On-Kilter
Posted: 07 Jul 2018, 14:04
Jesse Fforde
The area around the ritual table was scattered with different objects, some more obscure than others. Rituals had become Jesse’s second love. If he wasn’t at work, sketching or etching ink into flesh canvases, if he wasn’t in the garden with the snakes cultivating the flowers and roots and herbs needed for rituals—he was at the ritual table, testing and practicing. There were vials and tubes and ears and prophylactics, there were piles of bones and glinting teeth, pelts and paws. The most significant pelt was large and plush and white; it had been tossed over the ritual table, and Jesse was perched on top of it, legs swinging. His feet were bare, the drawstring track pants loose, the tank hanging from his torso had clearly seen better days.
Jesse Fforde
The necromancer’s inked shoulders were hunched, bowed over the book he had on his lap. Most often he could be found with a sketchbook, his fingers flying over an image brought to life by ink or charcoal or led. This time, however, the ink created writing; clear, concise, neat block letters. The book itself was leather, expensively bound. If any ordinary person picked it up, it might almost look like a grimoire.
Jesse Fforde
Rituals were a science, and Jesse Fforde was determined to figure out the answers to life, the universe, and everything. If he could get no answers from Every, if he could not find Theodosia on his own to try to get answers from the ancient, then he would keep doing what he’d been doing for years —trial and error.
Charlie
The allurist hadn’t kept her return a secret, though she’d failed to update her sire as to the change in plan. Originally intent on returning via sea through Liverpool and Halifax, Charlie struck gold when she instead came across two flights that catered to her particular circumstance. Rather than a ten-day voyage at sea, she touched down in Harper Rock within twenty-four hours of leaving Glasgow. It’d been nerve-racking to pass through customs upon arrival, but her crafted identity had raised no flags. Using her tome to bypass security had been a thought, though she couldn’t risk becoming a missing passenger. If anything, the allurist was intent on beginning this chapter of her life as a legal resident and proud Fforde without complications.
Charlie
Marisol’s reception quelled the many anxieties Charlie had racked up from her travel. The journey by plane had been 90% quicker, but far more stressful than she’d anticipated. Airplanes, she decided, were not her favoured form of travel. They never had been, though the experience as a supernatural creature made the experience all the more harrowing. What she needed, aside from the warm reception, was time to unwind. It’d been with promises of a girls’ night out that she’d parted ways with Marisol at the Veil Tower, eager to wash away the hundreds of people she’d come in contact with throughout her journey.
Charlie
Apartment barren and the night still young, the allurist dressed. Clearing her throat as the thirst made itself known, she fished the tome out from under the floorboards. Before peeling open the dusty book and speaking the familiar words, she tucked her debit card into her back pocket and a bulky kraft paper-wrapped gift beneath her arm. Within seconds, she was catapulted the short distance between her Swansdale and the Fforde residence. Her landing, despite practice, was far from graceful. Beneath her boots, unidentified objects cracked and shifted, sending her stumbling forward and away from the ritual table.
Jesse Fforde
The Fforde patriarch (though he found the moniker stuffy and archaic and didn’t use it, himself) was unphased by the sudden appearance of bodies via the ritual table. The faces he saw most belonged to Marisol, Renard, Beckett, and Arauchia —even Ursula had appeared more often, recently. The ungraceful landing and the crunch…bones, was it? Didn’t matter, they could be used regardless of the state they were in, failed to startle Jesse. He finished the last few words, brow arched before his eyes lifted - a subtle hint to whoever had arrived that he’d greet them after he’d gotten his last thought out onto the page.
Jesse Fforde
He was recording the last ‘conversation’ he’d had with the Fae he’d trapped in his little circle. Another ritual had fizzled out and failed, releasing no answers, zero enlightenment. But, knowledge about what DIDN’T work was as good as figuring out what did. At least the possibilities were slowly being ruled out.
Jesse Fforde
When he did finally lift his eyes to the newcomer, the smile that broke his features was sudden and natural. “Charlie!” he pronounced, book trapping the ben within its pages as he closed it, tossed it aside, and dropped from the edge of the ritual table. “I wasn’t expecting you for a few nights, yet. What gives?”
