Aegon "Jon Snow" Targaryen (
northerndragon) wrote in
agogelogs2018-04-04 08:43 pm
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[OPEN] The Glass Spider Had Blue Eyes Almost Like A Human's
WHO? Jon Snow, Ghost, and... maybe you?
WHAT? Spider-time Training, Fish Exploration, Direwolf Meet and Greets, Birch Story Grind Sessions, etc.
WHEN? Backdated into late March and forward-dated up to the launch of the Jhashch Mission in mid-April.
ANYTHING ELSE? This network post. Also, everything is OTA whether or not I marked it OTA, unless it's very specifically marked closed.
WHAT? Spider-time Training, Fish Exploration, Direwolf Meet and Greets, Birch Story Grind Sessions, etc.
WHEN? Backdated into late March and forward-dated up to the launch of the Jhashch Mission in mid-April.
ANYTHING ELSE? This network post. Also, everything is OTA whether or not I marked it OTA, unless it's very specifically marked closed.
[For those who haven't met him: Jon is of middling height, slender and well-muscled, with longish, curling black hair and warm dark eyes, sometimes lively and sometimes sad. He speaks with a broad and pronounced Northern accent, which in real-world terms sounds like an English accent from Yorkshire or thereabouts.]
GHOST - OTA
II. WILDCARD
III. CLOSED TO ROOMMATES/VISITORS
iii
He seems to consider for a half-second before he speaks.
"The capsule's half mine. Your pet doesn't get to call the shots."
The truth is that he has no real problem with pets--but this is his residence too, and 76 is not one to tiptoe around an animal, even one that looks like it could very easily maul him. 76 isn't hostile when he says it, and it sounds more like a statement of fact than anything else. He's got no plans to stick a hand between the wolf and its food, but he most certainly will make it clear from the very beginning that he isn't interested in having his room life dictated by what a pet likes or doesn't like.
There's the sound of him pushing his way through the door to his quarters, followed by the sound of a bag hitting the bed.
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"He's not a pet. But aye, the capsule is half yours. It's just that his breakfast is all his."
And he was expecting Henry, though still not sure why there had been any change in rooms at all. Jon doesn't sound any more hostile or defensive than his roommate does: if anything, he sounds weary. It's a pleasure to have Ghost around, but it's also a worry; it's already clear that there are other animals about, animals that Ghost would hunt if he were in the Haunted Forest or the Wolfswood.
"And I wasn't expecting to find him here."
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Not a pet indicates that there's some lack of control here, and he imagines he's going to be feeling out this relationship
76's door is open, revealing the pile of 'gifts' on his bed--clothes, some equipment, a few bottles of what must be alcohol, and a very large rifle. He goes for the gun first, not out of an intent to be intimidating, but because it's the most important object he's been given, and his first thought is to make sure it hasn't been tampered with.
As such, it takes him a moment to realize that Jon is still standing in the hall.
"He just show up?"
Worrying!
guess who lost the notif!
"He did. Can't say I was sorry to see him, though. I raised him from a pup.
"That your rifle? It doesn't look like the ones at Gallipoli."
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WILDERNESS SCOUTS - OTA
THANKS I HATE IT // AETHERIAN SPHINX
Still, if he seems wary here, it's because he is. And Ghost is too: the direwolf moves silently among the spare white woods and rocks, his feet not even crunching in the snow, but there's something watchful in his posture, in the way he glances from side to side, or his ears perk and he looks behind him.
The pair of them have already brought back one dead sphinx.
Jon keeps his voice low when he speaks -- confidential, in the hope that the things won't learn his voice to mimic him.
"It's been a while since I've been somewhere this bloody cold. That Prompto… did he really say his feet left the ground around here?"
DRAGOKEETS IN MY HAIR
He doesn't know whether it's that they don't like the sort of food BASE offers or he hasn't hit on the right thing yet, but there's no way of getting it down, and his attempts to get it to fly back up into a tree have gone... well, it's obvious how they've gone. The dragokeet now knows the word tree in the common tongue. Grasping at it does no good: it pecks at him, eludes him, and pulls his hair, making him wince.
