[this is some serious heroic bsod Don Quixote is going through. She can be found in the rose gardens, frantically trying her shoelaces into complex but pretty knots that end in a cute lil bow.
She's sure not paying attention to anyone approaching. But hey at least her body has been restored?]
for my own reference this is WEEK ONE after NPC Rules announcement
[It takes him a little bit to pursue, if only so he can duck in to check on the wounded and make sure no one's losing their mind in the courtyard after that assault). But once everything's sorted, he slips back out to the campus to try and look for that golden mop of hair.
His jaw tenses when he finally sees her amidst the roses, messing with her shoes, no longer coated in blood. His hand tenses, the cold tension of a ring that no longer had power, the urge to call for a wand that no longer appeared for him. Bracing, despite himself.]
[Ah. Don Quixote looks up, grief for what she had done stricken across her face. Had she known the pain would be not limited to her, had she been more aware
if if if if
Ah, but that was what this journey was for, was it not? Time to add another regret to a teetering pile that threatened to consume her whole]
Ah, good professor. [ She tests her shoes. Good. She exhales shakily. But her eyes are no longer red, just the golden brown unique to even the City. Human once more]
There's no need for titles, Don. As much as the shadows around here will insist otherwise, I'm no professor. Neither are you.
So just call me Solomon.
[He lets the quiet sit for a moment, the breeze over the garden whipping against the looming concrete arch. His eyes trace her, see she's back to normal. But can one go back to normal with something like that lurking underneath? Was that Father who had spurred that change, or something else?
He thinks of that vague space on her ID, an unknown for her age, and sighs. It's a shame. She seemed harmless.]
[It is passingly strange, to be treated so gently with understanding after what she had unleashed. These people are not her companions, not her fellows who she rode and died for (in quite literal terms) again and again. And yet...]
I have committed an act that caused pain against many people. I was...foolish, thinking the only one who would carry the burden would be myself.
It did, yes. It's not a memory anyone will be able to shake off.
[Especially not for the unexposed. The children. The fragile. He'd been into the chapel, across the balconies, seen the ones slumping to the ground or crying in broken faith in the pews. Trauma was trauma, shared or not.]
But it's not as though you could have guessed otherwise. None of us could. You could have been shot down with a bolt of lightning right where you stood, for all we knew.
Just because our host believed your act to be a sin does not make your action the wrong one, or the cause for your rebellion unjust.
Haaaah...I admit, my testing was due to a lack of faith in this 'Father' to begin with. I do not think I could ever see him as such then or now.
[For he was not her father, not the one who rescued her from the pits of despair and filled her hollow heart with dreams worth fighting for. This was a Tyrant, a villain most worthy of only destruction]
Still, I am sorry. I hurt so many people. Here...and home.
[Dropping the speech patterns for now. She's too tired to keep it up]
You're not the only one. For as little as I get along with the one I know, this still isn't the Father I remember. I'm sure I would have tried the same rebellion as you if I had been pulled here at a much different time.
[A beat passes, the wind whipping over the roses and stone and trickling remains of water. He exhales as he slowly makes his way closer, dropping to a seat nearby.]
Is that what you saw, in those flashes? Your home?
Yes. I saw so many people screaming. Suffering from my agony, resonating across the boundaries of space. Many of them I call my close companions. Many more, simply innocents caught up in his tyranny. He knew very well how to cause the most hurt and agony.
[She wonders if, in the game of murder this 'Father' expected, was this meant to be a goad to their fears? A spark, tinder to a fire she unwittingly unleashed]
Was it Father who caused that destruction? Or did you see it happening from someone else's hand?
[Not that he needs any more reason to dislike Father, given he made enough of a hissy fit at the meet and greet, but he'd like to know whether it was a direct threat or not.]
...Partially. But no, it is...it has been my disease for many centuries, deepened into something uncontrollable in the last year. There is a seal, but in that moment, it had been removed.
[ She's not good at lying and in circumstances like these, it's best to be as honest as she can]
...I am a 'bloodfiend'. I know not the term other worlders use, but it is a disease passed on from one to another, where we become enthralled by a desire to feed, lest we perish away from a blood-starved madness. [a pause, and then she elaborates]
Ah, fear not. I hath not needed to feed in over two centuries. I hath always found sustenance in blood substitutions most satisfactory. But 'tis not always the case for my kind.
...Thus why you asked the Dramaturge for assistance before things went awry, I take it?
Does your disease pass on from the bite of another? [AKA, do they need to watch the two that just got bit up to kingdom come, or no? (RIP Lavi, dead before this question was relevant anymore)]
Yes. If my blood thirst is kept under check, I shan't lose control like I did that day.
[She shakes her head]
Nay. To pass this disease requires the agreement of both parties. 'Tis not so simple or the City would be overrun with my kind. A certain physiology and a mental state are crucial for the proliferation of Bloodfiends.
