[closed] hey get your knives out

[prozaic]

WHO: Shalem + others
WHERE: Mostly in the Gallows, but there's something happening in Mirth too.
WHEN: Event time!
WHAT: Shalem is in jail, then he's not. Then he needs to make some money.
WARNINGS: Shalem's Shadow amplifying his bloodlust, some PTSD, lots of poetic waxing about dark things. More tba

[ a catch-all for people i've plotted with. feel free to respond to my plotting comment if you'd like a thread! ]

Comments

[prozaic]

Ah, of course. Radiation sickness. [where has he heard that before?

of course, he's only being glib in his train of thought because here he is, a victim of some sort of radiation too, even if it's not immediately obvious.]

It does strange and always terrible things to people, but this is the first time I've ever heard anyone call their illness wonderful.

[damnpire]

[Hmm.

Look, he hasn't forgotten the last conversation by any means, but he's still somewhat curious all the same. He's heard a bit from Rosa, though that isn't like hearing it from Shalem.]

You have an understanding of radiation poisoning?

[prozaic]

I am no scientist. [he needs to say that immediately.]

But like I said, I worked with medics, once upon a time. Of course, the radiation you speak of and the one I know are entirely different things, because you don't need a Catastrophe for radiation to be available.

[damnpire]

Before any catastrophe, radiation could be found sometimes in different places. Most of it was contained, however.

[Except for accidents. Which sucked.

He is quiet for a long moment, then carefully:]

Is it the reason for your illness?

[prozaic]

[shalem's smile turns brittle, but sharp. like glass that can break any time and turn into shards that will cut.]

Yes.

In my home world, there's often no way to know if a place is safe or not until you see the source of the radiation. [is that how he got sick? maybe, maybe not. but since he didn't reveal the true circumstances of his infection to even his own doctors, he won't reveal it now.]

[damnpire]

I understand.

[As in, he gets it but also he won’t press any deeper. So Shalem doesn’t have to worry.]

It’s a difficult and dangerous thing to deal with. The mutants on the Frontier are generations of radiated evolutions from a long time ago. The Frontier is dangerous in other ways. Radiation only lingers here and there.

[prozaic]

[shalem returns to his book-- rather, finally starts it from the very beginning to absorb as much as he can from it.]

The common term for someone with my affliction is Infected, but Rosa is uninfected. [thankfully. he's glad she and the other ursine kids managed to avoid infection after all they've been through.] So I would rather not be called a mutant.

But it's a misnomer, I'm not infectious and can be touched safely.

[damnpire]

[His conceding comes with silence, but also acceptance. For him, he understands it’s clinical, a categorization.

But he is still half human. He knows there are connotations.]

It seems they haven’t given you a much better word than mutant.

[Rosa isn’t infected…? Well, now he can’t place the strange vibe he gets from her. She really is just out here with depression from the times… Worrying.]

You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.

[prozaic]

Well then, I appreciate the directness. [a flip of the page, as he tugs his tail into his lap.]

I'll be direct back to you-- I do not discuss the specifics of my condition to anyone who isn't already aware, such as those from my world, or my doctors. [then he looks away from the book for a moment, and smiles. briefly. sharply. there's no mirth in it.] It's not about not wanting to. It's simply about medical privacy.

I shan't budge from this stance, even if you were to repeat your attitude from our first meeting.

[damnpire]

[With carefulness, he watches Shalem across the way. These are understandable requests and boundaries.]

I don't mind.

[The supposed infection, or the stipulation Shalem is set in certain ways which are the most comfortable. He's glad he has Rosa here with him for familiar company, someone who understands, but he isn't glad either of them are here. But he doesn't say as much.]

I won't define you by your illness or your differences. [This he empathizes with a little more closely.] Our first meeting did not end very well. I'd like to start again, if you're willing.

[Under normal circumstances, he'd never bother with any olive branch because he never stayed in the same place for very long. But these are not normal circumstances.]

[prozaic]

Oh?

[he has the feeling that this is quite significant indeed, and shalem sets the book down onto his lap.]

If Rosa is likes you, then that means she sees something. I'm willing to give you another chance based on that. [then he raises a finger.]

I like to give chances, but I, too, have my limits. You breached them last time by trying to insert yourself in something that is none of your business. Please do not do that again.

[damnpire]

[??

Has Rosa... spoken about him? Regardless, he's still a bit bewildered to hear Rosa vouch for him in any way. He frowns gently, perplexed by something he isn't sure he wants to bother asking about right now and by the seriousness of Shalem's request.]

I won't.

[Which he thinks might be better than just saying "alright"; giving his word.]

[prozaic]

Very well.

