JUMP TO MONTHLY PROMPT ↓
A TRAIN COMES INTO THE STATION.
You wake up on a train.
Your phone is buzzing. It's in your pocket, in your hand, on the seat next to you. It's a normal phone, and you're on a normal train car. One of the lights flickers, a little further down. The world is very quiet. It feels like you're right where you're meant to be. On the phone's surface is a white screen and the words—
WELCOME TO THE CITY. BEGIN ORIENTATION?
▶ NO
Please take a moment to complete your orientation.
Once you're finished, the subway doors slide open to let you out onto the train platform. To your right, the platform continues on and eventually ends; to the left is a set of stairs that will lead you up into the station itself. The platform is quiet, clean, empty—there's no one else around, and the only sounds you can hear are your own footsteps, your own breaths, and the occasional faraway sound of a creaking pipe or rush of air. The train you disembarked will stay there as long as you do, its doors still open, until you finally decide to venture up into this new locale.
As you make your way up the stairs to your left, you find yourself in the belly of City Hall station. The station is large, a sprawling underground mini-metropolis of corridors and storefronts. Here, you may find others like you, freshly-arrived city residents from other realms (or even your own). There is also a subway map, which will give you an idea of the layout of the neighborhood, and ticketing machines, which can currently only be used to buy tickets to a handful of stations located on lines 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 9.
If you're hungry or in need of any kind of supplies, there are plenty of storefronts inside the subway station as well—snack stands, convenience stores, restaurants, clothing stores, a pharmacy, and a variety of empty shops that may or may not have ever been in use. Everything is unlocked, and you can take whatever you need.
Characters may stay on the train platform indefinitely, and may re-board and re-disembark from the subway as many times as they like, but the train will not depart nor will the doors close. Once they go up the stairs into the train station, they may hear the train doors closing and the train departing. Another train will not arrive, no matter how long the character waits. Only once they come up the stairs into the station itself may characters encounter their fellow newly-arrived residents and take advantage of what the city has to offer.
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WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD.
The station is located in the city center. It has three major exits that lead to areas of interest in the district, but there are several other smaller exits that lead in other directions around the neighborhood. You are welcome to use any of them, but may find the north, southwest, and east exits to be the most welcoming.
TO THE NORTH
The northern entrance to the station leads up into the sunlight and puts you out in a brickwork plaza. There's a modest building in front of you, three or four stories of stone with a welcoming facade. There's a sign above the entryway—it says City Hall. You may be tempted to explore, if you're interested in learning more about the city and how it functions, but prepare to find yourself disappointed—the folders in the records rooms are full of empty, blank sheets of paper, and the logbooks and balance sheets are similarly devoid of information.
Immediately to the southwest of City Hall, you will find a small building that houses the tourist information kiosk. It looks welcoming, with an inviting glass facade and a sign above the entryway announcing it as the "TOURIST CENTER." It's a humble building with a receptionist's desk on the back wall opposite the entrance, empty magazine shelves lining the side walls, and a few spinning brochure racks full of blank pamphlets. Anyone is welcome to peruse the tourist literature, though they won't offer much information, being primarily filled with pictures of the surrounding area—City Hall, the park, a statue garden, and the surprisingly heavily-featured cemetery. There are a few sentences sprinkled throughout about basic offerings of the city, such as apartment complexes and office buildings, as well as a few maps with the same limited scope as the larger version on the wall behind the receptionist's desk.
The main feature of the tourist center is the interactive kiosk installed dead in the center, right in the middle of a few rows of uncomfortable chairs that fill the small room. It's noticeably in the way of any would-be foot traffic through the tourist center, and something about the technology seems a little more modern than the computer behind the desk or the landline phone on the wall. The kiosk is a tall silver rectangle, about average adult height, and the upper half is a screen welcoming visitors to touch it to activate the kiosk. If you were to touch it, the screen would come to life with simple dialogue inviting visitors to ask it their questions.
