divide & conquer.

                                   -“ ‘we’ is better than ‘me’ . ” - randy gravitt

-- indie multimuse blog. (original characters, StH, DbD, Fallout, & more.)

-- 8+ years rp experience.

-- accessible google docs bios for (almost) all characters.

-- semi-selective, very friendly mun

-- united by Owltra

There   was   something   very   intimidating   about   the   cloaked   man,      besides   the   fact   that   he   was   so   tall.      Like,      even   Ben      &      James   would   have   to   look   up   to   this   guy   kind   of   tall.      That   wasn’t   the   problem,      if   it   could   be   called   that   ??      It   was   more   the   uncanniness,      really,      the   prestige.      Goris   was   someone   that   represented   wisdom      &      untouchable   importance   in   Twig’s   eyes,      so   it   was   only   natural   he   was   going   to   be   a   little,      you   know,      a   little   nervous   in   his   presence,      even   knowing   him   to   be   someone   peaceful,      someone   he   could   trust.      The   ex   —   vault   dweller   was   admittedly   sort   of   a   twitchy   person   anyway,      hyperactive      &      outgoing.      It   couldn’t   much   be   helped.

                                       ❝   Why   do   you   stay   hidden   away   all   by   yourself   ??      I   mean,      I   guess   I   can’t   really   blame   you.      When   I   first   came   out   of   my   vault,      there   were   plenty   of   times   I   thought   about   going   back      &      not   ever   coming   out   again, ❞            the   courier   rambled,            ❝   Though   I’m   glad   I   didn’t.      The   world’s   pretty   crazy   out   there.   ❞

                      Would   have   become   even   worse   without   the   Scholar’s   help.

*   @congregati0n​   //   unprompted   !!

      It’s not often that a prospective mind sets out to the wasteland, hoping to document all that happens out there.       At least, it’s not often that they live. Long enough to tell the story, that is.

      It had cost the intelligent Deathclaw many a sacrifice. First, it was the comfort of a cushy vault... better than the outdoors. Then, the entirety of the vault itself. Immense grief, a burden his old and weathered shoulders lift to this day. But it was for the greater good. It must have been. Hell on Earth still goes on, and still, so does humanity.

      Twig’s question brought upon him as many potential answers as there were doubts. Why does he hide? He knows some reasons, at least. Good ones.

      “To survive,” as any soul in the wastelands wishes to, “And, I must admit... out of fear. As much as this country has... ‘evolved’... following the War, there has been just as much retrogression.”       “Jacobstown, the haven for all Super Mutants, is an exception of mutant acceptance, not the norm. Not everyone knows not to shoot our kind on sight; thus... I fear. For my life. For the well-being of those who would travel with me. For my head one day resting atop someone’s mantelpiece.”

FUCKING RUNNING FOR HER LIFE FROM THE MOB OF FORGOTTEN MUSES. WHAT IF IT WAS LIKE THE ZOMBIE PLAGUE? WHAT IF WHEN THEY BIT HER SHE BECAME ONE OF THEM

      “CHARGE!!!!”

“MUN TAKE MEH BACK PLEASE AYE DOON’T WOONT TAE END UP WIT’ T’EM AYE PROMISE AYE’LL BEH BETTER– “

“!!!”

OH GOD IS SHE GOING TO END UP LIKE THAT ONE DAY– NO SHE DIDN’T WANT TO BE THE FORGOTTEN MUSE!?

      “Via! My beloved owlet, how good it is to see you! How are the ravenous masses of Hell treating you? It has been too long!”

      ...a week, just about. Those five days between one weekend to another felt like absolute torture. All alone.       But, well, it was the best Stolas’ lawyer could bargain for, when it comes to the custody of himself and Stella’s child. To see her every other weekend, while she would stay with her mother. Oh, what despair, to hold a broken home together by the weathered ropes of a father-daughter bond...

      “The doors of our family castle are open to you, as always! Come, come! Would you care for a snack, or perhaps a drink? Why, you must be parched. Ah-- let me get the door for you!”

