antarcticite (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acicular) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ioduanlogs2018-09-01 05:58 pm
acicular) wrote in ioduanlogs2018-09-01 05:58 pm
[OPEN] at least they haven't melted yet
Characters: Antarcticite + you??
Date: Throughout September.
Location: Throughout Aifaran.
Situation: Various affinity-specific open prompts!
Warnings/Rating: Prompt 2 might be a bit unsettling for people with a fear of heights. Otherwise go to town!
Faith 4: Fortune Favours the Perch (OPEN)
This is, quite frankly, more attention than Antarcticite has received in their several centuries’ long lifespan, and they don’t like it one bit.
The mottled butterfly is fine company, of course. It isn’t the first one that Antarcticite has ever seen, given that they often stayed in solid form long enough into the very early spring to see the snow begin to melt, and the beginnings of flowers blooming among the frost. Late winter butterflies in their home were small white things though--they didn’t dazzle the bystander like this, let alone spend this much time perched on anyone’s ear. Antarcticite spends several hours seated quite still on a rock overlooking the sea with their insect companion, loathe to move lest they frighten it off.
Eventually it does take flight, but whatever time Antarcticite would like to spend mulling over the pleasant mystery of that encounter is used up by the arrival of several kedan Ban Om devotees, all of whom seem to think it is perfectly appropriate to push their odd trinkets towards their hands. Startled and discomfited, Antarcticite scrambles down off of the rock and begins to back away along the surf.
“No,” they insist earnestly, holding up both hands to ward off the gifts, “no, I don’t need anything like that..!”
The kedan exchange confused looks with each other, before several begin speaking at once to try to explain the gesture--but Antarcticite, rather overwhelmed by all this attention at once, appears to be a hair’s breadth away from turning tail and bolting directly into the sea.
Sci-Tech 1: Mission Grime (OPEN)
Antarcticite is not familiar enough with Aifaran’s technology to be truly unsettled by most of it backfiring on them out of nowhere in the days immediately following their foray into the shunt with Rutile and Padparadscha. Maybe yimos are supposed to spontaneously turn on and off; it seems a strange functionality to design into a device, but given the other strange things they’ve witnessed since their arrival, they don’t find it too surprising.
What does strike them as alarming is the skytrain suddenly grinding to a stop several hundred feet above the ground.
It’s only alarming for them because they know that even should the train collapse, shattering them upon impact, Rutile would (most likely) be able to reassemble them. (They think. They hope.) Given the reactions of the living things around them who begin to mutter and pace and panic, however, they would not be so easy to reassemble after impact.
The train conductor’s voice crackles across the loudspeaker with, “Attention, passengers, there’s been, uh, a mechanical issue with the train. Just sit tight, response personnel are on their way--”
Above them, the lights flicker ominously, before fizzling out into nothingness. A hushed silence falls over the whole train car.
“...just, uh. Just hang in there, folks.” Click.
Somewhere else on the train, a baby starts to cry. For their part, Antarcticite gets up and approaches one of the windows, as though trying to determine how best to open it.
Meta 2: The Tide is High (OPEN)
Ending up shoulder-deep in rising seawater might be a life threatening proposition for other Dreamfolk beset by the dreaming sickness, but all Antarcticite discovers upon coming to their senses is that the vast majority of the white powder covering up their translucent crystalline structure has been washed away by the salt. They startle the poor Erol’an rescuers who come to fish them out, but frankly, they’ve seen stranger things than a human-shaped crystal that walks, talks, and speaks at this point.
They wade ashore and gratefully accept the towel that is given to them, delicately dabbing at their exposed arms and legs with a worried frown creasing their brows. Obviously both Rutile and Padparadscha have found an adequate substitute for the powder flowers that they used back home, and for the waterproof resin that kept the powder from running in the rain; they will simply have to seek them out and enquire about it.
Once they’ve dried off, and are able to fend off the Erol’an do-gooders who keep trying to offer them tea and food. “No, thank you,” they insist mechanically, “I don’t eat.”
A few of them blink. “...you don’t… what?”
Antarcticite sighs.
Date: Throughout September.
Location: Throughout Aifaran.
Situation: Various affinity-specific open prompts!
Warnings/Rating: Prompt 2 might be a bit unsettling for people with a fear of heights. Otherwise go to town!
Faith 4: Fortune Favours the Perch (OPEN)
This is, quite frankly, more attention than Antarcticite has received in their several centuries’ long lifespan, and they don’t like it one bit.