Charlie
It wasn’t unusual for this area of the hall to be crowded, but she’d forgotten just how chaotic it could be. There’d been many inopportune materialisations wherein she’d tripped over something or, often, someone. Tonight, she stumbled over a pile of, well, it seemed the entirety of someone’s inventory. Looking down, she skipped about and around until her feet landed firmly on the hardwood floor. From her lips fell a string of colourful words, her accent thicker than ever as the highlands clung. There were some things that a shower couldn’t wash away.
Charlie
Turning on her heel, she regarded the culprit with surprise and fondness. It’d been her hope to cross paths with him, though she’d not expected it to be quite so soon. The annoyance she felt at the mess dissipated, replaced by unabashed amusement. How very Jesse of him to be as he was. Marisol had mentioned the necromancer’s newfound preoccupation with rituals, but the details were to be shared from the horse’s mouth. “I took a plane,” she responded factually, glancing about the place before returning her attention to him. Her smile widened, “Clearly you could have used the extra days to sort all of—what is this?”
Jesse Fforde
Jesse glanced down and around at the mess he'd made, though the subtle shift of his features betrayed the infinitesimal shame that he hadn't been aware of how messy it actually was. It would be different for Charlie to see him surrounded by such chaos when at work he kept his space spotless and as hygienic as the health inspectors would want it to be. There were no health inspectors here, however, and no one had complained. Yet. He shook his head. "Now or two days from now it would still look the same," he said with an unapologetic shrug. Ritual items were of all different sizes, it was hard to figure out a sorting system, anyway. Jesse deftly stepped over a box that looked full of bottles of oil and grabbed Charlie by the shoulder, pulling her into a quick but no less meaningful (given his lack of affection for them) hug. "And how was that?" he asked, eventually. "The plane? I've been on one once in my life and it was terrifying..."
Charlie
There’d been a time when Jesse’s presence had made the hairs on her neck stand. Things had changed after shedding her immortality, her perception of his aura shifting as the world took on greater depths. Her arm reached around his back as he drew her in, and where she patted his ribcage before pulling away. Taking in his features as they stood closer to one another, she wondered what he was so consumed by that this would still be around in the days to come. Though intrigued, she was sidelined by his question. “Well, I’m not planning any other trips any time soon,” she replied, plucking the flattened parcel from under her arm. Clearly, flying had not rekindled her wanderlust.
Charlie
Aside from being flattened and crinkled, the brown packaging and thick string was in good condition. Within it, crafted from fine Scottish wool, the modern MacDuff tartan was pleated and sewn into a high-end kilt. It was heavier than it looked, the regimental worsted evidencing its quality. “For you.”
Jesse Fforde
"It's not my birthday," he said, though he took the package anyway. He made his way back to the ritual table -- the way he navigated the piles of stuff was evidence enough that he'd been doing so for weeks, and knew exactly where to step without even looking -- and lay the package on the flat surface so that he might open it properly. The cloth inside was grasped and tugged free, the pleats falling heavy and neat. "Aw, I've always wanted a skirt," he said with a teasing wink. Culturally, he knew what it was, and he knew that given Charlie's whereabouts the last few weeks -- months? He'd lost track of time -- it was the genuine article. "Thank you," he added, the teasing lilt all but dispersed as his fingers explored the waistline. There were buckles. This would not be so simple as just... stepping into it. "How does it work?" he asked. Clearly, he was intent on trying it on.
Charlie
Charlie chuckled as she watched him go. It may not be his birthday, but it was meaningful to her that he have it. Even if he didn’t wear it, or found ways to edit it to his taste, him having the tartan was what mattered most to her. Following to the ritual table, paying far more attention than he did to the articles she avoided stepping on. As she came to the stone slab, she leaned on it, fingers splaying over the white pelt. It was soft to the touch, but she failed to discern its origin. It was like nothing she’d seen or touched before. Pushing off from the table, she motioned for him to pull it open and drape it around his waist.
Charlie
Charlie quit (kicked from Limbo by noflood)
Charlie
Reaching forward, she directed his hands lower to where she presumed his belly button was. “From righ’ te left, ye fasten tha’ strap through tha’ firs’ buckle then tha’ one on the other side,” she instructed, stepping back. Folding one arm across her body and gingerly gripping her elbow, she watched, ready to step in. “There’s nae Fforde tartan, so I figured the MacDuff would have to do.” It was a nod to their inside joke and the relationship they’d built from wherein sourced. She took the family name, and in exchange, gave him something of herself.