However, residents should note that the kiosk is only programmed to assist with exploration within the available areas of the city. It may not be able to answer every question, and tampering with the kiosk may result in unreliable or inaccurate answers!
TO THE SOUTHWEST
The western exit of the station takes you up into a city park, lush and green with a very light fog still hanging about the trees. There are lampposts on the walkways and benches where you could rest, and plenty of flora, although you can neither see nor hear any signs of animal life. You walk the paths that meander idly through the verdant grass and you feel a sense of peace, some of your unease about this place easing into a pleasant calm. The air smells fresh, like it's recently rained, and you'll find the grass ever so slightly damp should you decide to take a seat.
As you make your way deeper into the park, the trees grow denser and the smell of soil and plant life grows stronger. This is the older part of the park, very nearly a forest, with ivy climbing the trunks of the trees and plants and shrubs growing riotously around their bases. As you turn a corner, you find yourself first in the statue garden, although the statues are harder to see now, choked as they are with ivy. There are many statues, some partially obscured, some fully—very few of them still stand free of the vines and clinging roots. (It doesn't feel quite as peaceful here.) If a statue's face looks a little bit familiar, you may not want to look at it too long.
Continue down the path and you will find yourself in a graveyard, one that seems centuries old. Most of the headstones are worn away by time and covered in moss, rendering them impossible to read. The few that are free of moss are blank, or bear only suggestions of names too faint to be understood. (Was that the name of—no, it couldn't have been. Could it?) Many of the headstones stand at an angle or are toppled over completely, having been subjected to either strong winds or the roots of the trees that grow up from some of the graves, spreading branches toward the sky.
TO THE EAST
The final exit of the station, to the east, puts you out on a quiet surface street. Are you hungry? Or are you paralyzed by choice? There are plenty of restaurants, offering options of almost any food you can imagine. You could try a convenience store—it's well stocked, and the items there seem free for the taking. How about a restaurant? There's no one to take your order, but when you look in the kitchen, there's something on the stove, and it's just what you've been craving. Imagine that.
A few blocks down, you come in through the lobby of a tall building and find yourself in a corporate office. The fluorescent lights are steady and unforgiving, and the cubicles and offices are empty. There are a few pieces of paper on desks, a few folders left in organizers, but everything is perfectly blank. Despite how empty and quiet the office is, it nonetheless gives you the feeling that just a few minutes ago, this place was bustling with workers going about their daily business.
You enter another building and find yourself in the lobby of an apartment complex—finally, a place to rest. The first door you try opens easily into a completely empty living room, freshly vacuumed but without a single piece of furniture. It's a nice apartment, quiet, but with a little too much echo for your taste, maybe. Still, and perhaps oddly, you have no trouble envisioning what life here would be like.
The second door you open leads to an apartment that feels lived-in. Why does it feel lived-in? It's fully furnished with items that seem to go together perfectly, true, but the feeling is more than that—the room feels like someone was just here, maybe standing right in the kitchen only moments before you swung the door open. The air is a perfectly comfortable temperature, and it somehow smells like home despite that you've never once set foot here before. The refrigerator is stocked, and the cabinets are full of spices and flatware and kitchen utensils.
As you look around the living room, you find that there are pictures in frames on the walls and some of the flat surfaces—a seascape, a field, a shot of a city park bench. In each of the photos there's something just slightly wrong with the angle, as though the photographer were aiming for a subject that can no longer be seen.
Characters are welcome to explore the district around the City Hall subway station to their heart's content. The City Hall building itself contains several floors of offices and file rooms, but none of them contain any particularly interesting information. Nonetheless, characters may wish to team up with other newcomers and try to find some hints about the nature of the city. They can also spend a while in the park, the statue garden, or the graveyard. In the blocks surrounding the station there are plenty of options for food and housing, as well as office buildings, storefronts, and alleyways to look around. There are no workers in any of the buildings, and there does not seem to be an honor system for payment, nor any consequences for taking food from the stores or setting up camp in an apartment or office building.
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THE POISON'S IN THE DETAILS.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Monthly prompt includes the potential for body horror, including: mold or fungus; spores; and hanahaki-like symptoms. It also includes the potential for violence, mutilation, or death. Please label potentially triggering content in subject headers and interact responsibly with threads!
With the cacophony of the fun fair now gone, packed up and sent away for another year, the southern half of the park is now empty. That doesn't mean that the park itself is without attractions, though: up in the northern corner, sprawling out across the green, is a curious garden full of winding paths and draping trees, and within it, the smaller poison garden, where a variety of different flowers blossom and bloom along the gravel path. From roses to gladiolus, tulips to belladonna, this garden has many flora that residents may recognize from their homes, and some that they most certainly will not. As residents walk along the paths, observing and smelling and—for the brave—touching these plants, they will encounter a long wooden table, stretched out in the midst of fresh cut green grass.
This table has been decorated for a party, though it seems that all the guests must be late. A strange variety of different sized chairs and cushions have been set out along the long length of the table; it seems to fit at least twenty people, maybe even more. Small dishes and porcelain tea cups lay in random design across the off-white table cloth, used flower doilies and half-folded napkins tucked here and there as though someone left in a hurry. Even stranger still, there are six large, ornate pots of tea, scattered about the table, each warm to the touch and, you guessed it: full of tea. You suddenly find yourself craving a cup, and tuck into one of the chairs to pour yourself some...
...but you didn't think that it would be that easy, did you? Once you've swallowed a mouthful, or even your whole cup, your body starts to feel strange. Depending on the color—or flavor—of the tea you're drinking, you're going to experience some side effects:
| Color |
Flavor |
Effect |
| Red |
Hibiscus: This tart and fruity tea is naturally sweet. |
You will begin vomiting blood. The amount is up to your body's reaction. The correct antidote will fix you. |
| Yellow |
Jasmine: This tea has a light, floral note, and is slightly sweet. |
You will hallucinate something terrifying near you, and may lash out and attack those around you. The correct antidote will fix you. |
| Blue |
Pea Flower: This brilliantly-colored tea has a very delicate, woody flavor. |
You will gradually begin losing one of your senses (sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch). The correct antidote will fix you. |
| Black |
English Breakfast: This is a full body tea, with rich undertones and a bold flavor. |
Something very terrible will begin happening to your body: your hair may start falling out, you may become covered in hives, or your skin may start opening into sores. The correct antidote will fix you. |
| Green |
Green: This tea has a very clean, grassy flavor, like the earth. |
You will begin to transform into a terrifying creature or animal of your choosing. The correct antidote will fix you. |
| Orange |
Ginger: This is a tea with a warming, slightly spicy taste. |
After drinking, you will suddenly fall into a death-like coma. A kiss may wake you, or the correct antidote. |
In a panic, you look for something to help you. Just beyond the table, tucked away into a wall of ivy, is an old wooden shelf, the lettering nearly worn all away on it. Little packets of seeds line the tiered shelves; there are no pictures on them, but the packets themselves seem to all be different colors—and you may notice that the colors match the colors of the various teas on the table.
Ripping open the packet that matches the color of your tea, you find it contains actual seeds—will you swallow them and risk a plant growing in your stomach, just to see if it will counteract the effects of the tea? Oh, surely that's the stuff of fairytales, isn't it?
Residents are welcome to explore the various paths around the outside of the garden, observing plants and flowers of their choosing. The tea party is open to all, and the tea will continue to be brewed somehow, no matter how many people drink it. Players can choose the extent of the negative effects on their character, or have their character remain unaffected by the tea entirely. In order to get rid of the negative effects, characters must either find the correct seed packet that matches their tea and eat the seeds, or wait twenty-four hours for the symptoms to subside. The seeds will not do anything but cure the character—though they're welcome to think something awful might happen.
The tea party cannot be destroyed, and items that are moved from the table can only be moved within the perimeter of the poison garden. Characters are unable to steal things from the tea party; they will mysteriously return back to the table if taken beyond the aforementioned border. The tea party will remain there permanently, though the negative effects of the tea will mysteriously disappear after November 1st.
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A DROP OF BLOOD OR A DROP OF EGO.
At the apex of the path that winds around the poison garden is a large greenhouse that looks like it has seen better days. The panels are filthy, covered in dust and dirt and grime, and the doors creak on their hinges when you open them. Inside, the air is hot and musty, but the smell of herbs and spices fill your senses, letting you enjoy the atmosphere. The greenhouse is clearly separated into two different paths: the one to the left has a hanging sign which reads "DEADLY BEAUTIES" and the one to the right has a hanging sign which reads "BEAUTIFUL DEADLIES".
Heading to the left, you decide to observe the various plants there. Shelf upon shelf of various potted plants watch you as you go past; some of them snap at the air, veiny teeth grasping for the delicious meat of fruit flies and ants, and some of them threaten to touch you, with vines that roll and curl outward for just a shivering touch. Overhead, tangles of vined plants and spiked ivy mix together, an oppressive shadow that makes you feel as though you're trapped in this place as you walk through. Be careful: these carnivorous plants might be beautiful, but they won't hesitate to get a little too friendly with you. The floor is caked with dirt, but some of those brown stains might not just be from mud and dust, smeared by shoe heels and work boots. These plants might want a taste of blood.
Heading to the right, you find yourself in a beautiful space, the flowers so large they seem almost overwhelming. Have the plants gotten bigger, or have you simply gotten smaller? Gorgeous purple blossoms, pink petals, bright blue flowers and speckled white flowers cower and bend to cast you under them, like a flower-patterned umbrella sheltering you from the rain. The further you walk under them, however, the more you get the feeling that they're not just there to watch over you: they're there to explore you. At first, it's just a few gossipy whispers, so quiet you might not think they're real; then it's full-blown voices, the flowers bending and twisting as though to speak to each other in harsh, judgmental tones. What are they talking about? Well, they're talking about you—your secrets, your opinions, the things you don't want anyone else to know. These flowers are spilling your tea, and anyone walking along with you is going to hear it.
The back of the greenhouse—if you make it there—has the same doors as the front. They open back out onto the winding, circular path of the poison garden, where you can head back home...or experience the whole thing over again.
The greenhouse is rather large, and characters are welcome to walk through it along any path they wish. The carnivorous plants will possibly nip and bite at your characters, or try to restrain them, but they aren't very strong and can easily be broken away from. Feel free to imagine as much of a struggle as you wish, but they will not inflict any kind of mortal wounds on characters.
The giant, oversized flowers will tell your character's secrets or their deepest darkest opinions—this is open to player choice. The flowers cannot be attacked or hurt, and the only way to get them to be quiet is for someone OTHER than the character they're talking about to scold them or tell them to be quiet. Alternatively, if you can walk the path hand in hand with another character, this will also cause them to go quiet.
Plants cannot be taken from the greenhouse or killed, and they cannot be dug up from their pots. The greenhouse itself also cannot be destroyed, and any fire lit in the greenhouse will be immediately extinguished by an overhead sprinkler system. This place is meant for enjoyment and admiration, not crime!
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WILDCARD.
The city is by no means small, and there are plenty of things for you to see. There are even some places that other residents have created! There's no rush in exploring, so feel free to take your time looking around and peering into various nooks and crannies and alleyways—and don't worry, you're not very likely to find anything peering back.
If none of the above prompts appeal, feel free to check out the Locations and Maps pages and write your own freestyle prompt using one or many of the available locations. We highly recommend checking out the Character-Run Locations as well - they might be great places for new characters to get started!
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citylogs2023-10-01 08:38 pm
Astarion Ancunín | Baldur's Gate 3
i. arrival
[ Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any stranger…
First, there had been the nautiloid. Then, his plunge from the sky, which had inexplicably not ended with his viscera splattered liberally across a nameless beach.