He looks about as happy about this as he feels. Help him out?
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He isn't sure what he expected, but seeing Jon versus a dragonkeet keen on making Jon's hair a home is most certainly not something that had been on the list. Temporarily at a loss for words, he takes a moment to simply drink in the entire scene before him.
"Oh dear," he finally manages, trotting over towards Jon. There's no question of do you need help the real issue is how do I help? "There's no particular food in the area that we know these fellows eat, is there?"
Distracting it with food and then fleeing is perhaps obvious, but it may work.
WAIT DOES HE HAVE HORSEBUTT NOW???
Jon would look up at the creature if it weren't physically impossible. Now that he's distracted from trying to gently tug it out of his hair, it sits happily in the middle of the top of his head, and drapes its tail over his forehead, and begins to groom a lock of his hair.
"But I'm glad to see you." He looks it -- he looks relieved at the offer of assistance. "I'm not sure anyone will be able to tug him out without some of my hair going with him."
This isn't even why he started tying it back, but it makes him think that tying it back again after today might be a good idea.
HE DO MY APOLOGIES FOR NOT SPECIFYING
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MUSIC (FISH OR BASE)
"What in seven hells is that noise?"
He doesn't seem angry, just baffled and curious.
(And others may be curious about the origins of "seven hells," come to that.)
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Just beyond BASE, is where Jon could have pinpointed it. The words aren't said in any particular way, but the tone is dry and steady. No matter how loud the music is blaring (and it is quite loud), the individual speaking isn't putting in much effort to be heard. It doesn't matter all that much to him, it would appear, the way he's sitting side-saddle on the hover bike and idly smoking a crumpled cigarette, no doubt taken from the trenches. If he means to inform Jon on why he's corrected him, Ryo isn't forthcoming about it. Dante's been on his mind lately, more than he has a right to be on anyone's. He'd wonder what circle this organization would be considered, but Ryo has more to contemplate than that.
Still, even though he speaks, Ryo keeps careful track of the other who has come to join him, eyes sharp and wary from beneath the dark of his lashes. He takes a slow drag of the cigarette, the cherry an unnatural point of warm, rich light against the boreal landscape. When he exhales, the question curls through his fingers like the thin, gray smoke. "Have you never heard of The Checkers?"
Not that it would surprise Ryo if he didn't. Ryo's learned not to be surprised by much these days. Surprise is an opening, a momentary lowering of the armor. And Ryo? Ryo couldn't afford anything.
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The young man is a little younger than Jon, fair-haired but with the look of some of the other recruits. He's smoking, something Jon had done as little as possible in the trenches, not liking the taste of the air or the way it could make a target of a man at night. Why do it now? And his tone is bland and low in a way that doesn't suit the look in his eyes.
"Missing two what? And no, I've never heard of The Checkers. What are they checking?"
It's not a joke, or he would have followed it with Whether or not anyone can hear them? But maybe his bafflement won't come as a surprise: most of the clothes he's wearing are ones from home, including the heavy armored leather brigandine and the plate gorget, and a sword and dagger are belted at his waist. They don't know what they'll face out here; it seems stupid to go out less armed than he otherwise might, and he trusts Longclaw more than he trusts the guns they've been given, though he has that, too.
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explaining things to dedicated medieval cosplayers: the motion picture
WILDCARD
JHASHCH CULTURAL TRAINING - OTA
DINING
In other words, the Araneans will respect him more -- be less likely to eat him -- if he behaves like a king.
The trouble is that while Jon was taught the manners of his father's House when he was a boy, he's spent very little time with his own court as a king, and even when he had, the habit of letting his gaze fall to the tabletop or stray contemplatively to the fire at mealtimes had stayed with him. And Northerners have never stood on ceremony much: respect for a lord, yes, but not ceremony, not like southrons. He can learn new titles, can try to pronounce names carefully in spite of his strong accent, but it's harder for him to resist slipping into his own introversion. His time in the Watch, where most men had rougher manners than any lord, reinforced the habit.