Jesse Fforde
The buckle was unlatched, the kilt unravelled into more of a rectangle than a square. He did as instructed and draped the material around his waist, lowered to his belly button before he slid each strap into place, secured them with the buckles that were heavy and definitely not made in china. Soon, with a little fiddling and readjusting, the kilt was secure -- though it would look ridiculous over the top of both track pants and tank. Reaching beneath the kilted material, the new scent of it far better than the track pants that no doubt smelled like soil from the garden, he tugged at the cord tying the pants to his waist and let the drop, kicking them away. His legs, in comparison to his torso, weren't as inked. The tattoos that were scattered over knees and calf were haphazard and random; a stag on one shin, a portrait on one thigh. A woman in a champagne glass. A chicken. They lacked consistency, but his legs were rarely seen. They were a practice area. The tank remained tucked beneath the kilt.
Jesse Fforde
The words Charlie spoke were serious, all teasing aside. It was material, just a pattern, but to Charlie it meant something—the same as Jesse’s own name meant to him, and the fact that Charlie had chosen to take it for herself. Jesse could see this exchange for what it was, and he offered Charlie another beaming grin. Emotion was not something Jesse handed out lightly, though passive aggressive was a favourite hobby, sometimes. If he’d not already hugged Charlie he might have done so now. But, one was enough. “Thank you, Charles. It means a lot.”
Charlie
Her hip found the stone, the angles of her body shifting as she leaned her weight into the stone. Through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, she could feel the softness of the pelt. Gaze drawn to it, she relinquished her elbow and slid her hand through the white fur. Her attention shifted to the leather-bound notebook he’d tossed aside moments ago, and her eyes lingered on it a fraction too long. Despite their exchange, her curiosity had yet to be quelled.
Charlie
Once more however, her attention was diverted. This time by the mismatch of tattoos on his legs. There was something about his bared legs that felt amiss, though she made no comment or show of amusement. In time, no doubt, the sight would be familiar. That was, if he actually wore the kilt. “Suits you,” she complimented in earnest, her smile softening. It didn’t look as punk rock as she’d imagined it would, but nevertheless fit the lines of his body. “Now, will you tell me what all this is about?”
Jesse Fforde
For all his lack of travel and seeming single-minded attitude, Jesse knew what a kilt should look like. He knew that wearing it on its own wouldn't look as good as wearing it with all the added accouterments. Those would need to be sourced before he'd wear the kilt properly. He circled the ritual table in his new outfit, the smile still on his lips morphing into something positively cheeky. "It's freeing," he said in response to her comment. It suited him in more ways than one. Those who knew him well could guess that Jesse Fforde would choose to go commando whenever possible. Returning to his previous position, Jesse glanced at the 'this' that Charlie referred to. "What about it?" he asked. "It's... study," he said with a blase lift of his shoulders.
Charlie
Charlie followed him with his eyes, her body turning until both her hands rested on the pelt, covered hipbones pressing into the stone. There was something to be said about her sire’s presence being energising, despite her tiredness. Twirling the fur between her fingers, she rolled her eyes at his comment. When she’d commissioned the kilt, she hadn’t taken into consideration his proclivity towards going commando. That facet of his life wasn’t something that crossed her mind often, if at all. Cheeky ********, she thought to herself, deciding against giving him any ideas. With his bum to the wind, he could show people exactly what he thought of them. The realisation that it wasn’t beneath him to moon someone out of spite or facetiousness twisted her smile into something impish and exasperated.
Charlie
“Study, eh?” Her eyebrows arched as she tentatively reached for the leather-bound book, the look on her face inquisitive. She wouldn’t open it unless he approved it, and made no move to slide it closer to her. “What’s the ritual supposed to do?” His skill and experience surpassed hers, but she’d spent enough time pouring over this very table not to put two and two together. Few of the items were familiar, but enough were that she recognised them as ingredients.
