Viktor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mehanizovati) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-03-31 12:24 pm
mehanizovati) wrote in deercountry2022-03-31 12:24 pm
april catch - all
Who: viktor and others, open to all with some closed prompts
What: some late march/early april logs, including some tdm stuff. i'm happy to attach something else on if anyone's interest in doing something specific
When: late march through april
Where: various
content warning; terminal illness, arcane season 1 spoilers, likely game typical beast gore/body horror, potentially ableism mentioned, claustrophobic imagery
open prompts.
fishers of dreams - the lighthouse, early april (tdm)
a. while awake
[if you've been roped into this lighthouse business too you may enter to find a man already there. he seems vaguely disgruntled by the business, offers vague greetings but otherwise sticks to scribbling in his notebook. it looks like schematics and formulae, but anyone with an eye for either might notice they tend to trail off and start in odd bursts.
viktor will offer to cook when evening falls (or whatever seems to be the right mealtime in this place) so maybe that is a better time to strike up conversation. the smell coming from the kitchen is heavy on whatever spices the place stocks, promising pain to anyone who doesn't have the stomach for that sort of thing. worse if he finds the rotgut liquor tucked away, which he will pull out and offer despite smelling more like turpentine than anything edible.
these tricks of the eye though, flashes of people vaguely recognizable, he chalks it up more hallucinations. last month was mushrooms, so this? irritating, far more distracting, but it followed the pattern.
it isn't until later in all this he'll track whoever is with him down.] Did you see someone else come through? There, just up the stairs.
b. nightmare
[trying to reach the odd lighthouses is fruitless, the shadows converge and when the dark clears the area seems more closed in than before. it shouldn't be, he was just outside on the shore, yet now the dark sky seems to hang too low, lower still, suffocating.]
What now? This is another illusion of sorts, is it not? One this place is so fond of. [viktor sounds more irritated than anything, maybe defensive since the grip his has on his crutch is white-knuckle tight. in the distance seems to be a lighthouse, though the light is far and the area is so stifling, promising a tunnel that will close and snuff out the light entirely.
it's ridiculous of course, the walls are not that close, certainly not enough for this suffocating grip on the lungs and throat. there's no real explanation, less so when a few steps forward and the ground begins to dot with great metal cables, the distinct, sickly sweet smell of chemicals in the air. there are pools between them where the ocean should have been, this time shallow spills of what could be gasoline or something similar, slick rainbow puddles, oily and difficult to walk through without slipping or sinking.]
(ooc; for this one please, feel free to add your own character's nightmare in any flavor at any point!)
odds and ends - willful machine, early april
[viktor can be found around the vendors often enough, especially those specializing in scrap metal, tools or small machinery. for the most part he doesn't stick out, except for the fact often his massive omen often accompanies him, some sort of huge pink salamander/axolotl that he'll lean against or ask rather politely to help carry larger purchases.
he doesn't seem to notice or care about any attention, though the creature will blink curiously around. feel free to approach or find him haggling rather intently for such a stick of a man, accent thickening when it gets heated enough. maybe you want the same scrap? or are looking for something and he's standing nearby enough to notice a lost look and offers assistance?]
[one might also find him about by the sound of a nasty coughing fit. he stands with his back curled, a rag to his mouth as a makeshift handkerchief. it's a wet cough that shakes his entire frame, and when it's over his sniffs and clears his throat, straightening.
the cloth is stained in a pale color that catches the perpetual moonlight of april. paleblood, that he regards for a moment before folding the cloth in on itself with a small frown.]
closed prompts.
jinx - willful machine, late march
[viktor doesn't stay by the lamp exactly. he would usually but he hardly sees the point when this person he's meeting knows him by sight as far as he can tell. it leaves him feeling comfortable to wander within eyeshot mostly of the lantern, strolling down the canal docks to find a place to stand and watch the boats cut slowly through the water.
he likes it here, he thinks, in this district. the noise and foot traffic, the winding canals and dirty water, the boats bobbing to and fro - it wouldn't be a bad place to set up. a lab that will double as his home because he doesn't see the point in separating the two any longer, even if he can practically hear heimendinger's tutting about his work-life balance in his ear. it will be closer to the vendors, less of a hike to acquire what he'll need to start fresh. first a new brace for his leg and back, then some basic experiments into lunar energy to get a feel for it.
his lungs flare and burn, minor enough he manages to swallow it down without reaching for the rag in his pocket. he makes a note of the severity and timing, adds it to his growing mental list that seems to indicate his illness does indeed remain but is diminished. promising, if he's being optimistic, but at the moment he feels only a sense of irritation that now he doesn't know the timeline of his own life. one he might be shortening drastically with this ridiculous stunt.