After the fifth glitter bomb in one meal, Jon looks at the little dactyl droid with murder in his eyes.
"I'm losing my appetite." Then, more calmly, to whoever is nearby, "I know what purpose this is meant to serve for us. What does it serve for them?"
He means the spiders.
DANCING
He can dance. He even has some skill at it, some lightness and grace, at least when it comes to the dances they're learning for the next mission.
His partner of the moment, however, may be a different story.
"No, light on the right foot when you're stepping forward," he says. "With a little hop. Like this."
And he demonstrates.
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By the time she'd spied Jon and tugged him onto the dance floor, it was five times and her mood had turned sour. Glitter hangs off her in every imaginable place: her hair, her face, even her eyelashes. If they found a way up her nostrils, she'd be unsurprised. Rather an unfortunate thing, but at least her dress is the sort that is easily cleaned, the black one from Meereen.
"This is ridiculous," she says in response, watching him hop. "I've not once seen Irriella perform in this way. We're not puppets, Jon."
Her droid wheels closer, and she spins on it, holding a finger up. "Do not. Do you see your companion?" A gesture to the droid still in the wall, courtesy of Mordred. "I promise your fate will be far worse."
Pow! "You have been consumed!"
...
And now there is glitter in her mouth. Lovely.
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Still, she's beautiful.
"You raised Irriella... they didn't," he points out, flexing his foot, preparing to show her what comes next. "I wasn't born knowing how to dance. And this will stand you in good stead, when--"
She turns on the droid, then, and a moment later, some of the glitter from the latest cloud has gotten on him. He watches her with a sympathetic expression as she tries to push it out of her mouth.
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"groce couple vibes" -- elizabeth
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FIGHTING PRACTICE
He's good with a sword, excels at the dueling practice they've all been set to, good with a spear, good with shields and bows and arrows, but sword fighting is what he's practicing now -- with the big spider droid, trying to get used to its movements and the way they differ from the feints and swings of violent men. He means to avoid fighting the spiders if he can, but if he can't, he wants to be ready.
It's not going well so far. Cutting a leg off is all well and good when it's one of two, less so when there are seven left and something like a lightning bolt barely misses the spot where you stand. The next one doesn't miss, and then it's the jewel-like shimmer of false death all over him again. How is he supposed to keep his hair neat if this is always in it?
"Time for a rest." Then, he looks at the other person in the room, wondering if they're quite as dead as he is, quite as many times in a row. "Have you ever done anything like this before? Someone's death shouldn't be an amusement for others."
*DUELING* PRACTICE
But it's still more skill with this sort of sword than most people will expect of him, and when practicing at duels, it's rare for him to be doused with any glitter at all. He's an encouraging, helpful opponent. "Hold your head up," he says, or "Keep your arm straight. It's not a heavy sword: you have to be strong enough to handle it."
When he has a rapier in his hand and isn't using it -- as part of his arm, as part of his mind -- sometimes he looks at it strangely. Any interest at all may get him explaining what the narrow little sword reminds him of -- or who.
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She shook her head, pushing herself out of that memory and dark passage. She had asked to be trained, wanting to at least have a basic knowledge. In theory, it was a good idea, but every time she picked up the sword, she felt her hands shaking and a small voice whispered in the back of her mind that she had no business doing this.
Always the voice sounded like her mother.
"Like this?" She raised her head higher, purposefully lifting her chin in the air to tease him.
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The feeling that he shouldn't be doing this, that Robb should be here, is still a little with Jon, but if Robb ever returns, he probably won't appreciate it if his wife hasn't gotten any better at handling a sword... and Daenerys seems to feel almost as obligated to look after Jeyne.
"You want to be sure to keep your balance."
You want to try not to have to fight any of them, he thinks. "It might be that if one of them wants to fight, you should send me out to do it." With a quick shake of his head, he adds, "It's not the style Ser Rodrik taught us. Did Robb ever speak of him?"
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WILDCARD
BIRCH STORY
A little while later, for no reason that will be discernible to others unless they ask, it changes to this: