Barok van Zieks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
discourtesies) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
songerein2021-11-11 09:58 am
discourtesies) wrote in songerein2021-11-11 09:58 am
Entry tags:
[open/dream recording] ⚔️ go to bed barok
Who: Barok van Zieks and you!
Which: Open log & dream recording (you can't make me make two posts)
Where: An ominous treehouse; shopping district; your dream lantern
What: Spooky dreamotion practice; shopping; nightmare
Warnings: drinking, injury. spoiler free prompts!
A
[Although the situation with Asogi has (somewhat) resolved, the young man has taught him a valuable lesson indeed regarding this world and the danger inherent in a place so affected by the thoughts and feelings of those who live in it—or can even change entirely based on some unknown force, if what he's heard about this last "dreamscape" is true. Plus, the fact that a bottle with a particular label appears as soon as he turns his thoughts to his usual vintage is a piece of evidence he can't deny.
When he feels adequately dulled to the usual hypervigilance and his disdain for how ridiculous magically summoning ghosts sounds, he steps out onto the deck of his chosen lodgings and turns his mind to the idea. What even brought that about? It was only a brief moment, although he'd been taken by surprise to the point that...]
What, then? Imagine I'm about to die?
[That sounds like a grand time. Still, what does he have to lose? A few hours of failed distractions or inadequate sleep at worst?
In the late hours of a few nights in a row, a treehouse perched particularly high among the branches has gathered an even sharper chill than Reverein's current autumn evenings, and the white frost spread along the trunk and walls makes the gathering shadows all the more obvious, blacked out even where the moonlight should illuminate.
The silhouette of the man leaning against the railing above is occasionally eclipsed by something much larger like a hooded figure in a robe, a momentary flash of something reflective held above it—but it only ever remains for seconds at a time before disappearing. Also of note is the occasion or two where—when no one is close enough to be hit—a bottle of wine is thrown to the ground with an echoing crash as if its contents have become offensive to the owner... and the resultant scattering of bats who've decided this dark tree would make for an excellent new home.
Sheesh, all it needs now is a thunderclap.]
[ooc: please feel free to hear his muttering and interrupt him or spin something else off the prompt!]
B
[Unbeknownst to Barok, his nightly efforts have led his semi-sentient tree to turn down the temperature to a particularly uncomfortable freezing, and thus he finds himself in need of... extra insulation. So he makes his way out to the markets, his high-collared cloak over a much more mundane jacket than usual, a little more prepared for trade this time:
His first stop includes Madame Blackbird's shop, where he deposits his torn, bloody clothing for either repair or replication—but she doesn't seem to be interested in the bottle of wine he's attempting to offer in exchange. Instead, she seems to be asking for the retrieval of something, and he shakes his head.]
I can't promise I'd be able to fulfill that request any time soon.
[His second is a bit less intentional, when he gets dragged into an eccentric hatter's after accepting the offer of tea, where he then gets drawn into a conversation about, among other things, the merits of a good top hat. When someone else gets brought into the conversation, whether by will or by force...]
A gentleman should hardly leave his home without a hat. [Should the newcomer be more feminine, however, he follows up:] ... and a lady would surely find use of one in this weather.
[And for the rest, he searches for any makers of the very essential blankets, or quilts, or really any large piece of cloth that might help stave off the cold. There's only so many of those he can carry without looking ridiculous and having a bit of trouble, though.
There are times he leans a bit heavily on his walking stick, or seems to take an especially long break to sit somewhere, his frozen scowl unable to fully hide his exhaustion.]
C dream recording;
[The dream begins in a mundane way: Lord van Zieks standing in the grand courtroom of the Old Bailey, a trial nearing its end. The pounding of the judge's gavel echoes through the room, the weight of his verdict the subject of chattering amongst the gallery. The prosecutor turns to leave, his job done—despite the fact that the defendant was declared not guilty. The accused is free, but only for now. Soon, after all, the Reaper's curse will fall upon them, as is the fate of all who try to escape the judgment of van Zieks. It's far from an uncommon occurrence.