a sigh and viktor goes back to watching the boats, trying to clear his head. he considers trying to message vi and ask her opinion of this but... no, he doubts he'll get anything. he's not sure if he disgusts her as a class traitor or amuses her in truth. better to just see for himself what he's gotten himself into like a fool.]
allen - willful machine, early april
[the 'grand tour' doesn't amount to much yet, the lab area just a large, empty space dotted with a few tables and a couple of desks, not even a chalkboard he's been keeping an eye out for or something that could do the same. one of the desks at least is littered with junk, at the moment tools and the starts of a knee brace, a table nearby with all the scrap he's managed to grab that could be useful in the future. one corner has a cot, maybe he'll clear out whatever other small rooms the place has later for a bedroom proper. maybe not.
viktor seems satisfied with it as he gestures around, and rio has commandeered one of the tables for her own to lie across.] A solid start, I think. I like this area, this eh... Willful Machine, that is.
[he'll never admit part of it is the boats. everyone's allowed a sort of childish interest, right? they're soothing, even if they lack the motors that fascinated him.] Have a seat, if you'd like. How have you been since the tombs?
wildcard.
[as i said, feel free to ask for anything else, including other tdm prompts, i am more interested in seeing the worlds built by others for the archway prompts so i didn't include any here. my plurk is![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
dichotomy or you can dm me here!]
What: some late march/early april logs, including some tdm stuff. i'm happy to attach something else on if anyone's interest in doing something specific
When: late march through april
Where: various
content warning; terminal illness, arcane season 1 spoilers, likely game typical beast gore/body horror, potentially ableism mentioned, claustrophobic imagery
open prompts.
fishers of dreams - the lighthouse, early april (tdm)
a. while awake
[if you've been roped into this lighthouse business too you may enter to find a man already there. he seems vaguely disgruntled by the business, offers vague greetings but otherwise sticks to scribbling in his notebook. it looks like schematics and formulae, but anyone with an eye for either might notice they tend to trail off and start in odd bursts.
viktor will offer to cook when evening falls (or whatever seems to be the right mealtime in this place) so maybe that is a better time to strike up conversation. the smell coming from the kitchen is heavy on whatever spices the place stocks, promising pain to anyone who doesn't have the stomach for that sort of thing. worse if he finds the rotgut liquor tucked away, which he will pull out and offer despite smelling more like turpentine than anything edible.
these tricks of the eye though, flashes of people vaguely recognizable, he chalks it up more hallucinations. last month was mushrooms, so this? irritating, far more distracting, but it followed the pattern.
it isn't until later in all this he'll track whoever is with him down.] Did you see someone else come through? There, just up the stairs.
b. nightmare
[trying to reach the odd lighthouses is fruitless, the shadows converge and when the dark clears the area seems more closed in than before. it shouldn't be, he was just outside on the shore, yet now the dark sky seems to hang too low, lower still, suffocating.]
What now? This is another illusion of sorts, is it not? One this place is so fond of. [viktor sounds more irritated than anything, maybe defensive since the grip his has on his crutch is white-knuckle tight. in the distance seems to be a lighthouse, though the light is far and the area is so stifling, promising a tunnel that will close and snuff out the light entirely.
it's ridiculous of course, the walls are not that close, certainly not enough for this suffocating grip on the lungs and throat. there's no real explanation, less so when a few steps forward and the ground begins to dot with great metal cables, the distinct, sickly sweet smell of chemicals in the air. there are pools between them where the ocean should have been, this time shallow spills of what could be gasoline or something similar, slick rainbow puddles, oily and difficult to walk through without slipping or sinking.]
(ooc; for this one please, feel free to add your own character's nightmare in any flavor at any point!)
odds and ends - willful machine, early april
[viktor can be found around the vendors often enough, especially those specializing in scrap metal, tools or small machinery. for the most part he doesn't stick out, except for the fact often his massive omen often accompanies him, some sort of huge pink salamander/axolotl that he'll lean against or ask rather politely to help carry larger purchases.
he doesn't seem to notice or care about any attention, though the creature will blink curiously around. feel free to approach or find him haggling rather intently for such a stick of a man, accent thickening when it gets heated enough. maybe you want the same scrap? or are looking for something and he's standing nearby enough to notice a lost look and offers assistance?]
