Prepare for the #LodanRespawn2024 Existing characters may choose to be displace from/have memories of different timelines, thereby allowing returning members the option to retcon their whole character. These changes are the result of the "Unnatural Fog" plot device that is running between now and the Respawn. The plot is simple: no matter where your character is, that place is shrouded in a thick fog that suspends time, but not thoughts or memories, so even if they're repeating the same day over and over again, they continue to remember, so each time feels like a new day. For those retconning OCs; this is where new versions of themselves have the opportunity to replace the old versions. Official lore and tree updates will be announced asap
How sad. The woman obviously did not want to go with the father, but Wern could do little to deter the situation, nor, did he understand fully how to. The case with Alisa was that she had no husband—or family outside from Polinya. Her case was an easy one to solve— she only had herself to rely on. But, in marital law, this girl did not. It was a difficult dilemma, one that did not seem to matter to the strange girl. Not as she wrenched herself free from the soldier.
“No. No, no, no!” Hissed. Swatted soldier’s hand. Took girl’s. Then, looked between three. Hissed again. Only option: Run. Pulled girl, urged to run.
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
“What? I—” the girl started, confusion in her eyes as she tried to understand what the strange child was trying to do. Was she…trying to protect her? And then the pulling, the motions, did she mean to run? Miriam glanced between the increasingly angry expression of her step-father and the bored expression of the guard.
Gladys noticed the contemplative look on the girl and stepped forward, trying to grab her arm. “Running isn’t a good idea,” she advised, but the girl wouldn’t listen. She dodged Gladys’ hand and ran, head ducked down as tears were streaming from her eyes anew. The kind (but strange) child was forgotten as Miriam ran, however she didn’t get far before she ran into a man. The same one Gladys had been talking to earlier, in fact. The impact caused the girl to fall over and the guard walked over leisurely to the accident.
“I told you it wasn’t a good idea,” she repeated solemnly as she bent down to pick the girl up.
“Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” ―William Faulkner
It was probably karma, or a work of fate, that just as Wern decided to leave—that maybe this was a time for him to at last depart, something would run into him. The larger man shrieked as he fumbled forward, toppling over as he slammed hands first onto the cobblestones. Wheezing, he rolled, whimpering some as he curled into a ball, slightly promising himself never to leave another person in need again. Though, it seemed like that promise was going to end early as the guard approached to help Wern— no, not to help Wern— the person who had run into him— and even that wasn’t true. She wasn’t going to help the girl. She was going to take her back— the girl, she-she had been running away, it seemed “W-wait. Ma’am. I-I don’t think she wants to go. “ Wern stuttered, trying to get up, but he had to roll back onto his stomach to lift himself. “Isn’t there any way that she can, um, just you know, mind herself?” Or, um, at least, f-for there to be a compromise? Or something?” Wern inquired, curling in on himself slightly.
Mala watched. Girl, let go from her. Ran away, differently. Ran into man. Foolish. Guard caught up. Was reaching for her, and Mala, Mala snarled. Man spoke up, and Mala nodded, hissing. “Girl, chooses to leave. Let leave.”
Post by Gladys Hayden on Sept 13, 2016 6:25:59 GMT
Gladys sighed and stood up a bit straighter. The apparent step-father followed behind her, a smirk on his face but he didn’t dare speak up right now. Not when the guard had already ruled in his favor. “I don’t make the laws. If a woman cannot support herself, then she needs to remain in the care of someone who can. Miss O’Leary here does not have a job. Her husband is at war. Therefore care for her falls to the closest male relative in her family, which is Mister O’Leary here.” She gestured to the man without looking at him. “Unless she can find a job and begin supporting herself in the next three days, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. She is not a widow so remarrying isn’t an option either.” She wanted to repeat the fact that she didn’t make the laws, but it felt overly repetitive at this point. Gladys just wanted to sort this out and go home now.
“Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” ―William Faulkner
With the guards words, Wern faltered more so, lowering his head in shame. “I-I see,” he confessed, holding his hands in a timid fashion. “O-of course. T-that makes sense. I’ll—I’ll be off then,” Wern stated, an embarrassed blush bleeding on his cheeks. Though, as he tottered away, the strange girl swiped at him, grabbing his arm. “No, leave. Not done,” she spat, but fearful, Wern pulled himself away. “I-I can’t help. I’m sorry.” Nor could he offer anything more. Not with the fear that he too, could get in trouble with the guard. He had a family to protect— but what did the girl have? Scurrying, Wern cupped the arm that had been grabbed, the area where the girl had touched, aching from her grip. How did such a frail girl have such strength? It was almost not human, in its power. But that, that was a thought for another time as he darted away, into the rest of the slums.
Man left. But, Mala, she stay. Was not satisfied. But, no longer worth arguing. Girl had failed in running away. Attempted, but ignored. But, women spoke of something, something involving three days. “Days. Spoke of days. Has time.” The concept of days was strange to Mala. But, had learned to count some. Three was more then one. Which meant time. Never fully understood, but could grasp. Still, it gave option to girl. Gave way. Mala pawed at girl. Ushered toward her to say something. “Three days, three days?”
What is important to me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.- Andy Goldsworthy
Gladys watched as the plump man turned to run off, scoffing under her breath at him. Had taken him long enough to get up and leave. Concerned or not, he couldn’t help the situation. So best to just up and get out of the way; keep it easier for everybody. Nodding, she turned back to the young woman sobbing quietly. As the guard opened her mouth to speak, the street rat decided to speak up again, touching the girl and looking at her again, concern evident.
The girl’s eyes lit up as she realized what was being pointed out to her. Time. She had it. Tears still dripping from her eyes, she looked back at Gladys again. “Three days?” she asked, the smallest sliver of hope behind her words. Her father-in-law quickly scowled, hoping this wasn’t serious.
Pressing her lips together, Gladys waiting a moment before she answered. “…Yes. I could give you a span of three days to become self-sufficient.” But that meant she would have to come back and actually check on the girl again in three days, which she had been hoping to avoid; she wasn’t due to patrol in three days and she’d much rather spend the time inside and avoiding the public. But she had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to do that not, not with the look the crying girl was wearing now.
“Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” ―William Faulkner
The girl beamed while Gladys sighed, annoyed at the extra paperwork she would have to file for this. But so be it, it would give her something to do in three days rather than whatever the base has planned for it. “I’ll be seeing you then.” With that, she gave the overgrown toddler a glare again before turning to leave, needing to find a way to spend the rest of her day now.
The father-in-law gave an aggravated sigh before stomping off, grumbling about the EIRAL as he went.
“Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” ―William Faulkner
Mala nodded. Stood straight. Did good? Did good. Guard, angry. Glared at her. Mala matched glare. Hissed. Guard walked away. Patted girl. Man left as well. All left, except girl. Mala kissed girl on forehead. “Good.” Mala spoke. “Good.” Then, Mala left—body, low as she moved amongst the crowd.
Present day:
Chilled. The air, it was chilly. Snow would not fall for quite some time, but it could have. Leandra knew the weather, knew how it acted, the opposite of the warmth that was of her ancestor’s home, that was of Basil. Fastening her jacket more around her neck, Leandra blocked the wind from her face as she patrolled the sloped alleys of the hovel. Children rarely ran across her path, but when they did, they cowered. Was it because of how she loomed, back straight as she walked? Or was it the uniform that crossed her body? Leandra could not tell and ignored it as she turned a corner and, in the distance, she saw the familiar darkened blue of EIRAL. Where there others on her route? Or perhaps, she had come to the end of it? She was not certain and so trudged onward. Her shift was close to being done anyway— it would not hurt her to acknowledge her fellow soldiers.
The cold air was the one thing acting as a form of relief to Gladys right now.