Jesse Fforde
Jesse's expression settled into something more neutral. There was no reaction when Charlie's fingers touched the leather-bound book. What he had written inside was not secret, nor was he ashamed of it. The book generally lived on or near the ritual table, there for anyone to peak at should they have a need to. Those who didn't know rituals wouldn't understand what any of it meant, and any who did know would understand that it was all just conjecture and theory, and worth nothing. It would remain worth nothing until -- if -- he ever figured anything out. "I ended up accidentally luring Arauchia out of the Shadow Realm with one of them," he said, one that had afforded him nothing when he tried to replicate it. "I was trying to summon an elder, or something. For years I've been trying to figure out how it was done to begin with -- the rift. Someone figured out how to open it, though I'm starting to wonder if it was done some other way and rituals are the answer," he said. "With all this business with the ancient vampire and the rift widening here in Harper Rock I thought I'd finally get some answers. But those 'chosen'," the air quotes were accentuated by his own fingers, "to go greet the majesty wasted the ******* opportunity," he said with a roll of his eyes.
Charlie
Intelligent and easily bored, the allurist had moved away from computers and ventured down other paths. Rituals was one of hem, and they required patience. Patience — a virtue which programming had forced her to hone in on. No amount of willpower could protect her from frustration however, and she recognised Jesse’s vexation instantly. Little of what he said was new information. It helped to hear it again, strung together as it was. It’d been a while since she’d paid any mind to these matters, their complexity a part of the reason she’d left. Her brow furrowed as she drew the book towards her and opened it to the pages nestling the pen.
Charlie
“Those—the,” her brow furrowed as the word evaded her. There’d been new creatures when she’d left. Unlike the others, there was something about them that was off, different. She shot the thought down before it had any chance of solidifying, and looked up. “Isn’t there a way to go back to the place? Maybe seek the elder out ourselves?” Ourselves. The labyrinth had creeped her out, but her keen eye, and elephant memory could be of use to him. There was truth to the saying two heads better than one, but there was also an advantage to be had with twice as many bullets.
------------------------------
This thread was submitted via a live roleplay chat in the Limbo area. Participants and rewards were: Jesse Fforde earned 2212 RPP. Charlie earned 2440 RPP.
The area around the ritual table was scattered with different objects, some more obscure than others. Rituals had become Jesse’s second love. If he wasn’t at work, sketching or etching ink into flesh canvases, if he wasn’t in the garden with the snakes cultivating the flowers and roots and herbs needed for rituals—he was at the ritual table, testing and practicing. There were vials and tubes and ears and prophylactics, there were piles of bones and glinting teeth, pelts and paws. The most significant pelt was large and plush and white; it had been tossed over the ritual table, and Jesse was perched on top of it, legs swinging. His feet were bare, the drawstring track pants loose, the tank hanging from his torso had clearly seen better days.
Jesse Fforde
The necromancer’s inked shoulders were hunched, bowed over the book he had on his lap. Most often he could be found with a sketchbook, his fingers flying over an image brought to life by ink or charcoal or led. This time, however, the ink created writing; clear, concise, neat block letters. The book itself was leather, expensively bound. If any ordinary person picked it up, it might almost look like a grimoire.
Jesse Fforde
Rituals were a science, and Jesse Fforde was determined to figure out the answers to life, the universe, and everything. If he could get no answers from Every, if he could not find Theodosia on his own to try to get answers from the ancient, then he would keep doing what he’d been doing for years —trial and error.
Charlie
The allurist hadn’t kept her return a secret, though she’d failed to update her sire as to the change in plan. Originally intent on returning via sea through Liverpool and Halifax, Charlie struck gold when she instead came across two flights that catered to her particular circumstance. Rather than a ten-day voyage at sea, she touched down in Harper Rock within twenty-four hours of leaving Glasgow. It’d been nerve-racking to pass through customs upon arrival, but her crafted identity had raised no flags. Using her tome to bypass security had been a thought, though she couldn’t risk becoming a missing passenger. If anything, the allurist was intent on beginning this chapter of her life as a legal resident and proud Fforde without complications.
