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Entry tags:
THE SKULL IS IN
WHO: Eshal, Haku, Laura, and anyone else!
WHAT: Catch-all threading
WHEN: During this heat wave, of course! But not during Monster Madness.
WHERE: Everywhere!
NOTES: Bad advice.
WHAT: Catch-all threading
WHEN: During this heat wave, of course! But not during Monster Madness.
WHERE: Everywhere!
NOTES: Bad advice.
I. ESHAL
It is an ongoing mystery how Skull ends up where he does. He is frequently decorating some surface in the Seneschal's office, in the library, in the dining hall, or propping open doors, or being a perch for some damned raven, or being used to crack open hard-shelled nuts.
It's all very demeaning. Particularly when it forces you to depend on the kindness of morons."YOO-HOO, OVER HERE!"
II. HAKU
This time, he's in the storeroom, right next to a jar of pickles. Leering would work so much better if he weren't on such a low shelf."YOU'RE A LONG WAY FROM HOME."
He says it to a set of ankles. It's a safe enough assumption even for one who isn't fairly sure those ankles came from a different world.
III. LAURA
And then there's this one, with knives for bones and all the trappings of a feral child."AN ODD DUCK, THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE."
IV. OTA - WILDCARD
[[ Feel free to godmod where Skull ends up. He's bound to turn up literally anywhere. ]]
II
This is stupid: he shouldn't be indulging the whims of random yokai hiding on shelves in the dark. That much is true, even if he's not doing much better himself, by skulking around. Haku is always skulking, these days. He has no choice.
But he does have a choice in this; he turns around, coming back into Skull's view, and then crouches to stare directly into his eyesockets.
He stays like that for a few seconds, considering. Haku doesn't seem surprised by what he sees, or alarmed, only curious in the same way one might be to see that a sock has gone missing in the wash, or a package mislabeled.
"So are you," He says, finally, quite as if he knows exactly where Skull belongs, and isn't concerned that it might not be somewhere pleasant, "Though as it happens, I don't have a home right now."
Not strictly true. But he's not sure he'd call what he does have an actual home, at any rate.
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The Skull bobs gently in the noxious green of its plasm, the motion hinging its jaw as if in speech.
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He almost says what's in it for me. The words stand in the coldness of his eyes, and the steady gaze, like two chips of green ice. But then Haku bends a little further, and grips the jar with both slim hands. It doesn't look like he ought to be able to lift it, slim elf-shaped person that he is, but Haku seems to have no trouble at all.
He's not completely without spite though; he tucks the jar under his arm, and walks right out of the room. Got a perfect spot for you, Skull, and we're on our way to it.
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Skull bobs and drifts in the sloshing green ooze as Haku absconds with the jar.
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Up and up, round and round, ever tighter, and the sounds of life below grow slowly quieter. The rush of wind begins to claim precedence, and still Haku climbs. He isn't listening very well, he's thinking of another climb, another tower.
"It could be worse," Haku replies, finally, rousing from his reverie with a sharp, refreshing inhale, "Do you have a name?"
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"People who want to live outside of jars," He replies, very quietly, then continues upwards, feeling in the dim light for a catch, then pushes at the wooden surface. It gives, admitting them both into a claustrophobic little space, with a sharply slanted roof; it's narrow enough that Haku has to put the jar through first, and then climb up after. The effect is much like being inside a stone-and-wooden tent.
When Haku pulls the trap door shut after them, it is pitchy black. Then, there is light; a little bobbing glow, like a droplet of water in Haku's palm, illuminating the space.
"Don't worry, I'm not leaving you here in the dark," He says, and almost smiles, "Look at this."
There's a little give in part of the roof. When Haku pushes it up and open, the sudden daylight is blinding; it's a beautiful day, and on the stone crenelation just visible from this angle, there's a seagull perched, looking out over kirkwall from on high.
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It really is a beautiful day, and from here you can see out over the greyish waters of the bay and the city of chains itself. Laid out like a map, it's all there, the dingy warehouse district and the round scar where the Qunari compound once was, now overrun by squatters and other entrepreneurial folk. Sunlight glints off the white walls of hightown, and if one squints then the little hightown copse of trees where the Chantry used to be is even visible, a tuft of green among the grey and white stone, just aside the viscount's palace.
The seagull drops away in fright, a glorious vision of white-winged freedom. The door shuts. Skull is alone.