[one might also find him about by the sound of a nasty coughing fit. he stands with his back curled, a rag to his mouth as a makeshift handkerchief. it's a wet cough that shakes his entire frame, and when it's over his sniffs and clears his throat, straightening.
the cloth is stained in a pale color that catches the perpetual moonlight of april. paleblood, that he regards for a moment before folding the cloth in on itself with a small frown.]
closed prompts.
jinx - willful machine, late march
[viktor doesn't stay by the lamp exactly. he would usually but he hardly sees the point when this person he's meeting knows him by sight as far as he can tell. it leaves him feeling comfortable to wander within eyeshot mostly of the lantern, strolling down the canal docks to find a place to stand and watch the boats cut slowly through the water.
he likes it here, he thinks, in this district. the noise and foot traffic, the winding canals and dirty water, the boats bobbing to and fro - it wouldn't be a bad place to set up. a lab that will double as his home because he doesn't see the point in separating the two any longer, even if he can practically hear heimendinger's tutting about his work-life balance in his ear. it will be closer to the vendors, less of a hike to acquire what he'll need to start fresh. first a new brace for his leg and back, then some basic experiments into lunar energy to get a feel for it.
his lungs flare and burn, minor enough he manages to swallow it down without reaching for the rag in his pocket. he makes a note of the severity and timing, adds it to his growing mental list that seems to indicate his illness does indeed remain but is diminished. promising, if he's being optimistic, but at the moment he feels only a sense of irritation that now he doesn't know the timeline of his own life. one he might be shortening drastically with this ridiculous stunt.
a sigh and viktor goes back to watching the boats, trying to clear his head. he considers trying to message vi and ask her opinion of this but... no, he doubts he'll get anything. he's not sure if he disgusts her as a class traitor or amuses her in truth. better to just see for himself what he's gotten himself into like a fool.]
allen - willful machine, early april
[the 'grand tour' doesn't amount to much yet, the lab area just a large, empty space dotted with a few tables and a couple of desks, not even a chalkboard he's been keeping an eye out for or something that could do the same. one of the desks at least is littered with junk, at the moment tools and the starts of a knee brace, a table nearby with all the scrap he's managed to grab that could be useful in the future. one corner has a cot, maybe he'll clear out whatever other small rooms the place has later for a bedroom proper. maybe not.
viktor seems satisfied with it as he gestures around, and rio has commandeered one of the tables for her own to lie across.] A solid start, I think. I like this area, this eh... Willful Machine, that is.
[he'll never admit part of it is the boats. everyone's allowed a sort of childish interest, right? they're soothing, even if they lack the motors that fascinated him.] Have a seat, if you'd like. How have you been since the tombs?
wildcard.
[as i said, feel free to ask for anything else, including other tdm prompts, i am more interested in seeing the worlds built by others for the archway prompts so i didn't include any here. my plurk is
no subject
but luckily, someone else is here to derail her fight and remind her that flight is also a valid option. without a word, vi hurries in the indicated direction, holding her breath as she passes close to that creature’s breath.
a few short moments and then she’s inside. blowing out her breath in a long drawn exhale, she doesn’t immediately turn around to viktor. she glances left to right and back, taking in the space. ]
So this is your lair.
[ lair, lab, they both start with l; basically the same thing. she still doesn’t turn around to regard him properly, but she does tip her head, giving him a backward glance. ]
Not too shabby.
no subject
the lab lair is clearly an abandoned warehouse or storage of some sort, a lot of empty space but not a lot going on besides. there's a cot shoved into a corner, a row of counters that seems to be a makeshift kitchen, lots of mismatched tables and stools. some tables are empty and some are covered in scrap, half finished machines of all sorts, including the beginnings of an arm. jars of those glowing orbs, notes and schematics everywhere, just nerd central.
probably the one that's most interesting is what's clearly a boxing machine not unlike the ones in an arcade- maybe not as big or intense as the one vi's used to but a little close.
he comes further in, an amused snort at 'lair.' she isn't wrong.] If there is one thing I think we can say the undercity teaches it's how to make do with what you can get. Frankly I'm just glad scrap has been plentiful enough to get some things started.