Charlie
Marisol’s reception quelled the many anxieties Charlie had racked up from her travel. The journey by plane had been 90% quicker, but far more stressful than she’d anticipated. Airplanes, she decided, were not her favoured form of travel. They never had been, though the experience as a supernatural creature made the experience all the more harrowing. What she needed, aside from the warm reception, was time to unwind. It’d been with promises of a girls’ night out that she’d parted ways with Marisol at the Veil Tower, eager to wash away the hundreds of people she’d come in contact with throughout her journey.
Charlie
Apartment barren and the night still young, the allurist dressed. Clearing her throat as the thirst made itself known, she fished the tome out from under the floorboards. Before peeling open the dusty book and speaking the familiar words, she tucked her debit card into her back pocket and a bulky kraft paper-wrapped gift beneath her arm. Within seconds, she was catapulted the short distance between her Swansdale and the Fforde residence. Her landing, despite practice, was far from graceful. Beneath her boots, unidentified objects cracked and shifted, sending her stumbling forward and away from the ritual table.
Jesse Fforde
The Fforde patriarch (though he found the moniker stuffy and archaic and didn’t use it, himself) was unphased by the sudden appearance of bodies via the ritual table. The faces he saw most belonged to Marisol, Renard, Beckett, and Arauchia —even Ursula had appeared more often, recently. The ungraceful landing and the crunch…bones, was it? Didn’t matter, they could be used regardless of the state they were in, failed to startle Jesse. He finished the last few words, brow arched before his eyes lifted - a subtle hint to whoever had arrived that he’d greet them after he’d gotten his last thought out onto the page.
Jesse Fforde
He was recording the last ‘conversation’ he’d had with the Fae he’d trapped in his little circle. Another ritual had fizzled out and failed, releasing no answers, zero enlightenment. But, knowledge about what DIDN’T work was as good as figuring out what did. At least the possibilities were slowly being ruled out.
Jesse Fforde
When he did finally lift his eyes to the newcomer, the smile that broke his features was sudden and natural. “Charlie!” he pronounced, book trapping the ben within its pages as he closed it, tossed it aside, and dropped from the edge of the ritual table. “I wasn’t expecting you for a few nights, yet. What gives?”
Charlie
It wasn’t unusual for this area of the hall to be crowded, but she’d forgotten just how chaotic it could be. There’d been many inopportune materialisations wherein she’d tripped over something or, often, someone. Tonight, she stumbled over a pile of, well, it seemed the entirety of someone’s inventory. Looking down, she skipped about and around until her feet landed firmly on the hardwood floor. From her lips fell a string of colourful words, her accent thicker than ever as the highlands clung. There were some things that a shower couldn’t wash away.
Charlie
Turning on her heel, she regarded the culprit with surprise and fondness. It’d been her hope to cross paths with him, though she’d not expected it to be quite so soon. The annoyance she felt at the mess dissipated, replaced by unabashed amusement. How very Jesse of him to be as he was. Marisol had mentioned the necromancer’s newfound preoccupation with rituals, but the details were to be shared from the horse’s mouth. “I took a plane,” she responded factually, glancing about the place before returning her attention to him. Her smile widened, “Clearly you could have used the extra days to sort all of—what is this?”
Jesse Fforde
Jesse glanced down and around at the mess he'd made, though the subtle shift of his features betrayed the infinitesimal shame that he hadn't been aware of how messy it actually was. It would be different for Charlie to see him surrounded by such chaos when at work he kept his space spotless and as hygienic as the health inspectors would want it to be. There were no health inspectors here, however, and no one had complained. Yet. He shook his head. "Now or two days from now it would still look the same," he said with an unapologetic shrug. Ritual items were of all different sizes, it was hard to figure out a sorting system, anyway. Jesse deftly stepped over a box that looked full of bottles of oil and grabbed Charlie by the shoulder, pulling her into a quick but no less meaningful (given his lack of affection for them) hug. "And how was that?" he asked, eventually. "The plane? I've been on one once in my life and it was terrifying..."
Charlie
There’d been a time when Jesse’s presence had made the hairs on her neck stand. Things had changed after shedding her immortality, her perception of his aura shifting as the world took on greater depths. Her arm reached around his back as he drew her in, and where she patted his ribcage before pulling away. Taking in his features as they stood closer to one another, she wondered what he was so consumed by that this would still be around in the days to come. Though intrigued, she was sidelined by his question. “Well, I’m not planning any other trips any time soon,” she replied, plucking the flattened parcel from under her arm. Clearly, flying had not rekindled her wanderlust.