But when the heavy doors close behind him and the muttering is muffled, he becomes aware that something is off. A gilded collar lies around his neck, its decorated edges sharp enough to cut his fingers when he tries to pull it off. He hisses with displeasure, gritting his teeth as he looks down at the scratches.]
What—
[But it strikes him that he already knows what. A chain suddenly yanks him forward by that collar, and he trips over his own boots, landing harshly not on the polished floors of the courthouse, but a barren patch of dirt. A line of graves stands before him once he looks up, stretching out across the cemetery, numbered sixteen in total. No—seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty... Barok's gaze hardens into a glare as he raises himself on his hands, but when he mutters lowly to himself, his voice wavers.]
The world is a better place without them...
[He loses count—or simply gives up counting. When he looks down, he sees that his hands are caked in dried mud. Before him, there's a grave open and waiting for a corpse, and another headstone that he hadn't noticed—carved with his own name. So fixated on that sight and the dread that freezes him in place, he doesn't see the figure that looms behind and raises a weapon to strike him.
The blow is swift once it comes down, and the prosecutor crumples into the hole that he'd apparently dug himself, icy eyes still wide with shock. Above, the figure immediately begins to bury him, and he can do nothing—except wonder if this is the fate he's earned. The last sensation he has is of the warmth of his lifeblood seeping into the cold soil before his vision goes black...]
[ooc: Got something else you want? Let me know at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
lumieresdedragon !]
Which: Open log & dream recording (you can't make me make two posts)
Where: An ominous treehouse; shopping district; your dream lantern
What: Spooky dreamotion practice; shopping; nightmare
Warnings: drinking, injury. spoiler free prompts!
A
[Although the situation with Asogi has (somewhat) resolved, the young man has taught him a valuable lesson indeed regarding this world and the danger inherent in a place so affected by the thoughts and feelings of those who live in it—or can even change entirely based on some unknown force, if what he's heard about this last "dreamscape" is true. Plus, the fact that a bottle with a particular label appears as soon as he turns his thoughts to his usual vintage is a piece of evidence he can't deny.
When he feels adequately dulled to the usual hypervigilance and his disdain for how ridiculous magically summoning ghosts sounds, he steps out onto the deck of his chosen lodgings and turns his mind to the idea. What even brought that about? It was only a brief moment, although he'd been taken by surprise to the point that...]
What, then? Imagine I'm about to die?
[That sounds like a grand time. Still, what does he have to lose? A few hours of failed distractions or inadequate sleep at worst?
In the late hours of a few nights in a row, a treehouse perched particularly high among the branches has gathered an even sharper chill than Reverein's current autumn evenings, and the white frost spread along the trunk and walls makes the gathering shadows all the more obvious, blacked out even where the moonlight should illuminate.
The silhouette of the man leaning against the railing above is occasionally eclipsed by something much larger like a hooded figure in a robe, a momentary flash of something reflective held above it—but it only ever remains for seconds at a time before disappearing. Also of note is the occasion or two where—when no one is close enough to be hit—a bottle of wine is thrown to the ground with an echoing crash as if its contents have become offensive to the owner... and the resultant scattering of bats who've decided this dark tree would make for an excellent new home.
Sheesh, all it needs now is a thunderclap.]
[ooc: please feel free to hear his muttering and interrupt him or spin something else off the prompt!]
B
[Unbeknownst to Barok, his nightly efforts have led his semi-sentient tree to turn down the temperature to a particularly uncomfortable freezing, and thus he finds himself in need of... extra insulation. So he makes his way out to the markets, his high-collared cloak over a much more mundane jacket than usual, a little more prepared for trade this time:
His first stop includes Madame Blackbird's shop, where he deposits his torn, bloody clothing for either repair or replication—but she doesn't seem to be interested in the bottle of wine he's attempting to offer in exchange. Instead, she seems to be asking for the retrieval of something, and he shakes his head.]