Do you want a cup of tea while we hope those things go away? [god he misses coffee but what can you do.]
no subject
right, powder. should she send an omni message that she’s run across, as powder puts it, her friend again? no. it’s fine. whatever potential for betrayal powder believed there to be before has been worked out. viktor is, according to them both, mostly harmless.
so vi isn’t shy about scrutinizing his work. bent over to eye level with the table, she looks over that partly compiled arm, only pausing in her mental critique long enough to roll her eyes. cup of tea, such a topsider pleasantry. ]
Do I look like the type who does tea time? [ she shoots him a glance, exasperated. his dual ties bother her in some small way. to talk like he understands the hardships of the undercity to then immediately follow it up with something that has vi thinking stuffy company and bullshit rules of etiquette has her frowning. is she being irrational? likely. but she still sends a glance around, wondering if he actually managed to find porcelain cups with gold-colored trim while also collecting scrap.
her gaze lands on the boxing machine instead. remarkably, it helps soften her annoyance. she straightens up and nods to it. ]
I’d rather you tell me about that.
no subject
[it is very piltover to always move to company = hot drinks, something he doesn't realize after too long in piltover to find it odd anymore. it's not like he had company over when he lived in zaun, and he knows better than to go by singed's example for how one deals with guests. if he did he'd probably be offering her drugs- which there is a little bottle of shimmer tucked in a box on one of the tables, if she wants to snoop and see it at some point.
he doesn't really feel like tea either so he gives up on it. he's found a way to make sweetmilk reliably enough but milk itself is a little hard to come by and he's still looking for it in a more powdered form for longevity. so a bust, basically, and he turns his attention to the boxing machine with an amused huff.]
Ah, I have a friend here who does basic self defense lessons, so I offered to make it. We saw something like it through the portals and it reminded me of old arcades. [he has no idea if they exist still down there, god knows people are quick to scrap things for parts.
he moves over to it, messing around a little then slotting in one of the lunar orbs. the machine bursts to life, faint whirring as he offers vi a quirked bro.] Would you like to test it for me? I haven't had the chance to properly stress test it.
no subject
she meets his gaze and exhales a heh, mouth spreading on a competitive grin. ]
Sure thing. If it can survive me, it can survive anyone.
[ cocky shit, that’s her. shrugging off her jacket, she drops it on a nearby table and then moves into position in front of the gloves and pads. she has a guess of what the start button is and after smacking it, she falls into a familiar stand: legs staggered, fists up, head low between the braced line of her shoulders. the boxing glove on the right comes at her first and she dodges easily, going for a one, two of her left and a finishes punch of her right into that middle pad. the next glove comes at her for a hit and she sways low, uppercutting the pad on the bounce back.
she settles into a routine soon enough, alternating hits and targets depending on how those gloves pick to fly. it’s therapeutic, almost. it’s better than punching at a wall at least. she’s used to hitting something a lot harder and she’s not used to pulling her punches, so is it all that surprising that a good while into it, when sweat is just beginning to bead at her temple, she lands a hit into that middle pad and two springs behind it snap? whatever is holding them in place is knocked loose and they come free of the mechanism, the pad hanging awkward. ]
Ah, fuck. [ she just narrowly ducks from taking a glove to her face. she hits the button from before, relieved to find that it also works as a cancel as the punches stop flying. ]
Sorry, I…
[ she stops short and wrinkles her nose. ]
– didn’t mean to break it.
no subject
but his interest really lies in the machine, moving a little closer to lean at several angles and regard how it handled the use. the fact there were no immediate issues is very promising, though as he expected the continued strain was always where the real problem was going to lie. that it ended up being the middle panel doesn't surprise him at all and he quickly waves a hand when she apologizes, moving in to get a look at the damage.]
No, no, welcome to the world of stress testing. If something doesn't break, bend or potentially blow up then you aren't doing it right. [he sounds pretty cheerful all things considered, screwing open the middle area to get a better look and muttering something to himself along the lines of 'brittle materials' and 'flexibility' before he digs in a little deeper to start removing bits.]
Frankly the fact the arms didn't have issue is a miracle. Would you say it moves fast enough to be challenging? [he glances over, brow raised as he adds,] Though from that showing it seems like a challenge to you may be overdoing it for others.
no subject
she’s pulled from her melancholy as a metal piece is also pulled, the sound catching in between viktor’s muttering. he glances over and she hides behind a cocky, half grin. ]
I could’ve kept going a good while longer, if that’s what you’re asking. [ which… doesn’t exactly answer his question. so one beat spent and she’ll tack on: ] The rate of the punches is predictable. Not too difficult to figure out after a few rounds.
[ she heads over to the table she’d dropped her jacket on, tone flippant. ]
But most people are predictable in a fight, so… [ and rather than pick up her jacket to pull it back on, she nudges it over, turning around to hop and seat herself on the tabletop. presumptuous of her to make herself at home, but if he’s going to be tinkering away, she supposes she should get comfortable. she shrugs. ] – it’s doing its job.
no subject
he mutters a bit to himself as he pulls at something inside the machine, a half paying attention hum in agreement to what she's saying. with a little 'ah' he seems to slot something in place that makes him pull his now greasy hand out with satisfaction. another reason he really needs some gloves, just part of the neverending mental list that comes with making a lab from the ground up.
regardless he was paying attention because he looks over to say,] That is a good point. I suppose the ideal would be offering settings with varying degrees of predictability and speed. Given it's mostly for basic training that would be a bit... much.