Charlie
Aside from being flattened and crinkled, the brown packaging and thick string was in good condition. Within it, crafted from fine Scottish wool, the modern MacDuff tartan was pleated and sewn into a high-end kilt. It was heavier than it looked, the regimental worsted evidencing its quality. “For you.”
Jesse Fforde
"It's not my birthday," he said, though he took the package anyway. He made his way back to the ritual table -- the way he navigated the piles of stuff was evidence enough that he'd been doing so for weeks, and knew exactly where to step without even looking -- and lay the package on the flat surface so that he might open it properly. The cloth inside was grasped and tugged free, the pleats falling heavy and neat. "Aw, I've always wanted a skirt," he said with a teasing wink. Culturally, he knew what it was, and he knew that given Charlie's whereabouts the last few weeks -- months? He'd lost track of time -- it was the genuine article. "Thank you," he added, the teasing lilt all but dispersed as his fingers explored the waistline. There were buckles. This would not be so simple as just... stepping into it. "How does it work?" he asked. Clearly, he was intent on trying it on.
Charlie
Charlie chuckled as she watched him go. It may not be his birthday, but it was meaningful to her that he have it. Even if he didn’t wear it, or found ways to edit it to his taste, him having the tartan was what mattered most to her. Following to the ritual table, paying far more attention than he did to the articles she avoided stepping on. As she came to the stone slab, she leaned on it, fingers splaying over the white pelt. It was soft to the touch, but she failed to discern its origin. It was like nothing she’d seen or touched before. Pushing off from the table, she motioned for him to pull it open and drape it around his waist.
Charlie
Charlie quit (kicked from Limbo by noflood)
Charlie
Reaching forward, she directed his hands lower to where she presumed his belly button was. “From righ’ te left, ye fasten tha’ strap through tha’ firs’ buckle then tha’ one on the other side,” she instructed, stepping back. Folding one arm across her body and gingerly gripping her elbow, she watched, ready to step in. “There’s nae Fforde tartan, so I figured the MacDuff would have to do.” It was a nod to their inside joke and the relationship they’d built from wherein sourced. She took the family name, and in exchange, gave him something of herself.
Jesse Fforde
The buckle was unlatched, the kilt unravelled into more of a rectangle than a square. He did as instructed and draped the material around his waist, lowered to his belly button before he slid each strap into place, secured them with the buckles that were heavy and definitely not made in china. Soon, with a little fiddling and readjusting, the kilt was secure -- though it would look ridiculous over the top of both track pants and tank. Reaching beneath the kilted material, the new scent of it far better than the track pants that no doubt smelled like soil from the garden, he tugged at the cord tying the pants to his waist and let the drop, kicking them away. His legs, in comparison to his torso, weren't as inked. The tattoos that were scattered over knees and calf were haphazard and random; a stag on one shin, a portrait on one thigh. A woman in a champagne glass. A chicken. They lacked consistency, but his legs were rarely seen. They were a practice area. The tank remained tucked beneath the kilt.
Jesse Fforde
The words Charlie spoke were serious, all teasing aside. It was material, just a pattern, but to Charlie it meant something—the same as Jesse’s own name meant to him, and the fact that Charlie had chosen to take it for herself. Jesse could see this exchange for what it was, and he offered Charlie another beaming grin. Emotion was not something Jesse handed out lightly, though passive aggressive was a favourite hobby, sometimes. If he’d not already hugged Charlie he might have done so now. But, one was enough. “Thank you, Charles. It means a lot.”
Charlie
Her hip found the stone, the angles of her body shifting as she leaned her weight into the stone. Through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, she could feel the softness of the pelt. Gaze drawn to it, she relinquished her elbow and slid her hand through the white fur. Her attention shifted to the leather-bound notebook he’d tossed aside moments ago, and her eyes lingered on it a fraction too long. Despite their exchange, her curiosity had yet to be quelled.