The mottled butterfly is fine company, of course. It isn’t the first one that Antarcticite has ever seen, given that they often stayed in solid form long enough into the very early spring to see the snow begin to melt, and the beginnings of flowers blooming among the frost. Late winter butterflies in their home were small white things though--they didn’t dazzle the bystander like this, let alone spend this much time perched on anyone’s ear. Antarcticite spends several hours seated quite still on a rock overlooking the sea with their insect companion, loathe to move lest they frighten it off.
Eventually it does take flight, but whatever time Antarcticite would like to spend mulling over the pleasant mystery of that encounter is used up by the arrival of several kedan Ban Om devotees, all of whom seem to think it is perfectly appropriate to push their odd trinkets towards their hands. Startled and discomfited, Antarcticite scrambles down off of the rock and begins to back away along the surf.
“No,” they insist earnestly, holding up both hands to ward off the gifts, “no, I don’t need anything like that..!”
The kedan exchange confused looks with each other, before several begin speaking at once to try to explain the gesture--but Antarcticite, rather overwhelmed by all this attention at once, appears to be a hair’s breadth away from turning tail and bolting directly into the sea.
Sci-Tech 1: Mission Grime (OPEN)
Antarcticite is not familiar enough with Aifaran’s technology to be truly unsettled by most of it backfiring on them out of nowhere in the days immediately following their foray into the shunt with Rutile and Padparadscha. Maybe yimos are supposed to spontaneously turn on and off; it seems a strange functionality to design into a device, but given the other strange things they’ve witnessed since their arrival, they don’t find it too surprising.
What does strike them as alarming is the skytrain suddenly grinding to a stop several hundred feet above the ground.
It’s only alarming for them because they know that even should the train collapse, shattering them upon impact, Rutile would (most likely) be able to reassemble them. (They think. They hope.) Given the reactions of the living things around them who begin to mutter and pace and panic, however, they would not be so easy to reassemble after impact.
The train conductor’s voice crackles across the loudspeaker with, “Attention, passengers, there’s been, uh, a mechanical issue with the train. Just sit tight, response personnel are on their way--”
Above them, the lights flicker ominously, before fizzling out into nothingness. A hushed silence falls over the whole train car.
“...just, uh. Just hang in there, folks.” Click.
Somewhere else on the train, a baby starts to cry. For their part, Antarcticite gets up and approaches one of the windows, as though trying to determine how best to open it.
Meta 2: The Tide is High (OPEN)
Ending up shoulder-deep in rising seawater might be a life threatening proposition for other Dreamfolk beset by the dreaming sickness, but all Antarcticite discovers upon coming to their senses is that the vast majority of the white powder covering up their translucent crystalline structure has been washed away by the salt. They startle the poor Erol’an rescuers who come to fish them out, but frankly, they’ve seen stranger things than a human-shaped crystal that walks, talks, and speaks at this point.
They wade ashore and gratefully accept the towel that is given to them, delicately dabbing at their exposed arms and legs with a worried frown creasing their brows. Obviously both Rutile and Padparadscha have found an adequate substitute for the powder flowers that they used back home, and for the waterproof resin that kept the powder from running in the rain; they will simply have to seek them out and enquire about it.
Once they’ve dried off, and are able to fend off the Erol’an do-gooders who keep trying to offer them tea and food. “No, thank you,” they insist mechanically, “I don’t eat.”
A few of them blink. “...you don’t… what?”
Antarcticite sighs.
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But after his last encounter with the gyroshei, Conan had prepared. They might have been absurdly huge birds, but they were still birds. All he needed was a distraction.
He retrieves a whistle from his bag as he walks up behind the gyroshei. Taking a deep breath, he blows into the whistle, creating a unpleasantly shrill noise that grates on the ears of everyone in the area. Startled at the unpleasant sound, the gyroshei makes one last half hearted reach for Antarctite's hair before taking to the air and leaving.
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They quickly look to the clever junior who managed to spook the bird into flying off and, gathering their composure, straighten and square their shoulders. "Thank you," they tell Conan with a rather formal nod. "I appreciate your help."
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the best life coach
least useful advice
Not to see, but as his disguise. The night vision and zoom function were useful as well.
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This person was aware of what glasses usually did, right?
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"They don't seem to offer much in the way of protection for your face," they muse aloud.
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"Oh," they reply, frowning thoughtfully, and tilt their head some as they consider the wire frames sitting on Conan's face. Being a living thing sounds as though it is awash with inconveniences. "Well," they start again, rather awkwardly, but seem rather at a loss for what to say that won't come across as insensitive. ...or barbaric, as suggesting that Conan seek replacement eyes might not go over well.
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