And now there’s… this. Whatever this is. Astarion had made it out of the sealed metal chamber quickly enough once he figured out how to use the device buzzing away in his hand, but this new space offers no more answers than the last. The sprawling underground vault of steel and smooth-carved, too-uniform tile seems to stretch out in all directions, just as alien as the mindflayer ship—though fortunately less fleshy. Unnatural white light glares down from the ceiling and every few meters there are glowing signs, marked with unfamiliar symbols and arrows pointing in different directions.
Astarion, his supply of shock and awe having already been exhausted for the day, manages a put-upon sigh. ]
I don’t suppose any of these point towards Baldur’s Gate?
[ Between his embroidered doublet, pointed ears, and red eyes, Astarion looks utterly out of place as he stands there in the middle of the station. Still, he does make some attempt not to look completely lost.
One word he recognizes on the signs? Exit. Without another word, he begins to move in the indicated direction. With any luck, he can at least make it out of this bewildering subterranean vault—and, he thinks with relish, back into the sunlight once more. ]
ii. don’tcha know that you’re toxic
[ Astarion knows something is off about the tea the second he approaches the table—mostly because he finds himself actually wanting to drink it. For a man of his particular appetites, that’s a strange feeling indeed. He eyes the cups warily, wondering if a charm might be at play.
There’s also the matter of finding this little tableaux in the middle of a poison garden. Naturally, Astarion had recognized several of the deadlier varieties of flora on his way in.
When he sees someone else come upon the spot, however, he keeps this information to himself. Instead, he gestures to the table in front of them. ]
Quite the charming little scene we’ve stumbled across, isn’t it? [ he remarks, favoring them with an easy smile. ] Though tea isn’t really my drink.
[ Maybe it’s this person’s, though. If they want to indulge and give him a firsthand demonstration of this “tea’s” potency? Astarion certainly isn’t going to stop them. ]
iii. a drop of blood
[ Astarion has a fairly good idea of what to expect when he takes the leftward path through the greenhouse. The smell of blood is thick around these plants and he hasn’t missed that they seem rather sharper and more excitable than your typical garden residents. Still, he’d been hoping that his own cold dead blood wouldn’t appeal to their carnivorous sensibilities. It would be a useful little place to have to himself: a garden full of twisting, thorny vines hostile to everyone except him—but alas, it’s not to be. It isn’t long before he has to swat away a tooth-lined tendril or two, apparently unbothered by their would-be prey’s undead nature. ]
Really, [ Astarion hisses, glancing between the plant and a fresh cut on his forearm. ] Would a little bit of solidarity be too much to ask?
[ After all, it seems rather gauche for blood drinkers to feed on each other, doesn’t it? ]
iv. a drop of ego
[ After his disappointment with the greenhouse’s leftward path, Astarion tries his luck with the right. The words “BEAUTIFUL DEADLIES” on the sign gives him hope that the flowers on display might lend themselves well to poison-brewing. Still, if these are poisonous varieties, they’re certainly bigger than anything he’s ever seen in Faerûn.
And then come the whispers. At first, Astarion thinks they must be coming from someone on the path with him, but no sooner than he’s turned to face them in one direction does he hear fresh murmurs from another.
”Blood drinker,” they whisper. ”Child-snatcher. His master is looking for him, isn’t he? Poor thing. Poor slave. Poor spawn.”
Astarion feels his cold blood run colder. Where is it coming from? And more importantly—
His eyes snap to whoever else might be on the trail with him, too rattled to completely conceal the intensity in his gaze. Can they hear it, too? ]
Arrival :)
He looks a tad bit absentminded as he stares at the stairs and the bottom of them, watching people climb up, but not seeing anyone familiar. He even almost misses the question asked, but catches the end of it.]
Baldur's Gate? ...I'm sorry, I've never heard of such a place. And it certainly isn't here.
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And where is 'here,' exactly?
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Oh, this place doesn't have a name. People call it just "The City". Almost all information about this place is erased from the town. It's... weird. And unsettling.