Charlie
Once more however, her attention was diverted. This time by the mismatch of tattoos on his legs. There was something about his bared legs that felt amiss, though she made no comment or show of amusement. In time, no doubt, the sight would be familiar. That was, if he actually wore the kilt. “Suits you,” she complimented in earnest, her smile softening. It didn’t look as punk rock as she’d imagined it would, but nevertheless fit the lines of his body. “Now, will you tell me what all this is about?”
Jesse Fforde
For all his lack of travel and seeming single-minded attitude, Jesse knew what a kilt should look like. He knew that wearing it on its own wouldn't look as good as wearing it with all the added accouterments. Those would need to be sourced before he'd wear the kilt properly. He circled the ritual table in his new outfit, the smile still on his lips morphing into something positively cheeky. "It's freeing," he said in response to her comment. It suited him in more ways than one. Those who knew him well could guess that Jesse Fforde would choose to go commando whenever possible. Returning to his previous position, Jesse glanced at the 'this' that Charlie referred to. "What about it?" he asked. "It's... study," he said with a blase lift of his shoulders.
Charlie
Charlie followed him with his eyes, her body turning until both her hands rested on the pelt, covered hipbones pressing into the stone. There was something to be said about her sire’s presence being energising, despite her tiredness. Twirling the fur between her fingers, she rolled her eyes at his comment. When she’d commissioned the kilt, she hadn’t taken into consideration his proclivity towards going commando. That facet of his life wasn’t something that crossed her mind often, if at all. Cheeky ********, she thought to herself, deciding against giving him any ideas. With his bum to the wind, he could show people exactly what he thought of them. The realisation that it wasn’t beneath him to moon someone out of spite or facetiousness twisted her smile into something impish and exasperated.
Charlie
“Study, eh?” Her eyebrows arched as she tentatively reached for the leather-bound book, the look on her face inquisitive. She wouldn’t open it unless he approved it, and made no move to slide it closer to her. “What’s the ritual supposed to do?” His skill and experience surpassed hers, but she’d spent enough time pouring over this very table not to put two and two together. Few of the items were familiar, but enough were that she recognised them as ingredients.
Jesse Fforde
Jesse's expression settled into something more neutral. There was no reaction when Charlie's fingers touched the leather-bound book. What he had written inside was not secret, nor was he ashamed of it. The book generally lived on or near the ritual table, there for anyone to peak at should they have a need to. Those who didn't know rituals wouldn't understand what any of it meant, and any who did know would understand that it was all just conjecture and theory, and worth nothing. It would remain worth nothing until -- if -- he ever figured anything out. "I ended up accidentally luring Arauchia out of the Shadow Realm with one of them," he said, one that had afforded him nothing when he tried to replicate it. "I was trying to summon an elder, or something. For years I've been trying to figure out how it was done to begin with -- the rift. Someone figured out how to open it, though I'm starting to wonder if it was done some other way and rituals are the answer," he said. "With all this business with the ancient vampire and the rift widening here in Harper Rock I thought I'd finally get some answers. But those 'chosen'," the air quotes were accentuated by his own fingers, "to go greet the majesty wasted the ******* opportunity," he said with a roll of his eyes.
Charlie
Intelligent and easily bored, the allurist had moved away from computers and ventured down other paths. Rituals was one of hem, and they required patience. Patience — a virtue which programming had forced her to hone in on. No amount of willpower could protect her from frustration however, and she recognised Jesse’s vexation instantly. Little of what he said was new information. It helped to hear it again, strung together as it was. It’d been a while since she’d paid any mind to these matters, their complexity a part of the reason she’d left. Her brow furrowed as she drew the book towards her and opened it to the pages nestling the pen.
Charlie
“Those—the,” her brow furrowed as the word evaded her. There’d been new creatures when she’d left. Unlike the others, there was something about them that was off, different. She shot the thought down before it had any chance of solidifying, and looked up. “Isn’t there a way to go back to the place? Maybe seek the elder out ourselves?” Ourselves. The labyrinth had creeped her out, but her keen eye, and elephant memory could be of use to him. There was truth to the saying two heads better than one, but there was also an advantage to be had with twice as many bullets.
------------------------------
This thread was submitted via a live roleplay chat in the Limbo area. Participants and rewards were: Jesse Fforde earned 2212 RPP. Charlie earned 2440 RPP.