eachdraidh | first jive ⚛ video ⚛ open to both courts

(For those who are online, if you will, the video feed of both courts will flicker on to the picture of a man who looks surprisingly calm all things considered. His hair is neatly combed back and parted, his clothing well put together, and there’s a borderline arrogant smile that plays at his lips. If it had taken him a half dozen times to get the locket to work correctly for him, it didn’t show on his face, but for him it was practically like magic.

It was technology that was still years away from where he was, he had only recently managed to install a telephone in his car (and promptly sold the idea for a handsome profit), but even it had been quite an ordeal, there were a dozen wires, it needed a long and thick antennae to work, and if you weren’t careful it could drain your battery in a heartbeat if you weren’t careful, but it was technology that he felt had promise. Adding the ability to view the person on the other end of the line was something he hadn’t even thought about trying, let alone making it so small and portable. Sure, he had managed to miniaturise a camera lens for a pen, but that was just for still photos. He was intrigued by it, though, a fascinating idea (one he wished he had been the one to come up with), and he didn’t hide his impression. He didn’t dare attempt to pop it open, however, lest he not be able to put it back together. While the imps had been kind to him thus far, he hadn't argued much when he'd been dragged away, he wasn’t sure how well they’d take to him breaking one of the gifts that he had been given.

For the time being he would leave it as it was, but eventually he might ask if someone knew just how they worked. Just for the sake of curiosity.)

So I take it this place doesn’t take too kindly to technology of any kind, huh? Even one as simple as a battery. (He raises his wrist to show the watch on his arm, it had stopped when he had arrived, and though it was currently useless, he couldn’t take it off. He was too used to wearing it and would feel naked without it.) Is there anywhere around here where they sell watches you wind? Or parts so I can convert this one?

(There’s a pause, he takes his hand down again and shrugs his shoulders lightly.)

Anyway. Good morning. My name is Howard Stark, and back home I was an inventor of sorts, so I’m not entirely sure why they’ve brought me here, unless it’s to update this place somehow. My company’s goal was to build a better and brighter tomorrow, and it looks like this place could use a bit of that. It’ll be like going back in time with what I have to work with, but I’m sure I can manage if that’s what’s wanted.

So, tell me a little bit about yourself, mysterious person on the other side of the magical locket. What makes you special?

Unseelie Locked

Who’s in charge of your weapons division? Back home, right before I was brought here, we had a war that ended, and I worked in weapons on the winning side. I can’t imagine that’s a coincidence.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He hesitates a moment, then gives a curt nod, and reaches to alter the privacy settings slightly. Just good business.]

Seelie and Unseelie are the only courts. The main contenders. The only ones powerful enough to do what they do. The dwarven city...not all dwarves live there, but the area is traditionally neutral. All kinds of species populate the drabwurld, xenian and human intermingling; trolls, trowes, fae, shapechangers...stranger things. The place is a mongrel, kidnapping world, after all. Constant influx of totally new species, and most Shardbearers who survive settle down and spawn. It's diverse. But in terms of racial tensions, the native elves and vampir are at each other's throats. Sometimes literally.

[He cleared his throat, rubbed his stubbled jaw, brow creasing. His voice becomes a little more clipped.]

Broadly speaking, the elves are associated with the Seelie and the vampir with the Unseelie. There are exceptions. Glaschu burns vampir on sight. Dorchadas does not do similar to elves.

[Not that he has a personal stake in this or anything--pun entirely intended. His eyes coast more firmly towards Howard. And he smiles. His eyes glint with that same wary delight.]

Plane. Something that flies? Like an airship, or more like a spacecraft?

(someone needs to teach him all of this. He's figured out some, but that's neat.

He nods along to the words, carefully letting them register as he tries to make sense of it all. It's such a world away from his own, several really, this Drabwurld, he tries to compare it to the allies and the axis, really, it's the easiest way to make sense of things. Just, if there were more magical creatures involved in those. The main issue he's having at the moment, he's not sure which side he's been placed on.) ...they spawn? (That makes his brow furrow.) How long are people stuck here? I thought...if I did my part and cooperated, I'd get to go back.

(he doesn't want to be here forever. He has affairs to take care of at home. Friends. Well, one friend at least. Maybe two. But his work. His tech.)

Are those chemicals? (He really needs to get to the library.)

Yes. Sort of an in between? They're fuel powered, engine driven. I'm working towards spacecrafts, though. I want Stark Industries to be on the side of the first manned shuttle in space.

Chemi—no, no, they're regions. [How do you not know this.] Dorchadas is the Northern lands, where Caer Scima is, where I suspect you are just now; Glaschu the more southerly midlands, home of the Seelie and Caer Glaem. Get a map, godsdammit.

[He tch's, and looks faintly troubled, lips pinching together.] Anyway. I thought you knew war? The promise is a return. But the fact is we're grist for the mill. People go mad looking for ways back. Dash their brains out on this alien turf, try to rip their own shards out.

Sounds like you've more interesting things to apply yourself to than nostalgic fantasy.

Edited 2015-02-08 12:34 (UTC)

(he spent .2 seconds looking at the map, and they're very complicated names. he doesn't even know how to pronounce them, so having someone else do so doesn't mean he'll make the connection, even if he spent longer time looking at it.) I have a map. (Somewhere.)

I do know war, and when it was all said and done and we had won, I got to go home. Ultimately what I want to happen here, too. (He frowns slightly.) What happens if you lose your shard? The imps implied that the consequences would be dire, but they weren't very thorough. In a rush and whatnot.

Another reason to get back.

You die. Some come back from it. Some don't. If you come back, you're cast out from your court.

On the subject of war. Put it this way: how many came back?

The premise of war as a temporary stint, something you put a certain amount of effort into and get a certain reward for, is bullshit. Most of us are going to die here, and not gloriously.

I don't want to die. (Or be an outcast. It doesn't suit his style.)

In ours? Too few. It's always too few.

(His face tightens just a bit.) Well I don't plan on dying, I can tell you that.

[At that, the Brucolac gives a cough of a laugh so wheezing it really sounds like it should come with a puff of gravedust. His face creases in a smile which is not unkind.]

Continue to plan that way.

If you're still in one piece after the next few weeks, and if you're still interested, come to me about those jobs in Mair. Should it turn out you're as good as you say you are...and adaptable, most crucially...then like fuck do I want to waste you on running errands in that rat-reeking shithole, but you need money and I can't pay you for sweet words about brighter tomorrows. However much of a creaking sentimentalist I am.

Edited 2015-02-09 01:43 (UTC)

first jive ⚛ video ⚛ open to both courts

video. unseelie locked -> private to howard.

Re: video. unseelie locked -> private to brucolac.

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