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IV.
He almost doesn't catch the whispering. Maybe if he was human he would have missed it completely. He dismisses it at first, but when the person wandering through this particular part of the greenhouse turns like he's also heard something Vash stops, tilting his head a little and listening again.
Oh. ]
Sounds like someone's secrets. [ Not said with any malice, just casual observation. He frowns a little. ] That's what you heard, right?
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Yes. Ghastly secrets, by the sound of it. [ He tries to mask his earlier intensity with something else—the disapproval of an offended patriar, repulsed in the face of such coarse gossip. ] But where is it coming from?
[ There's no single source to be identified. The voices seem to come from all directions, as if they were standing in the midst of a particularly venomous crowd. But there are no figures to be seen in their immediate surroundings—only those flowers, oversized blooms gently swaying and bobbing in the wind—
Except there is no wind. They stand in the middle of a greenhouse, the air warm and still. Astarion stares for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion.
And then the flower he's staring at giggles.
"Always lying, lying, lying," it titters, "He doesn't even remember how to stop." ]
It's the flowers, [ Astarion exclaims, staring incredulously at the blooms. ] They're... talking? Or something inside them is.
[ Can flowers be possessed? Charmed? And how in the Hells do they know so much about him in the first place? ]
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[ He thinks, anyway. So far he's pretty sure that's beyond the technology here, so somehow, talking flowers sounds more likely. Go figure. ]
I wouldn't judge the secrets though. How do you know that's the whole story?
[ He shrugs his shoulders a bit, his expression carefully neutral. He turns to look more directly at some of the flowers, mismatched hands settling somewhat on his hips over top the large red coat he's sporting, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly.
What's the point of this? To make them both uncomfortable? It's certainly not his OWN secrets being whispered through the room. ]
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Arrival
[Is he aware that Baldur's Gate is probably a place? Yes. Is he going to leave a bad joke left unsaid? Absolutely not.
And he looks far too proud of himself for it, too.]
But I would be more than happy to answer any questions you may have about this particular city, if you should have them.
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Where are we? [ Straight to the point, because he can't afford not to be when he's lacking so much information. ] I've never heard of a stronghold in the Underdark as... advanced as this one.
[ To be fair, he doesn't have much experience with the Underdark at all. Yet, the stories he's heard have all been about its wildness and brutality—certainly nothing to suggest that it could conceal cities of such incomprehensible technology. Not to mention, there's a distinct lack of drow hunting for his hide...
For now, anyway. Hopefully, what little luck he has will hold in that area. ]
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[Not that he's ever seen anyone use the roads for anything other than walking. Even the metal contraptions parked to the side remain stubbornly silent.]
Less a stronghold and more of a stopover, in other words.
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ii
so to say she'd recognize the flowers wouldn't be farfetched. but it's information she clearly disregards at the sight of the daintily set tea party.
perking up, the faun circles the table to examine each and every piece of porcelain and silverware, the soft scents of intermingled flora and herbs a delight to her nose. and while she doesn't indulge just yet, she certainly (very clearly) wants to. but it's impolite to start without at least asking to make sure he doesn't want to join, right? )
Not a tea kind of guy? I don't think we'll be finding ale or much of anything like that around here. You might have better luck at the markets or restaurants for those. Are you sure you don't want to join me, though? They went through all the trouble of setting it all up. It'd be a shame for it to go ignored?
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Though, he notes, she doesn't give into their temptation right away. Maybe she, like him, is waiting for someone else to try it first.
Of course, that's certainly not going to be him. ]
That's the beauty of this place, isn't it? [ he says, his smile broadening. ] Any of us can afford to be choosy when so much is free for the taking. I simply prefer something a little more full-bodied. [ He gestures to the table. ] But by all means—if you wish to indulge, don't let me stop you.