It depends on our rank, how far we our bloodline falls from the First Kindred. I am a Second Kindred mineself, and without restraints and with my thirst satiated, I would say I was one of the strongest of my kind. A stronger body, higher tolerance for pain, the ability to craft weapons from blood.
[A pause and she admits ]
Twas my role against the giant bloodfiends for my Father. To craft unbreakable lances for him to wield.
I had no memory of family. I was born alone. [ She says it with frankness, dropping her colourful speech patterns again. It didn't suit now] The world was a cold place. Empty. Even back then, the City was a wretched hive that did little to protect those within its borders. Very little mattered. Then he arrived. [a pause, as she considers the scent of her own flesh burned to charcoal, the aching pain that did not matter. The red eyes and silver hair that loomed above her, offering her a hand] He was my hero.
[a pause as she studies Solomon]
Your hair is quite similar in color to him. Only he never cut his once. I always had to help him keep it tidy.
Nay! 'Tis from my father I adopted this method of speech and understood the importance of bringing color into mine world. [And just like that, she slips back into her usual self. Also, she just thinks it's fun, speaking in such a grandiose archaic way] The City itself has 24 districts, each with its own unique characteristics. 'Tis not an easy place to live.
[how does one describe the hyper capitalist hellscape that is the City?]
Mmm, a place that sits on its own. There are the outskirts, but they are even more treacherous and difficult to navigate than the Backstreets of the City.
Sounds like a place I know from back home, then. [A quaint little monarchy, settled in the dark. Gotta walk through seven layers to get there, but yknow.]
What makes it so dangerous? I imagine the Bloodfiends must only be a part of it if it's divided into so many sections.
Mmm. All of the City is dangerous. Each district is run by a 'Wing', and within that wing...many people suffer to stay under that protection for it costs a large sum of money. Those cast outside into the backstreets live in fear of cannibals, syndicates and ah, worst of them all, the Sweepers that emerge during "The Night of the backstreets."
[And yet]
But the dangers within the City are all "Human" as far as the Head is concerned. Outside, are creatures beyond the title of "humanity". True monsters.
[Cannibals, though... out of necessity or out of transformation like Don's, is his first question. Really the more Don explains, the more questions he has.]
If the danger is so widespread, you would think protections would be a public interest, not a profit margin... [But, yknow, capitalism sure does exist in some places.] Do you tend to have to defend from more inside the city, or from threats outside instead?
The Head. The Eyes. The Claws. They are the Supreme government of the City. None shall act without their knowledge. One must always adhere to their Taboos.
[Hypercapitalist hell is thy name]
Tis...an odd query. Dangers lurk within the city. But much is allowed to go unpunished for they violate nothing that would beckon the Head's attention. The Outskirts remain the Outskirts. Verily, they have yet to pierce through the walls of the City.
But nothing is a better title for a position so illustrious!
[Sparkles. She loves Fixers]
Ah, no. 'Tis a term for villains that plague the City. It ranges from Urban Myth to Star of the City. Fixers are contracted in various ways to deal with such issues.
[That pulls Don Quixote up short, shoulders going back with righteousness]
I will fight for that illustrious ideal! 'Tis never within my desire to ever become a blight upon the people. I will be stronger and fix things where I can...yet I understand if people find it difficult to believe, for I hath yet to prove mineself here in any meaningful way.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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She's sure not paying attention to anyone approaching. But hey at least her body has been restored?]
for my own reference this is WEEK ONE after NPC Rules announcement
His jaw tenses when he finally sees her amidst the roses, messing with her shoes, no longer coated in blood. His hand tenses, the cold tension of a ring that no longer had power, the urge to call for a wand that no longer appeared for him. Bracing, despite himself.]
Don.
[Cautious, sharp. Testing for a reaction.]
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if if if if
Ah, but that was what this journey was for, was it not? Time to add another regret to a teetering pile that threatened to consume her whole]
Ah, good professor. [ She tests her shoes. Good. She exhales shakily. But her eyes are no longer red, just the golden brown unique to even the City. Human once more]
There are many apologies I must make.
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There's no need for titles, Don. As much as the shadows around here will insist otherwise, I'm no professor. Neither are you.
So just call me Solomon.
[He lets the quiet sit for a moment, the breeze over the garden whipping against the looming concrete arch. His eyes trace her, see she's back to normal. But can one go back to normal with something like that lurking underneath? Was that Father who had spurred that change, or something else?
He thinks of that vague space on her ID, an unknown for her age, and sighs. It's a shame. She seemed harmless.]
Why do you believe you need to apologize?
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I have committed an act that caused pain against many people. I was...foolish, thinking the only one who would carry the burden would be myself.
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[Especially not for the unexposed. The children. The fragile. He'd been into the chapel, across the balconies, seen the ones slumping to the ground or crying in broken faith in the pews. Trauma was trauma, shared or not.]
