what he'd been wearing. It was practical, she knew, but she hadn't quite picked up the name from the Shadow Carja when she went to visit their city in the desert. She kind of had other things on her mind at the time. Her posture shifts as she crosses her arms, and she nods to someone nearby.

"Not a fan of the ridiculous hats?"

Clearly, she isn't either. Fashion isn't exactly something she cares about, so most everything about what the people here wear doesn't really make sense to her.

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