There was no ring for self loathing, as horrid and despondent as it made you, even a high hat like Stolas could end up like any rag-a-muffin and the plethora of dives bars in the lust ring. The only other ring that had them beat would have been slot. When people dove too far into lust and they lost everything, they had no motivation to leave this place, The place where even hammered, broke, and disorientated– with no house, no family, no nothing you can at least count on carnal desire and mindless pleasure to distract from your miserable existence in the after life. And so that how the most luxurious ring in hell seven circles ended up seeing saps with the front of of indulgence drunken stus in droves. 

And now this once exalted prince was one of them, sad, sad and just trying to make it through his every day without people questioning his front, or looking at him with those disgusted or pitiful eyes. A man ontop of the world, and he gave it up for what? It came out far more nasty then he meant it but Asmodeus was making a point, he was telling Stolas to think about what he was doing. If he was unhappy with his old hag break it off with her, if his family was to precious to him, then ditch the imp. Not…

There was only so much that the Lord of Lust could do. “Well now now, thank you my lord. Cats like us don’t need to jive with the riff raff down here. Especially riff raff with cameras and loose lips.” Not that lips or being loose were uncommon around here. No ill will, no gross skin crawling tension. Just another noble looking at another. And with mild concern. When their social circles have been rubbing elbows since the beginning of time in hell, even if you were never particularly close, you ended up caring at least some miniscule amount about eachother. 

Royals had to look out for eachothers necks.

“Yeah yeah, trail behind, ya dig it fox? Just right this way.” The guards stepped aside letting the two lords through. Security. Not simple bouncers. He could rest assured knowing that they could speak freely here, and that there would be no one to cast disapproving looks on him. 

“Now you look like a dew dropper, or like a someone took away the pianist keys. You feel me? And not that I don’t like having a few more feathers in my nest, but why come back here? Unfinished business? Need some bees for yo’ knees and to get your rocks off? Need a new imp since yours does not seem to be around? This part of town just ain’t for you cat. You feel me?”

      Maybe it was for the best that Stolas hardly ever cared for harder vices. Drink, narcotics... what manner of impression would that make? Certainly not the best. Much less for the proud father of a little owlet. Those solutions are temporary... but the heartache of a broken family lasts forever. And he had just effectively reminded himself of that. That aspect of the blazing shitshow that had become his life. Deep inside, his metaphysical self clawed desperately at the walls of his psyche, looking for an escape, a relief from this conundrum.

      Imagine realizing you are truly loveless. Overnight.

      Even his morals, his purity, felt like one big lie. In some ways, Stella is right. He’s a goddamn embarrassment, throwing away an already volatile family in exchange for something elusive and temporary, rather than nipping it all in the bud and offering a more permanent solution. To do good on his bittersweet vows, at the very least. Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t. 

      The concern coming from the royal of Lust wasn’t lost on Stolas. Well beyond that sleazy, carefree club owner persona, the owl saw an empathy that he hardly felt coming from others. Outside, it was all expectations. To smile at all times, keep his chin high, to do good on his work and keep the intricate clockwork behind every circle running. Here? Merely an offer for a shoulder to lay on, and an ear to listen to his emotional discharge.       It felt... odd. Nonetheless, the prince welcomed it. It was the best he had.

      A Goetia kicking back in the circle of Lust? Unheard of, business matters notwithstanding. Ozzy was right in questioning his choice of hangout. Stolas did so himself. He questioned just why he had come out this far. Maybe, deep inside, he knew he needed help. And that cooping it all up within himself wouldn’t cut it.

      Patiently, he had waited until they were well out of eye- and ear- shot from the common folk. People who know no discretion, and only judge based on what they see or hear. At least here, he knew he would be safe from scrutiny.       “Ah, well... it’s... a difficult set of circumstances, that led to an equally questionable set of choices. Maybe... just maybe... I thought I could settle my inner demons by returning here. Making a better experience out of what was anything but.”