But it's not as though you could have guessed otherwise. None of us could. You could have been shot down with a bolt of lightning right where you stood, for all we knew.
Just because our host believed your act to be a sin does not make your action the wrong one, or the cause for your rebellion unjust.
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[For he was not her father, not the one who rescued her from the pits of despair and filled her hollow heart with dreams worth fighting for. This was a Tyrant, a villain most worthy of only destruction]
Still, I am sorry. I hurt so many people. Here...and home.
[Dropping the speech patterns for now. She's too tired to keep it up]
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You're not the only one. For as little as I get along with the one I know, this still isn't the Father I remember. I'm sure I would have tried the same rebellion as you if I had been pulled here at a much different time.
[A beat passes, the wind whipping over the roses and stone and trickling remains of water. He exhales as he slowly makes his way closer, dropping to a seat nearby.]
Is that what you saw, in those flashes? Your home?
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[She wonders if, in the game of murder this 'Father' expected, was this meant to be a goad to their fears? A spark, tinder to a fire she unwittingly unleashed]
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[Not that he needs any more reason to dislike Father, given he made enough of a hissy fit at the meet and greet, but he'd like to know whether it was a direct threat or not.]
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[It makes Don Quixote furious, but with no powers, or direction for her to point her lance towards, it makes her feel deeply helpless]
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Tch. So his threat truly doesn't stop at us. [This makes him deeply sick in a way he hates in its familiarity. Ugh.
...]
And what of what happened to you afterwards? Was that his doing as well?
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[ She's not good at lying and in circumstances like these, it's best to be as honest as she can]
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...What exactly are you, my dear, that you can live like this for centuries?
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Ah, fear not. I hath not needed to feed in over two centuries. I hath always found sustenance in blood substitutions most satisfactory. But 'tis not always the case for my kind.
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Does your disease pass on from the bite of another? [AKA, do they need to watch the two that just got bit up to kingdom come, or no? (RIP Lavi, dead before this question was relevant anymore)]
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[She shakes her head]
Nay. To pass this disease requires the agreement of both parties. 'Tis not so simple or the City would be overrun with my kind. A certain physiology and a mental state are crucial for the proliferation of Bloodfiends.
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I'm surprised anyone would agree to it... does it give you some sort of advantage, to choose to be a Bloodfiend?
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[A pause and she admits ]
Twas my role against the giant bloodfiends for my Father. To craft unbreakable lances for him to wield.
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Was your Father also a Bloodfiend? Is this something you were taught through him?
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Did something happen to them? Or was it something you were never told?
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[a pause as she studies Solomon]
Your hair is quite similar in color to him. Only he never cut his once. I always had to help him keep it tidy.
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It's quite a drastic shift in personality, one that catches Solomon off guard enough to extend the pause a little too long.]
I hope it isn't a bad reminder, in any case. I would feel bad making you think of someone you didn't want on your mind.
What kind of place was it? Your City.
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Hahah -- well, in that I'll take some relief. You must really look up to him.
Is it the capital of some larger country, or a place that sits all on its own?
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Mmm, a place that sits on its own. There are the outskirts, but they are even more treacherous and difficult to navigate than the Backstreets of the City.
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What makes it so dangerous? I imagine the Bloodfiends must only be a part of it if it's divided into so many sections.
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[And yet]
But the dangers within the City are all "Human" as far as the Head is concerned. Outside, are creatures beyond the title of "humanity". True monsters.
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[Cannibals, though... out of necessity or out of transformation like Don's, is his first question. Really the more Don explains, the more questions he has.]
If the danger is so widespread, you would think protections would be a public interest, not a profit margin... [But, yknow, capitalism sure does exist in some places.] Do you tend to have to defend from more inside the city, or from threats outside instead?
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[Hypercapitalist hell is thy name]
Tis...an odd query. Dangers lurk within the city. But much is allowed to go unpunished for they violate nothing that would beckon the Head's attention. The Outskirts remain the Outskirts. Verily, they have yet to pierce through the walls of the City.
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Damn this city of yours is whack]
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[It gets Worse]
As long as I am not designated a Star of the City, I would simply be allowed to exist, with the job delegated to Fixers alike to remove.
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What makes a Star any different? Do they serve a role like the Head?
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[Sparkles. She loves Fixers]
Ah, no. 'Tis a term for villains that plague the City. It ranges from Urban Myth to Star of the City. Fixers are contracted in various ways to deal with such issues.
[We don't talk about the level after]
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...
[Brassy eyes settle on her with an odd firmness.]
Do you consider yourself that now, after what was done, Don? A villian in our midst in this place, deserving to be dealt with?
Or do you plan to pursue that illustrious ideal instead? To be a Fixer, and try to make things right?
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I will fight for that illustrious ideal! 'Tis never within my desire to ever become a blight upon the people. I will be stronger and fix things where I can...yet I understand if people find it difficult to believe, for I hath yet to prove mineself here in any meaningful way.