#ilmania

@ilmania​

Frankly, he’s avoided Cotes ward enough that he’s not really going to get more prepared. Venturing inside now, it’s... alright? He doesn’t really see the fantastical vibe that was advertised. If anything, this place looks more like- well, what he supposes the Island was like before the Malaise.

He isn’t sure if that makes him reassured, or just sort of queasy.

He drifts along the bright sparkly streets and sticks to the fringes until he finds the quieter sections, places where his cautious tread and shabby looks buy him relatively less attention. If the thing wouldn’t catch on fire, he’d invest in some kind of hood, and be even less noticeable.

He moves quicker, looking among the storefronts, only to bump shoulders with someone he hadn’t taken notice of.

...Odd. Actually pretty rare for him to be snuck up on by someone.

“Ah,” Hubert says as he looks at Kuja -- they’ve met before, unfortunately, and Hubert does recall the interaction with mild disdain. 

     The croaking frogs and fluttering moths were all that accompanied the elf as he sat silent upon a long forgotten tree stump. He basked in the soothing quiet of the deep, deep forest, a paltry substitute to his own woodland kingdom. It was not easy to find space where one could be alone in this world, not even in the brambly woods, but Thranduil had managed to locate a secluded space during the celebrations occurring closer to the city.

At least until a poised presence encroached upon his freshly claimed space. He perceived the approach with keen elven hearing, and seeing as the area was void of most large wildlife, he could only assume it was another person. The thought alone caused Thranduil’s lips to curve downward in discontent.

     What a shame, that Jevil arrives here when he’s just worn himself out playing other games. If only he’d known how much fun, fun there was to come, he would’ve saved some energy! With all this excitement, he can hardly sleep, but he’s in no mood for a full chaos. For today, he will play quieter games.

     Yes, quieter, quieter. From the window of the storm drain, he shoots marbles into oncoming traffic and watches them ricochet and shatter. The angle is impossible to calculate without that perfect knowledge he had in the old world, but the exercise flexes a muscle in his springs and his guesses of trajectory are usually right. His eyes find the next revolution of the marbles just before they arrive.

     A quieter game... of course, the marbles spin quick, quick, and might just hurt somebody. Who’s coming to represent the stakes?

               This was ... It was something that was for certain. Each step he took came with the fruitless hope that something would stand out as completely illogical to his brain. That would lead into the realization he was dreaming and he could finally wake up. The events back at Sintracorp was worthy of a long drawn out nightmare in the first place -- it could be another arc to this television like series of happenings which was the internal scrambling of his mind.

Denying the truth of his odd predicament only lasted so long before he accepted two things: Yes this was really happening. And also he was lost.

Wandering down the halls of his new residence there was a call to his senses, something smelled absolutely delectable but he could not put his finger upon what. He could find his way later -- for now, he would find something good to admire around these parts. Even though he did not have the currency to spend any money here there was something in at least knowing what the local cuisine was.

In those moments of mental fixation on decision he slowly came to, he was staring fairly intently at a light haired member of the crowd.

               THUNK.

               Aelin has no qualms with this ‘refurbished’ iteration of Cotes Ward — Cotes Fantasci, as she’s heard; indeed, in many ways she considers it a vast improvement that lends itself to the familiar for her.  ❝   It made for good target practice. Now, though, one unfortunate throw could earn you time as a toad... Maybe even as the wart on a toad,   ❞   she continues as she feels the weight of her next dagger in her fingers, bouncing nimbly from one pad to the other.  ❝   The little folk, among other forest dwellers, take their home seriously.   ❞  

               THUNK — it connects firmly with the deadwood she’s turned upright, propped by stones. She would prefer it if it was paced much further away, but that ran the risk of it clipping a wing mid-flight. Fifty yards would have to do for now...  ❝   All this is to say that, when someone with sharp objects is on the lookout for offended parties, you probably shouldn’t walk by unannounced.   ❞

was it an elaborate headpiece ?  there didn’t appear to be a visible strap, and the feathers seemed to somehow meld into the person’s hair.  perhaps, it was merely a part of them and not a frilly adornment.   it was strange, to say the least, but certainly not out of the norm.  he tilted his head, considering.

               ❝  I BELIEVE they call it a ❛ millennium burger ❜.  ❞ he answers evenly, peeling back the wrapper further to make ready for another bite. a withered excuse for a meal; two wads of meat, cheese and onion sandwiched amid three buns--- it made for a rather charming sight indeed, but it hardly swayed his appetite.

               ❝  if you’re interested, they sell them at the local diner.  ❞ he cared little for the stranger’s curiosity, merely diverting their attention elsewhere so that he may eat in peace--- or so he had hoped.