| test drive/open post (the outsider)

[cetea]

Comments

[clockeyes]

[He is an angel of the Lord. A Lord he is devoted to entirely, a Lord which he will gladly destroy false idols for. The existence of other gods, even in worlds and dimensions he has never visited? The idea is preposterous, to an angel like Cheriour. He has no time or need or want to think of such things, not while he does his duty.]

[He does his work on Earth diligently. His bloody, bloody work, where he hunts down those humans whose hearts are darkest so that the pure and innocent can survive another day. In a way, he's a dark being, a tool of destruction, used to deliver the final blow of justice in a very dangerous manner. His sword has tasted blood, and it will do so again, over and over...]

[He has finally started to rest for the night, getting in a few hours of sleep before he continues his work. But, when he wakes up, he finds himself not where he was when he went to sleep. Indeed, he finds himself in a...dream-like place. Pieces of land hover in the air, the thick smell of saline and oil hitting his nostrils. He turns his strange clock-eyed gaze over it all, eyebrows furrowing as he gets to his feet.]

W-what? [He has never seen this place before. He's never seen anything even like it, not on Earth, and not even in heaven.] Where...where is this?

[blackflamed]

[She's a delinquent. A high school student, judging from the uniform, but that's not an occupation when you don't show up, and she doesn't if she can help it.

Right now she thinks she might be dreaming about a video game again. It's different than her usual ones. No gas cans or fire bombs. No ash. Water, though. Like the river that runs through their town. Deeper than that, though. No wading through to look for lost shoes, this time.

They're missing again. But it's alright. They always turn up eventually. She'll just have to look for them.

If this is a dream, she'll wake up. She always does. Sometimes it just takes longer, when the dream's better than school in the morning.]

Is there anyone else here? You don't have to be shy, you know...

[It feels like there is. Like someone watching over her. Like a God, maybe. Not Lord Kanti, of course. No gas cans. No fire bombs. But maybe of the river. There's water. And broken things.]

[grannyrats]

[ She doesn't see. She doesn't see, and doesn't doubt for a moment where she stands. The world is mist and shadows to her eyes, but nowhere else do mist and shadows hum quite the way they do here. Her steps halt when she feels her feet just peeking over the edge, when dust from the floating ruins crumbles underneath her weight quietly, falling like snow into cerulean nothingness.

Oh, but she mustn't let it crumble on her shoes, not when she will meet him again at last. They are still polished leather in her mind, brilliant stones lining buckles of gold. She will dance in them tonight. ]

Do you remember the young girl, love? She never told you, but her hands trembled, the first time she drew her blade across the bones... so, so many years ago.

[ Wistfully her fingers stroke the pale disc in her hands. She has already memorised every single line, from the moment she carved it. They are smooth and clean, and she holds the rune in front of her chest, as if she were offering it to the Void itself. ]

She can do so much better now, you made her so much better, love.

[cockade]

[The first thing Arno realizes upon waking is that his stomach has dropped to his feet, that the sense of being home amongst the crowds and the riots of Paris long gone, emptiness in its wake. It's a start that wakes him, hands to the cold concrete island under him, robes in tow as he stares out into the Void.

This is... not even the acceptance ceremony of the Brotherhood was like this. Arno swivels his head from one end to another, finding nothing familiar and the sound of the area, of the quiet that seeps into his bones, incredibly unsettling. Breathing in quietly does nothing to calm his nerves, and pulling into Eagle Vision only leaves a blue-ish hue to his sight, nothing else standing out.

The Frenchman walks forward a little, noting the edge of the island and the nothingness below. He has no idea where he is, and that doesn't sit well with him. With nowhere to go and no idea how to even leave, he's stuck, trying not to pace as he continuously looks for an exit somewhere.]