      The more he thought about it, the better he realized the sheer concussion this ordeal gave him. He was dazed, confused.

      “Mmh, in truth, I am unsure of what I personally want. My heart craves the remission of all that has occurred, to wake up from this living nightmare, to absolve and overcome as one would in a fairytale...       ...every other part of me wishes for immediate gratification. More of what ails me. But I cannot bring myself to indulge in such things; this guilt I feel, it is debilitating.”

At this point, Stolas might as well have spoken about cabbages and potatoes, and Booker would have happily wagged his tail and followed suit. So rare was it that someone understood just what made out the value of books and scrolls, that the dragon was only the more eager to come out of his shell and speak a bit more freely. Even his posture changed from the usual evasive hunch to a full stand, even a smile on his face as he opened the book to gingerly pluck a bit of street waste out.

How fitting the description of a universe was. If this lordly figure only knew how well Booker knew these universes…and how to coax them into the fabrics of his own. Well, in bits and pieces, at the very least. So Booker only chuckled politely, even though he did look a bit guilty.

“Wu-well, I assume a decent re-hydration of the leather shall be sufficient of an apology to this little treasure. As for you, uhm, Sir…?”

It seemed that both of them had only just now realized that formalities had been skipped altogether for the sake of a merry gushing session - and boy, did Stolas deliver.

Now, Booker had already assumed that this was not a normal sinner by any standard, but to hear it was the, yes, the very patron of knowledge and wisdom itself, that almost had the poor demon drop his precious book yet a second time. Thankfully, he didn’t, but he sure hurried to bring his lanky body straight back into a bowed position, eyes darting down, then up, to see if he was yet to be struck down by any hidden bodyguards for his absolutely outrageous display of disrespect-

- but nothing happened. Surely a Prince of the Goaetia was not wandering about all on his own, right…? Right?!

Maybe they were only holding back to find the perfect angle to shoot him from. Or to determine the best part of meat to cut from him later on.

The thought made it a bit harder to focus on the lord’s question, but at least Booker had the grace to deliver an answer. No need to dig his grave any deeper with further impoliteness.

“B-Booker, sir, the name’s Booker, and it’s, i-it’s such an honor…” Better to change the subject, before his nervous stutter would completely take over. Books. The book. Right. What was it again?

“Uhm, it’s a copy of De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium. S-Sadly not one of the first prints, but at least a second edition that had been restored a few times. I-I intended to give it a new binding and re-ink a few faded passages.”

      Oh, this poor young sinner. Coming undone before the prince like poorly tied shoelaces. Such is the norm; Stolas has always commanded a certain degree of respect. Not just because of the weight held by his name, but because of his role in the circles of Hell. Purveyor of knowledge and wisdom, fabled astrologist, curator of rites and festivals... he was quite accustomed to a nervous agent or two.

      Thankfully for this one, it all started with some friendly banter, which Stolas has no intentions of taking in any other direction. The Goetias have a reputation for not taking anyone’s shit, but what sense is there in assaulting such a prodigious fellow?

      “Oh hohoho, how delightful! Nicolaus Copernicus’ finest seminal work, in authentic manuscript!” His glee knew no bounds. “That is, in fact, one of my favourite expositions of cosmology! Thought of to be blasphemous upon reception, but it is nothing short of an intricately crafted, revolutionary puzzle, designed with the most advanced astronomers in mind!”

      It was at this point that his notions of Booker being no mere enthusiast were cemented. So much so, that Stolas had bordered the edge of losing his regal formality to the joys of an expert at work.

      “I must admit, my dear Booker, I am simply impressed. Never before have I thought I would meet someone as cultured as you are!” Now, isn’t that a proper compliment? The owl offered an approving nod, beaming as brightly as his beak would allow. Maybe that will put some ease back into this anxious mess of a demon.

      “...The Great Fizzarolli?”

      What in the Seven Circles is he doing, hidden behind that booth?

      “Good day, my friend.”

      ...an intense feeling of dread lingers.