She had gotten word that help was needed in the Hovel, and since that was her primary region to patrol, she went to answer the call. But instead of finding an altercation with a vicious ander (as the report had put it) she found an irritated soldier. Said irritated soldier was now taking out his frustrations on Gladys herself, going on and on about how useless she was and why someone would send her instead of someone more competent. He complained about the cold too, but never strayed far from his key points; which were that Hayden shouldn’t have come, but now that she was here she should be reprimanded for it by himself personally. Which is what he was happily doing now.
She continued to stand there, unspeaking and unmoving as he droned on. The cold air was a nice distraction right now.
“Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” ―William Faulkner
Approaching the two individuals, Leandra faintly noted one. They looked familiar, but she could not place from where. Had she seen them before? The woman stood tall, face stern— very militant, like a soldier. Unlike their comrade, which looked more like a blundering fool with a scrunched face. Was she being reprimanded? Furrowing her brow, Leandra sped up her pace a bit more, edging closer to the two.
“What’s the matter? Sveden?” She called, asking of the foreign enemies because otherwise, why would the man be so distressed?
Post by Gladys Hayden on Feb 25, 2017 22:07:04 GMT
“No,” Gladys said flatly, not breaking eye contact with the screeching man. He stuttered a little at her flat word, thinking it was directed at him (which would make him angry all over again). “I'm not Sveden,” she added then, which was enough for the man to realize that she was, in fact, talking to someone. He turned to look at the new face and shook his head, deciding to spare her the detailed summary of why Hayden was the problem. After all, she was also a woman. She’d probably try to defend the mousemaid or something.
“Is that all, sir?” Gladys asked the man, her face still looking a bit empty. He glared at her for a moment before nodding his head. He turned to leave then, not another word being spoken from his mouth.
“Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” ―William Faulkner
As Leandra edged closer, she saw that indeed, there was no Sveden. Only EIRAL. Furrowing her brow, the taller woman leaned her hand against her hip, feeling the curve of her sword by habit rather than by threat. If there was no Sveden, hen, what had the man been doing? Just yelling at the female soldier? At… Leandra glanced at the woman’s face, and steadily, she remembered faintly, when she had seen her. During the last mission. The medic. This was her. Had the man just been an arse? How quaint. “Must be nice to have so much free time to be an arse.” Leandra muttered, watching the man walk away. She dared him to turn, to fight her. It would give her a reason to do something. Though, she turned to the medic, first. “You’re the medic, right, from the Fighting Ring mission? We fought alongside each other." Leandra inquired, peering at the woman with interest. “You are a talented fighter.”
Whether it was from poor hearing or just the choice to ignore, the man didn’t turn back around and instead continued to stomp off. Gladys let out the breath she had been holding, allowing signs of tiredness to show on her features now. “I remember you,” she answered the fellow soldier with a nod. “Thank you. Although my injury from that day still pains me sometimes.” She reached up and poked at her chest, wincing a little. While the wound had healed well enough, the scar from it was anything but pretty. “You did well on that day too. May I ask why you’re out in the Hovel while in uniform?” She tried to make it sound like light conversation, but Gladys couldn’t completely hide the formality from her tone. She should report back to base to address other work, but she didn’t exactly want to right now. Not yet at least.
“Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” ―William Faulkner
Leandra’s frown deepened. “Oh. I’m sorry that it still ails you.” Her voice was tender and genuine, her eyes, glancing over the wounded area. Though, she let her gaze linger a little bit too long. Of which, she realized after a moment. Her eyes flickered away, back to the woman’s green eyes. Those were safe, after all. “Thank you.“ She responded to the compliment, however, if there was something more to add, her worries about the day and so forth, she shut them up instantly. The woman’s formal tone made her become aware, to be careful. Leandra glanced around, straightening her back. Soldiers have straight posture. Women have straight posture. Women also smile. She tried to, then. It came out weak, as if it was not an expression she used often. After all, the medic had shifted to quite a formal tone rather abruptly. It gave her little time to prepare. “I was asked to patrol route 28.” Though, whether this was still route 28 was a different story. Despite being instructed to memorize every route, she admitted it was a little harder then she first thought. Especially since many routes crisscrossed themselves. What an inefficient system. “What brings you out today?”
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