#alexis 01

The Whaler doesn’t know what in the Void ‘Halloween’ is supposed to be, but they do know roasted hare when they smell it. 

Meals with the Whalers tended to be meager; even when the money was good, their facilities were usually not. Rats or potted whale meat tended to be the meal of choice, especially after the group moved into the Flooded District. Roasted, seasoned hare was for the nobility and the nobility alone. They’d seen it often during missions into the wealthier districts, before the Rat plague at least, and the smell practically haunted them. 

And here it was, in a cheap ‘Halloween’-themed food stall, Outsider knows how far from Dunwall. An entire roasted hare, stuck on a thick wooden skewer, the last one in stock.

They snatch it from the stand almost as soon as they lay eyes on it, transferring the credits to the rat attendant only after it sinks its teeth into their hand. It’s hard to get used to using a currency that appears to be entirely pretend. Almost like Serkonan chocolate coins, but at least those were physical objects. Why the Ark bothers, they’ll never know.

Economy aside, the Whaler tucks themselves happily into a dark, quiet alley. For them, darkness and low through traffic are essential qualities in eating areas; they don’t like other people seeing any part of their face, no matter how small, and eating requires them to lift their mask over their mouth. A dark, damp, cramped alley is perfect for them, even if the cleanliness leaves a lot to be desired.

They’re pretty sure it’s safe for them to eat here. They press their back to one of the moldering walls of the alley and push their mask up just enough, mouth watering as the aroma of the still-hot roast hits their soft palate. Stomach rumbling, they prepare to take a bite of the juicy, tender dish of their dreams—

The hair on the back of their neck stands on end. They whip around to face the far side of the alley, whole body prickling with the sense of being watched. The sharp motion sends the hare slipping off its skewer and tumbling on to the dirty, wet ground, bouncing and rolling until it stops just short of a stranger standing in the shadows. 

Fuck. The Whaler slaps their mask down but keeps their pose at least somewhat friendly. They’re still unarmed; starting fights against strangers is never a good idea.

They consider for a moment, and then decide.

From: M. Yu To: Alexis Tucker @unterzee

Talon admitting to liking things is a fault in his code. He wasn’t programmed with the capacity to like anything more than the satisfaction of knowing where his next meal is coming from or the pleasure that comes with taking a life. Trifling things like likes and dislikes get in the way of his job. 

That being said, Talon likes it here. The trees, at least. They remind him of the outskirts of Noxus prime, dense with forestry and rife with perfect vantage points for scouting out lone Demacian spies. The higher he is, the safer he feels. The constant thrum of paranoia in his blood is allowed to quiet with the knowledge and safety of the heights. He even used to perch himself on the rafters of the du Couteau mansion. They call him a bird for good reason.

Habitually, he watches the people below him, ensuring none of them spot him with ill intentions. It’s harder, not knowing the customs of the people of this place, but ultimately, he knows, people are the same.

It was a nice day - one of those bright and sunny ones, warm but not too warm. A gentle tropical breeze wafted through the air, bringing with it the smell of the sea, and also various Tropical Fruits and the like. In other words, too good a day to spend cooped up and languishing inside, with weary and bitter complaints of “woe is me, I’m dyin’, my wife, my son, they don’t know where I am an’ must miss me so terribly...”

Naturally, the one day Levin wanted to go outside and relax was the one day his legs just absolutely decided to quit working on him. Oh, sure, he was able to lean against walls and the railways of the pier, and they’d actually move - but trying to do that without support? His legs may well have been jello!

As a result, he’s only able to get a few incredibly unsteady feet away from the pier before his legs collapse under him, and, well. He accomplished his goal. He’s outside. That’s what he wanted, right? To be outside, and enjoy the day? He can enjoy the day... perfectly fine... right here.

And so he does, for a few hours, at least. He’s quite enjoying himself on the sand, actually, when something - someone - trips over him, and knocks the wind out of him with an “oof”.

Slowly, Levin drags himself into a sitting position, blinking at whoever it was. “You all right there?” he asks, because he’s a decent enough person to be concerned - but he’s also not without snark. “I’m sorry. Didn’t realize this was gonna be a common walkway when I got here.”

“Wait, so you have? You have training in prepping dragon meat?” Riliane’s mismatched eyes went wide with the realization. Her grin only grew wider, threatening to give her a sore jaw if she kept it up.

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with - Oh!

Divya lamented her heels as she pushed through the milling people who’d opted to vacate their seats for whatever reason, pleased to have found a legitimately friendly face. She hesitated for a beat before she rested a hand on a bare shoulder, her smile warm even before she caught her attention. “Alexis, you can’t imagine how pleased I am to see you - and, you look absolutely ethereal, it’s amazing! Is this that dress you were so excited for?”

He’s trying to be polite. Or at least non-intrusive. He is! Really! Honestly! But he’s sort of, like... well, the Walrider is a little too big for his body, let’s say. So he’s kind of constantly leaking. And it can get everywhere. It goes away eventually, usually, but it’s still like, a nuisance, and probably very freaky to people who aren’t used to it, not that he would know, because where he’s from everyone is kind of used to weird shit happening on the daily.

Anyway. He just dripped some shit on this person’s shoe. Which he should probably do something about. 

Matt hasn’t been out of his room for long, has barely had time to really soak in whatever this place is supposed to be, or even where he is meant to be. It feels close enough to a real forest on earth to be reassuring but far enough removed to be alien, strange noises and smells mixed with familiar ones, talking bears roaming among humans. 

He grips the cane (which isn’t his, too light, too thin, the texture of it is all wrong and throws him off-balance in a way he didn’t think he could be) trying very hard to not seem too nervous about the amount of empty space surrounding him, which he isn’t, not with his radar sense to reassure him about the direction of the path he is currently on and the presence of other people on this path, primarilly going their own ways and not paying attention to him.