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a sharper nail traces at doilies and dainty patterning in her marvel, the adorable spoon here and there disappearing if he so much as blinks. when she finally sits, it's done with a broad smile, sunny as she curls a finger around the handle of a particularly fragile teapot, pouring without so much as looking down at it. )
Wine, then? ( funny. if she hadn't met a vampire already, perhaps she'd second guess herself more. the bite on her neck still tingles with the memory, but lestat had at least been gracious enough not to leave a mark. ) Or are you scared of a little tea?
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iii
He hears the voice before he spots anyone, and something about the indignation in the other's tone immediately puts him on high alert. Good thing too, because he finds himself ducking out of the way of a vine whipping towards his head the second he steps into the area, hands instinctively reaching for swords that aren't there.
Well then.
He could, presumably, turn right back around the way he's come, but Molly can't help but glance over at the figure...elf? and figure that he at least owes him for the warning. Inadvertent as it might have been. He can at least try to help. ]
Do you know, dear, I don't think that's the best place to be standing.
[ Molly's version of helping, anyway. ]
If you come back this way we might manage to get out, yeah?
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Really? I never would have guessed.
[ Still, he begins to make his way towards the tiefling, doing his best to avoid the twitching, hungry vines that somehow keep finding themselves in his path. At one point, a thorned tendril manages to curl around his ankle and Astarion gives it a savage tug, hoping to snap it off. He's almost disappointed when it simply releases him instead, leaving him with nothing to show for it but a few new scratches on the leather of his boots. Bloodthirsty as they may be, it seems these plants have no stomach for prey that fights back. ]
Beastly things, [ Astarion mutters as he makes it to the tiefling's side. ] Whoever thought to cultivate a garden of such nuisances?
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Speaking of, the shift does give him an excellent view of another vine whipping in their direction. Without thinking, Molly bares his teeth and lets his voice drop into a low, growing, almost inhuman register as his snarls out: ] fuck off. [ And then has to blink when the plant does jerk violently back and then slighter away. ]
Oh, that still works? Good to know.
[ Surprising, too. Still, his attention slides back to his new friend to give him a somewhat thorough look over. ]
Alright there?
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iv.
It's more that Eddie's curiosity overrides his survival instincts nine times out of ten. It's a damn good thing he's not a cat if that saying about curiosity and felines has any weight to it.
Luck seems to be on his side when he isn't the first to arrive on the scene of these strangely beautiful flowers. Instead of his dirty laundry being aired for all to see (or hear), it's someone else's. Eddie's eyes fall upon the man in question (pointed ears - could he be an elf?), and he feels filled with dread. Not because of the things he's hearing but because they're being uttered at all. Great. Another thing to add to the list of dreadful things about this city. )
That's kind of rude, don't you think? ( It's more pointed to the flowers than the stranger, as if any conversation with an apparently sentient plant is going to be at all constructive. ) Maybe if we ignore it, it'll get bored and shut up.
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[ In truth, the thought of remaining silent while the flowers chatter away only makes him more anxious. His first instinct is to deflect and distract, not give these evidently hostile voices the stage. Who knows what else they might say?
He raises his own voice, the better to drown out the plant's murmurs—and to perhaps intimidate them into silence. ]
There must be gardening shears somewhere in this greenhouse. Perhaps some thorough pruning would shut them up?
[ "He's so scared," a cluster of chrysanthemums murmurs, as if in retort. "And no wonder. Every second he's away from his master will only make things worse for him."
Evidently, the damn things can't be bullied into silence. Fuming, Astarion begins to search in earnest for anything that could be used to actually clip the impudent weeds. ]
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His eyes light up at the suggestion of gardening shears, though. Now would have been a great time to have a lighter in his pocket, but alas, the one he had when he was pulled into this world did not get transferred over. )
I dunno, man; this place is weird about weapons. But something could have been left here for pruning.
( He starts to look around, turning in a dizzying circle to see if he can spot anything, but nothing resembling a gardener's tools seems to be nearby. ) How strong are you? Think you could rip a leaf or petal off?
