[OPEN] & [CLOSED]

[numerouno]

WHO: Scaramouche (numerouno) & you! Yes, YOU!
WHAT: Two open prompts for the beginning of August! Any closed starters will be in here.
WHERE: Bowling Alley or Graveyard or ???
WHEN: Early August (at least for now)
WARNINGS: N/A, will edit later if need be. Please check his permissions page for character warnings!

--

[Once upon a time, the brick in his pocket--his new (ancient) phone--was a novelty. Can you imagine it?

He'd hear that ding! and pull up the screen with anticipation, see each post play out, watch the answers roll in. Now all he does is skim it--and if it doesn't grab his attention, skip it. He's always on the lookout for new info, and it beats a lot of other ways of passing the time, but he knows better than to listen to a broken record or keep his eyes on something when it's doing nothing for him.

One day, something finally does capture his undivided attention. He doesn't just skim it; he reads it over and over. No, it's not the post about people killing each other. He owes it to Anonymous. Oh, the mystery! But he doesn't care who wrote it.

There's something he's gotta check.]
*

I. BOWLING ALLEY

[But first...

The bowling alley is just down the road. That tidbit about a "shadow" has earned it a visitor.

It's not the first time he's stepped into the place. He swung by for its 'opening day'--if you wanna call it that--and quickly gave up hope of finding anything in the way of a clue after a once-over didn't shed any light on things, just like the info center that came before it. Since then, he guesses there's been talk of a 'shadow' somewhere in here. He missed that part.

Until now.

He enters and a cursory glance tells him nothing's changed. It's still as unremarkable as the day it appeared. A change of scenery, if you're looking for it, one way of adding a bit of color to your day, but that's about all it has going for it.

Scaramouche moves on leisurely steps, inspecting things in much the same way he did on his first visit, only this time his glowing eyes are drawn to the back wall. He weaves a path around the chairs and stops to stand at the end of a lane and stare down the length of it.

Watching.

Waiting.]

II. GRAVEYARD

[Scaramouche stands before several rows of dilapidated graves.

He smiles. It takes a single practiced motion to dip his hand into a pocket and draw his flute from his coat. With his eyes set on the graves and his flute at the ready, it's go time.

Out comes a jaunty tune. The fast-paced jazz melody, improvised yet so smooth, fills the silence. The corners of his smile curve further upward. Oh, would ya dig that crazy sound! It lifts his mood higher with every note. But it's not long before another feeling hits him.

Something's wrong.

Frowning against the lip plate, his optics widen, rounded with concern, but he keeps playing. His magic--... He can feel it, it's there, but it won't flow through his instrument. It can't.

Thanks for the tip-off, Anonymous. So much for proving them wrong. Looks like he falls under this "capped powers" business too.]


[[ooc: Will match format! Prose or brackets is fine by me. Hmu on plurk/PM this journal if you'd like to do something else!]]

Comments

III. CLOSED to Vanessa Ives

[numerouno]

[It's the same old song and dance, and it goes a little something like this:

First he picks a time to get some shut-eye. It can be the middle of the day or the dead of the night; he likes to mix it up.

Next he has to find a place to do it. Sometimes it's a place he's stayed before; that usually happens when he's overdone it and gone beyond his body's new limitations, and he doesn't want to waste time scouting for a new spot. Lately, it's because he's decided he likes some spots better than others.

Scaramouche always changes up the route he takes through the city, day in, day out. That's not just restlessness talking; it's habit. Tonight, the end of that route is by the park. It's been dark out for a while by now. ("This is when cities are meant to come to life," he grouses, not for the first time.) Up the stairs and round a bend he goes, looking for the apartment at the end of the--

He stops in his tracks, glowing eyes widening in surprise. A woman--human, of course, it should go without saying at this point--steps out of the room he was heading for. This floor is always empty when he comes around.]

grayeyard

[partofmyreligion]

[Why is he here? Who knows. Searching for more information, trying to find a magical 'exit sign' or a ship that will take him far away. So far nothing. But he does stumble across--

the guy from the party.

He pauses, arms crossing over his chest.]

You play music too?

[matermali]

[ Late as it is, Vanessa expects most in the City to be well asleep. There are always a few outliers, and she tends to find them eventually, but she isn't expecting one the moment she steps out of the room. There's nothing in there to reveal anyone has even been staying there, given she changes places every night and still barely sleeps.