[a little disappointing, but not everything has to be overly complicated, he supposes.] Have you been part of this- what is it, a tournament? I see people speaking of it on the network. [he goes back to fiddling, mostly getting the middle pad properly out to take a better look. because yes, he imagines vi would do will in whatever is going on with all the training schools, given this display.]
no subject
she grins and kicks out her leg, letting it swing back an’ forth, for a moment appearing lighthearted and approachable. the tournament is ridiculous, but vi is low key enamored with the simplicity of it. fighting for a dumb trophy of all things, what a concept. she’s never won anything on merit before. she kind of, maybe, really wants that for herself too. ]
Team Cobra Kai.
[ training hasn’t picked up just yet but apparently, her teacher-to-be is some middle-aged dude named johnny. vi isn’t expecting to learn much; she’s already got all the lessons from vander to carry her through anyway. years of prison fights and brawl outs with drug induced monsters too.
she fiddles with the wrappings on her left knuckles and looks to viktor. ] So whoever you made that for… if they’re sending students to the tournament too, you can break the news to ‘em that the best they’re looking at is second place.
no subject
team cobra kai, huh? he keeps that in mind. either to congratulate or pick a little fun at vi once this is all over. she doesn't seem like she'd punch him for the latter and what is life without risks?]
Ha, no worries, Jason is not part of things as far as I understand. He offers very basic self defense between hunting patrols, this eh... this 'school' business doesn't really seem his style.
I'll keep an eye out regardless though- tell me, does this instructor really have anything left to teach you? [it's said plainly, no attempt to flatter, just... he knows her type, she's likely been fighting since she was a child and she clearly honed that edge. he's not sure if this is a matter of boredom or a matter of someone she can actually learn more from. maybe different styles? he knows so little about this.]
no subject
I’m not holding my breath. He’s a talker.
[ which she is not. in her experience, those who talk big and talk loud usually can’t back it up. when she’s cocky, it’s rightfully earned, because she can and she will make good on everything she says. ]
Not saying I’m an old dog who can’t learn new tricks… but the Undercity is a harsh teacher. [ the swinging of her leg has stopped and she sits there now with her ankles crossed one over the other. ] A litttttle hard to imagine some old dude who kicks a dummy doll in his sale’s pitch has the goods.
[ placing her hand behind herself, she leans back into it, adopting a more relaxed look. she shrugs her other shoulder. ]
He did promise though, that I’d be one of the biggest badasses in town if I represented his school.
no subject
[he goes to one of the tables and grabs some parts, examines for a moment, picks something out and goes back to the machine. his hands disappear inside again and with it comes the likely familiar sounds of metal- scraping, creaking, an old tinkering chorus only interrupted by a light chuckle at that answer.]
At the very least it's a good way to test yourself, I suppose. If he's not worth it as an instructor he may as well be a measuring stick. [a little rude but hey, true enough.] Does he incorporate this blood magic we all apparently have now into it? That would certainly make it more interesting. [and dangerous, probably.]
no subject
she doesn’t have anything to say to that, so she doesn’t, instead watching him fiddling away some more. her disengagement only works until there’s a direct question however. ]
Now that’s a question. [ one she should be asking. in fact, she doesn’t have a lot of information on what training is going to be like; she’s simply received a summons to some warehouse. ] The first training session is coming up, so I’ll find out then, I guess.
[ truthfully, she has little mind for other people and their blood because she’s still trying to wrap her head around the parameters of her own blood type. vilebloods as a whole don’t seem to be as well received, so getting testimony from others isn’t so easy. trial and error is where she’s at. ]
I didn’t think to ask him about his blood type. [ now to turn it around: she huffs and sits up properly again. ] Is that something you go around doing? Seems bold.
no subject
Yes, I do quite often. I'm making a study of the types so direct accounts are the most useful data I can gather. [a few more clunks and he pulls his hands out of the machine, grabbing a rag from a nearby table to clean his hands off somewhat as he tilts his head and regards what he can see of the work.] I am a paleblood, by the way, I do not find that information something that I need to keep close. I've seen darkblood and paleblood in action but not the other two.
Odd, isn't it? Sudden access to presumably magical abilities. I haven't met any from worlds with the same stigma against magic as our own.