Closed | Study Sessions with Professor Big Ben London Star

[slightlytaller]

Who: Waver Velvet + CR. HMU if you want to plot!
What: Study Sessions!
When: Throughout August
Where: Primarily at the apartment in Cellar Door, but other locations included
Content Warnings: ...Mercymorn mentions inside.

"I'm only human after all..."

--He was late getting home.

Even between the flooding in the streets and the repeated trials of the Pthumerians, Waver Velvet-- Lord El Melloi II-- was rarely actually late. He had surmounted that fear a decade ago. And yet--

There he stumbled in, his clothes a sodden mess, his long hair in tangles, and a look of utter disgust darkening his green eyes as he clicked the door closed behind him and his Omen. His shirt sleeves were cuffed around the elbows, but the wrinkled expanse of the cloth was untucked and partly unbuttoned... clearly for no pleasurable reason.

Gray the cat intertwined herself around his ankles and sat on his feet, fur bristling while he grumbled and dug out a cigarette. No lighter was found, but a quick burst of mana from his fingertips cleared that problem in what was a small blessing. The smoke stung his nostrils and lungs as he took a drag, but that itself was an odd comfort-- a familiarity.

He didn't like smoking in the house, but Desperate Times...

"Sorry for not checking in, Iskandar." He called quickly, heedless of even the possibility of guests.

"I got held up with something personal--"

--It was only then that he took in the interior of the living room... and the people inside.

Comments

[towards_okeanos]

"That so?"

Is that envy that colours his voice? Maybe. Iskandar had long prided himself of not being afraid of anything or anyone. The gods though. The gods are different. What a man, even half-divine as he, can do against a divine? How can a man understand them? Speak to them? Not in his era.

"As much as I have wished at time to have at least been acknowledged by my own divine father, he never did. Neither, did I have any personal encounter with any other of the gods of my people. I knew they listen. That was pretty obvious, but they rarely spoke back, and if that through seers and signs. Not directly. Not to me."

Did he regret this lack of contact? No. It was very often more prudent to have no word at all than to cross even the smallest among of the Deathless Ones. There has always been a battle in him between ensuring the success of his campaign, the safety and prosperity of his people... and just plain getting noticed.

So is it truly that surprising he had brought those same convictions, having been reborn here where the gods are not only more active but more visible? He has no great deeds to show for himself here. He has conquered no country, slain no great beast. What the gods might want with him other than to torment him?

"How do you even gamble with a god?"

[noniad]

"I had imagined them more...structured."

In truth, Ortus had pictured them as cells, not unlike his own niche in the stone of the Ninth. In moments of frivolity, he had imagined each occupied in turn by a smaller version of himself, intent on their work in some fashion. There had been no need for a boy born to the hefting of bone and blade to study the body any further than its gross anatomy, so while he had known these were flights of imagination, he had not suspected...this.

"What are Homunculi?" He asks, still contemplating the undulating little creatures that are alleged to be fundamental to his composition (and what purpose a trick?) with gradually lessening shock. He has certainly seen odder things. "Some manner of construct? That is our term for creations animated by necromancy - bone being the preferred material, for its thanergic storage capacity and ease of maintenance. Skilled necromancers like my lady may use even the slight chip you hold to fashion bodies entire, although only the Ninth are true masters of the osseous."

House pride is what it is, even a universe apart from the dark halls of his youth.

[martyrofduty]

Duty respects what gods are capable of, whether that be John Gaius in the Nine Houses or the Pthumerians in and around Trench. However, a myriad exposure to one leaves him less in outstanding awe of gods in general. Decorum and respect may be given (though not guaranteed), but they are beings of some physical form with reason and emotion, with agenda and alliances, with relationship and rivals. In the end, everyone sentient is just that.

"When the god knows the future," Duty replies, "it is a game of chance." He does not mistake tolerance for approval, nor familiarity for friendship. "He does not always play."

"I served one god for a myriad," Duty says, "one of his fists and gestures. These gods do not frighten me." The Reckoning killed him, and the mark of her shot remains over his heart. Even in the face of death, he did not fear it nor her. Sleepers may return from death, but life is never a guarantee. He will live as he believes, be that for a short time or a long one. He expected to be dead long ago.