[shalem reaches out with his right hand-- gloved, as both his hands are, and bearing multiple rings-- to shake.]

I am Shalem-- nice to meet you.

[damnpire]

[He watches the offered hand for a long moment, and then he finally steps forward to close the distance. His left hand is somewhat open, but his right hand is also gloved, and he extends it to take Shalem's. No jewelry, though; he's too minimalist of a man.

He shakes Shalem's hand with a firm grip.]

D. The pleasure is mine.

[prozaic]

[they say a firm grip is a good sign. to shalem, a firm grip just makes the rings bite into his fingers, even if he has gloves on. even if he's giving a firm grip in return because that's just how he knows it has to be.

just a squeeze, a shake, and then he lets go.]

All right then. Come, let's see if we can get our work done. [and what about the book he's been reading? shalem tucks it into his jacket. of course he intends to take it with him.

maybe even "conveniently forget" to put it back.]

[damnpire]

[The gloved hand disappears once more beneath the edge of the long, black cape. Hopefully the start-over doesn't end up in more disagreements down the road. He thinks they'll be alright.]

We should look around to see where your key leads.

[He... doesn't say anything about the book theft actually. Look! It's just a book. He is usually pretty decent about staying in his own land, trying to talk someone out to accepting death notwithstanding.]

[prozaic]

Yes, yes. [shalem will stand... but stays sitting long enough to give the skely-tons a farewell pat on each skull. he'd like to bring some of them home...! but what if they're bound here, what if they just like working here and have their own homes?

oh well.]

Where else have we found locked doors other than this one?

[in his extreme focus on the books, shalem has. well.

he's forgotten.]

[damnpire]

[Again, he watches each skeleton receive a pat. They do not hold the same kind of captivation for him they do Shalem, but he doesn’t honestly judge the other man for it.]

We should check the other rooms to see if we have missed anything.

[There isn’t another door to check until they get through the wall, but, well, they won’t notice the wall if they don’t check.]

[prozaic]

Hmm... [shalem makes one last sweep of the room, and sees nothing but themselves, the odd locked door, the little skeleton-creatures running around their feet, and the piles and piles of books.

then he pulls out the key and peers at it.]

I wonder-- would this key open something other than a door?

[damnpire]

It's possible.

[A key doesn't have to open a door necessarily.

He turns away and begins moving from this room back toward the librarian's room, though without too much hurry.]

Let's see if we find anything it fits.

[prozaic]

Ah... time to inspect every padlock we see. [he says that almost cheerfully, as if he's not saying something that will become incredibly tedious to them later on. or sooner rather than later, really.

shalem fits the ring around his forefinger, just to keep it where he's always aware of it, should anyone attempt to steal it. he doesn't think there will be an attempt at theft, but still, it pays to be careful.]

Do you remember seeing any on our way to this room?

[damnpire]

[Shalem...]

It could be you are just right in that he does not fit that sort of lock.

[Maybe they are Locke and Key adjacent and the keys do very funny and sometimes horrifying things. It's fine.

Inside the room, he pauses to give it a glance around. Nothing as changed thankfully, but that also means nothing stands out as important yet.]

It might be hidden. How good are you at finding secrets?

[prozaic]

I've gotten enough experience with such things in recent times. Before I died, I mean.

[which is such a non-answer, and the only response he will give. no need to elaborate on how he went and explored an entire castle and its traps simply to find one man.]

So we must search every nook and cranny, and even the bricks that don't seem like they're loose. [then he cricks his neck and flexes his shoulders.] Might as well get to it, then.

[damnpire]

[He doesn't question the non-answer, but does find it a little hmm regardless. Not that he believes Shalem wouldn't have a completely normal history considering their conversations.

He looks at Shalem, and then he looks back to what's ahead of them.]

Start on the right. I'll start on the left.

[He turns left, moving slowly and carefully while inspecting what he can. His hand reaches out to file along the wall and anything else in reachable distance.]

[prozaic]

Yes, yes. [shalem licks his dry lips, at the same time scenting the air with his tongue. then just pulls it back in because the soapy water that the cleaning crew used around here smelled stronger to him, and just a little unpleasant. plus, the scent of old books, while nostalgic, is just terrible.

but his tongue is much better at this sort of thing than his nose for some ungodly reason, some vestigial trait from his ancestors, he's sure, along with how it's forked.

he doesn't note anything off, no wind whistling through unseen gaps in the walls, no odd scents. still, he pushes against the walls and tugs on lighting fixtures, listening carefully even to his own-- admittedly very faint-- footsteps.]

I'll try this room, by the way. [spoken loudly enough so that his companion can hear him, one hand on the doorknob.]