I can't promise I'd be able to fulfill that request any time soon.
[His second is a bit less intentional, when he gets dragged into an eccentric hatter's after accepting the offer of tea, where he then gets drawn into a conversation about, among other things, the merits of a good top hat. When someone else gets brought into the conversation, whether by will or by force...]
A gentleman should hardly leave his home without a hat. [Should the newcomer be more feminine, however, he follows up:] ... and a lady would surely find use of one in this weather.
[And for the rest, he searches for any makers of the very essential blankets, or quilts, or really any large piece of cloth that might help stave off the cold. There's only so many of those he can carry without looking ridiculous and having a bit of trouble, though.
There are times he leans a bit heavily on his walking stick, or seems to take an especially long break to sit somewhere, his frozen scowl unable to fully hide his exhaustion.]
C dream recording;
[The dream begins in a mundane way: Lord van Zieks standing in the grand courtroom of the Old Bailey, a trial nearing its end. The pounding of the judge's gavel echoes through the room, the weight of his verdict the subject of chattering amongst the gallery. The prosecutor turns to leave, his job done—despite the fact that the defendant was declared not guilty. The accused is free, but only for now. Soon, after all, the Reaper's curse will fall upon them, as is the fate of all who try to escape the judgment of van Zieks. It's far from an uncommon occurrence.
But when the heavy doors close behind him and the muttering is muffled, he becomes aware that something is off. A gilded collar lies around his neck, its decorated edges sharp enough to cut his fingers when he tries to pull it off. He hisses with displeasure, gritting his teeth as he looks down at the scratches.]
What—
[But it strikes him that he already knows what. A chain suddenly yanks him forward by that collar, and he trips over his own boots, landing harshly not on the polished floors of the courthouse, but a barren patch of dirt. A line of graves stands before him once he looks up, stretching out across the cemetery, numbered sixteen in total. No—seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty... Barok's gaze hardens into a glare as he raises himself on his hands, but when he mutters lowly to himself, his voice wavers.]
The world is a better place without them...
[He loses count—or simply gives up counting. When he looks down, he sees that his hands are caked in dried mud. Before him, there's a grave open and waiting for a corpse, and another headstone that he hadn't noticed—carved with his own name. So fixated on that sight and the dread that freezes him in place, he doesn't see the figure that looms behind and raises a weapon to strike him.
The blow is swift once it comes down, and the prosecutor crumples into the hole that he'd apparently dug himself, icy eyes still wide with shock. Above, the figure immediately begins to bury him, and he can do nothing—except wonder if this is the fate he's earned. The last sensation he has is of the warmth of his lifeblood seeping into the cold soil before his vision goes black...]
[ooc: Got something else you want? Let me know at
no subject
They found their way here, and I saw no reason to deny them shelter.
[She wouldn't ask about dogs or birds, so why is she asking about bats?? Bats are people too. Before he continues upwards, though:]
... if you would, Miss Mikotoba, step away from the ladder.
[he does not trust you to not make it worse. It's sturdy enough, thank you.]
no subject
Maybe she's just distracted by the bats, though. Now that the shock as worn off and they're not hurting her, and she's not worried about van Zieks falling, she's about to take a closer look at them in all their blind glory.
...They are cute??? What.
Although she frowns, taking note of one in particular that seems to have fallen on the ground and struggling. ]
There's one here with a broken wing, I think. How awful.
today's research topic: bat rehabilitation
He's grumbling internally about his injuries when Susato brings up an apparently-injured bat, and he turns to look down at her and search for the creature.]
Don't touch it. [Just getting that out of the way, in case she might be tempted to jump the gun in an attempt to help it. He can see even from this height that it's moving on the ground, which doesn't bode well. Hm.]