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iv. a drop of ego
Any whisperings of her own mixed blood, half-human half-spirit, being fake, the emptiness, incapable of love or being loved-- She brushes it off. Or she appears to, anyhow, head held high, haughty and dismissive.]
Yeah? So what? Try harder. [She tells her own flowers with a wave of her hand as she wanders around the corner, pausing a couple steps in. She eyes the man, equal parts curious and wary and glances to the flower.]
Ugh. [She rolls her eyes, as if this is just oh-so annoying and not potentially emotionally damaging.
She's had practice letting the things she overheard from peoples' minds roll off of her. She can't see why this shouldn't be the same]
Knock it off. Jeez... Hey. [She turns her attention to Astarion as the flowers murmuring starts to die down some] Come on. The sooner you start walking, the faster you'll be out of here.
[She gestures for him to follow, turning on heel with a showy flip of her hair even as her own flowers hiss about her lack of heart]
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He walks after her—mostly because he intended on heading in this direction anyway, and contrariness isn't quite good enough of a reason to stand there being verbally dissected by cantankerous vegetation. ]
Beastly little weeds, [ he declares as he draws up beside the girl. ] I think I preferred the ones that bite, personally.
[ He very intentionally doesn't mention the rumors he'd heard about the girl—the one about her being half-spirit is the only one that had interested him, anyway. If she has any wits at all, she'll do him the same courtesy. Whispers continue to float about them as they walk back towards the beginning of the path—but Astarion notices that there are fewer now about him. Perhaps they only focus on the most recent person to set foot onto the path?
He does his best to pretend he's not listening—but he very much is. ]
Poison, thorns, and slander—this city seems to have a taste for spiteful flora.
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iv
Poor thing. Poor slave.
— something whispers, and it isn't meant for her but oh, how close to home it hits. She's barely known her long-lost brother a day but it's been enough to know how terribly he'd suffered at the hands of his master, how unjustly he'd endured the horrors of slavery for as long as he could hope to remember. And surely the whispers aren't speaking about him specifically, surely he couldn't be here, but they are speaking about someone and her kind heart is too tender to let her just stand by against the thought of someone suffering alone.
And so, despite her better judgment, she creeps along the path of beautiful deadlies, looking for the subject of the voices — and never suspecting that doing so might make her subject to some of her own.]
Hello?
[She creeps a little further, tucking the long drape of her white court dress close around her legs to keep it from brushing against anything on either side of the path.]
Is — is someone there? Hello?
[Murderer, whisper the voices as they grow tempted to change their tune. Not so sweet and innocent, little rose, now are you?]
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One: someone else is approaching from the path behind him.
Two: she hasn't actually seen him yet.
And three: some of the flowers are starting to whisper things that definitely aren't his secrets. He's not quite a murderer—not directly, anyway—and of all the sweet nothings he's had whispered into his ear, he can't recall 'little rose' being among them. And, certainly, he can't remember ever being sweet or innocent.
Making himself known would only give this stranger a face to put with descriptors like 'blood-drinker' and 'child-snatcher,' among others. Not ideal. Yet, his own curiosity tempts him to stay—to see who this alleged murderer is and to hear any other secrets the flowers might whisper of her.
So, he does what comes naturally to him: he finds a friendly-looking shadow—this one tucked behind a particularly thick cluster of giant daffodils—and hides. He doesn't have to wait long to catch a glimpse of this so-called murderer. She doesn't look the part at all, not with her sweet-looking face and courtly garb. Still, Astarion knows better than most that appearances can be deceiving. Not moving from his hiding spot, he watches, waits—and listens.
Roll a perception check, fair lady.](no subject)
:D!
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III
Oh, are you two all right?
[ As if he can have an actual dispute with a plant. ]
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I'm fine, [ he says, eyes casting about for anyone else the stranger could be addressing. It's only when Astarion confirms that there's no one else around that he considers another possibility: ] You aren't talking to the plant, are you?
[ Gods, has he just run into a druid? That's the last thing he needs in a conflict with a plant: someone very well liable to take the blasted thing's side. ]
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