She has met many who have an uncommon appearance by now, but to find someone with metal skin and glowing eyes actually gives her pause. It isn't the sort of thing that immediately makes one think 'demon', yet there is something else about him that makes her feel she ought to keep a distance. Whatever it is churns at the Thing inside of her, that something wants to reach out and touch the darkness, and for that reason Vanessa moves no closer. ]

...Good evening.

[ Yes, she truly is confused, and her gaze remains sharp no matter how weary her bones are. ]

[numerouno]

[Old forgotten headstones, some so worn they're barely legible, some tossed aside and others cracked and crumbling with age. The boneyard is the closest to rubble and ruin you can find in The City; it was the obvious choice for a testing ground.

Try as he might, no combination of notes and intention are making these slabs get up and dance. No matter how lively the song, his magic and his flute can't find harmony.

But the music doesn't stop. Scaramouche is hooked on it! What he had his mind set on is set aside for just a moment, the jazz lilting and swaying and slowing a little, and he's smiling again. It's been a while since he played.

Then someone's talking. He didn't notice he wasn't alone anymore. Surprise subsiding, he lowers his instrument and grins as he turns to face him.]

Don't you know it's rude to interrupt a number?

[partofmyreligion]

[He shrugs a shoulder at the question. Truth be told, he hadn't quite thought that far ahead.]

I didn't mean to distract you. I just-- didn't know you played.

[Why would a droid play music in a cemetery? Or at all?]

Why here?

[numerouno]

[See, now that it's edging closer to two months since he got here, he isn't used to this, this cautious look being aimed at him right now.

It all changed when he lost his blades to whatever force landed him on that train. Now when he takes any notice of people, and they're taking notice of him, he sees their focus is on his height more than anything else. It makes sense, this being a city full of humans (let's face it, they don't have much going for them in that department; he's probably the tallest out of everyone here), but in the not-so-distant past, what he usually saw on a human's face was suspicion, fear--

--or caution, like what's going on in front of him. Only this time, he's not carrying swords.

Whatever the reason, he's not fazed. But he does expect her to hurry past him to leave, so when he catches on that she's not about to do that, he smiles amiably.]

Is this a stand-off?

[numerouno]

Name a quieter scene than a boneyard, babe.

[That isn't it. It is true that he wanted to practice his magic without being seen doing so. But no, the real reason is all this decaying stone around them. On a normal day at a normal time and place, his musical magic could make it move.]

Well? Any leads?

[He trusts the man knows what he's talking about.]

[partofmyreligion]

Isn't the point of music to be heard?

[He can't say this guy seems like the shy type. He seems like he probably likes attention quite a bit, actually.]

Not yet. I'm still working on it. How about you? Anything you want to share?

[matermali]

[ The question gives her further pause. It isn't what a normal person would ask, especially in response to a 'simple' greeting, but how silly to even think of the word 'normal' in these circumstances. Likely she isn't aware of just how intensely she's staring at him. Rarely is Vanessa left unable to find her words, but this is one of those times where she must steady herself before she can know how to respond.

Her bag is held in both hands, as if it alone could protect her from whatever this creature might attempt, but despite the caution there is no outright fear. Quite the opposite, in fact, which is the very thing that makes her wary.

Vanessa feels something as much as Amunet does, and she is hesitant to give it a name. Names are power, after all. ]

That depends on what you are doing here.

[numerouno]

Sure, if there's an audience worth playing for.

[If that sounds like a jab and like he doesn't have a high opinion of the people here, that's because it is and he doesn't. Next question.]

Nada. But I'll tell ya one thing, babe: we might get somewhere once we figure out the trick behind those disappearing acts.

[partofmyreligion]

It would be a start.

[He can't disagree with that. If they knew where people disappeared to, or what was setting up all the weird happenings in this city...

It would be a very good start.]

But I'm coming up cold there as well. Whoever is running this... they planned things out.

[numerouno]

[This isn't the first time one of his winning smiles has failed to hit the mark. You win some, you lose some! He'd make better work of breaking the ice if he knew why the ice was there in the first place--or so he thinks.]

Enjoying the view, same as you? Oh wait, [now he gets it], that room's occupato now?

[He's not challenging her on it, and just to make that point, his friendly smile doesn't falter.]

No point hangin' around, then.

[He turns to leave.]