Use a branch to see if it's able to cling with its feet.
i'm sorry my one-off comment in brackets in another thread caused this extra work fdhjksh
She starts to look around and doesn't want to be too picky, so she just picks any old branch and bends down to hold it near its feet. (Which means her two bags of Barok's things are temporarily on the ground leaning against the tree. Sorry, not sorry.)
...After a moment of watching carefully-- ]
Ah--it's clinging!
[ Now what? She wants to bring it up to him, though she certainly hopes he doesn't mind her making two trips if that's the case. ]
i accept my fate
THAT'S HOW YOU GET RABIES, SUSATO.Listen, when animals start hanging around in your office, you kind of start accumulating the knowledge necessary for having that be a thing... at least if you're a sensible person.Well, any small concerns she may have about getting his things dirty shouldn't last for very long. Folding his arms from his perch, he instructs her further:]
Place it in the bag with the blankets, then bring it here.
[He'd rather take care of it himself in his own home than bother to try to search for someone else. But he never likes relying on someone else when he's perfectly capable of the work...]
no subject
Then, she will place her new bat friend and the accompanying stick inside. ]
Sorry... It'll just be for a moment, honest.
[ Carefully, she lifts the bag and gathers what little else there is for the trip. The other bats follow her up curiously, still intrigued, apparently; it makes her nervous, but after a little verbal fussing on the way up, she's somehow made it to the top. Victory! ]
no subject
Once she's on her feet on the deck, though, he turns to enter the house itself. The inside is just an appropriately gloomy space for the prosecutor as the outside, although it's clearly lacking his usual finery. There are windows, at least, which allow enough light in to make up for the lack of lamps for now.
Once he steps into the kitchen area, specifically where there is a large plain table, he places the bag down and carefully scoops the squeaking animal into his gloved hands, where it thankfully seems mostly fine to remain. To Susato, he instructs:]
Retrieve a glass of water from the basin in the bath, if you will.
[And mind the other bats who have made their way into the corners.
It may be some time before he reaches the necessary levels of dreamotion creativity for indoor plumbing in a treehouse.]no subject
Some of the bats seem to follow her curiously. It takes some effort not to inadvertently hurt them or shoo them away. Maybe they're thirsty, too??
Either way, she returns with a glass of water carefully in her hand. ]
...Is this enough?
[ He didn't specify how much water, but she fills it as she reasonably would, allowing for the usual gap at the top of the glass to account for spillage. ]
no subject
It is.
[Placing the bat on a blanket of a couple of handkerchiefs he'd had in his pockets, he slides the container towards it, where it can cling and take a drink if it needs.]
With sufficient food and water, it should simply be a matter of time before it recovers. [Hmm. He'll have to find a box or something for it. Should be easy enough to find—despite not actually having a previous occupant, there was enough of an assortment of things here when he arrived to suggest it was lived in.]
no subject
Good.
[ She lets out a breath. ]
There are far too many to name, aren't there? But I can't help feeling like you should name this one.
...if you want to.
no subject
Van Zieks takes a seat nearby, taking and letting out a slow breath; it's been a long day, and he's starting to feel his injuries catching up to him again. For a moment it seems like he might not respond, but then almost as an afterthought:]
I shall leave the naming to you.
[Barok does not mention that he's already named two of them.]
Though perhaps at another time, Miss Mikotoba.
no subject
Of course.
[ She opens her mouth, almost to say thank you out of a strange habit, but she shuts it again. ]
...Then, is there anything else you require before I go?
no subject
You have done more than enough.
[And honestly, he would have expected her to want to leave almost as soon as she got here. Their task was indeed done, and he's not known to be pleasant company... the magical influence of certain sorts of tea aside.
...
...
Right, well.]
Thank you.
this was worth it for bats /fin
Before she can change her mind, she bows. ]
Alright. [ "You know how to reach me," she almost says, but they're not exactly going to be pals hanging out, so she thinks better of it. ] Take care, Lord van Zieks.
[ She finds herself at the top of his ladder, lingering for a moment before climbing down and disappearing into the residential district. ]