foggy nelson. (
cigarbribery) wrote in
maskormenacelogs2017-09-05 09:34 pm
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there's been some confusion over rooming here
WHO: Foggy Nelson, Tefé Holland, and Theon Greyjoy
WHERE: Maurtia Falls #8
WHEN: idk idk right now, September 4 or 5, timezones are funny
WHAT: the start of some wonderful friendships. or the making of a horrifying sitcom featuring a lawyer, a plant teen, and a guy from the Middle Ages. most likely the latter.
WARNINGS: uh none probably???
[After the relative peace of Heropa, setting foot in Maurtia Falls is a little like coming back home to Hell's Kitchen, in all its gritty, grimy, crime-ridden glory. More than once Foggy finds himself glancing up to the rooftops, almost expecting to see a horned silhouette, before he shakes his head and has to remind himself that Matt isn't here.
Anyway—it's getting a little late when Foggy finally finds where he's supposed to live, having been sidetracked along the way by ice cream and then some preliminary research on this world's history at a local library. There's a book or two on law already peeking out of his bag, and his keys jingle as he fumbles with them, looking for the right one.
He steps inside and calls,] Hey, anyone home? I'm Foggy Nelson, I'm the new roommate. [The door clicks shut behind him. Why does it sound so ominous, he wonders.] Uh, hello?
WHERE: Maurtia Falls #8
WHEN: idk idk right now, September 4 or 5, timezones are funny
WHAT: the start of some wonderful friendships. or the making of a horrifying sitcom featuring a lawyer, a plant teen, and a guy from the Middle Ages. most likely the latter.
WARNINGS: uh none probably???
[After the relative peace of Heropa, setting foot in Maurtia Falls is a little like coming back home to Hell's Kitchen, in all its gritty, grimy, crime-ridden glory. More than once Foggy finds himself glancing up to the rooftops, almost expecting to see a horned silhouette, before he shakes his head and has to remind himself that Matt isn't here.
Anyway—it's getting a little late when Foggy finally finds where he's supposed to live, having been sidetracked along the way by ice cream and then some preliminary research on this world's history at a local library. There's a book or two on law already peeking out of his bag, and his keys jingle as he fumbles with them, looking for the right one.
He steps inside and calls,] Hey, anyone home? I'm Foggy Nelson, I'm the new roommate. [The door clicks shut behind him. Why does it sound so ominous, he wonders.] Uh, hello?
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But right now, she's lying on the living room sofa, with her hand stretched out across the arm to touch the fronds of a small potted palm someone had thought to include as decoration when they were furnishing the place. Looking up from her apparent intense concentration on the plant, Foggy isn't... exactly what she expected to see for a roommate.]
I'm Tefé. [She replies, giving him a vaguely quizzical, if tired, look.] I think there's someone living in one of the other rooms too, but I haven't seen them yet. I haven't been here that long either.
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Hi. Shouldn't you be sleeping, Tefé? It's kinda late. [Says the guy planning to pull an all-nighter and read about criminal law in a completely different universe. He moves closer to the sofa, holding his bag up.] Or—can you scoot over so we can talk? Because I've been doing some digging and I wanna ask if you did too.
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She'd been thinking about it -- just because she doesn't need to sleep doesn't mean she doesn't like it. But just who does this guy think he is, anyway?]
What kind of digging?
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[That's because you're a squishy human being, Foggy. But anyway, he opens up his bag and pulls out a notebook that he just bought, with a few pages already filled up with notes.]
The metaphorical kind where you sift through the network archives, the news, and whatever you can find in the library for some information outside of the speech we got when we arrived. [Being productive beats sitting in a bar missing his friends and his firm and his city, honestly, so that's what he's been doing all day.] I probably missed a few details, but I got the gist of it.
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[It's pretty easy to assume they're imPorts anyway. Plants aren't good at tracking individual people, and they sure don't care about politics, but they do notice things over the last few years like weird lightning strikes or people raising an army of undead, for example.]
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[To prove it, he pulls out some photocopied clippings—previous news articles, dating back to 2015 at the earliest. Incidentally, a burger wrapper also falls out of his bag, and he stuffs it back in, not wanting to make a terrible first impression on his roommates.]
Oh, yeah—I asked the network a few things about the law and imPorts, and apparently the worst sentence we can get, even in response to murder, is two months of jail and some probation time. [He shakes his head.] Obviously, that's not the same case with the locals.
[A tired sigh.] What did you find out?
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I don't know. There's been weird power outages and lightning strikes but in terms of everything else, it's not really that different. [Ecologically speaking, that is.] I'm going to head out to the nearest forest tomorrow morning and see what they have to say out there.
[She adds, pensive. Of course they assigned her to a school, but that's easy to skip out on without even a passing thought. The matter of getting a car, well, that is more pressing.]
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[All right, so she doesn't seem to be as much of a law nerd as Foggy is. That's fine, he's used to that. What he isn't used to is someone talking about a shadowy "they" in the forest like she can talk to them. Whoever they are.]
They? I don't get it, is there a bunch of survivalists living out in the forest with access to the news? [That's the most plausible explanation he can think of, right now. He's new to this, he hasn't quite learned that usually the implausible explanation tends to be the right one.]
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[Sure. Why not. Nothing is impossible anymore.]
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[Probably. Well. As far as Foggy knows, which, as he is increasingly aware of, is depressingly little.]
Okay. If you want, we can take a cab out of here first thing tomorrow so you can talk to the trees, hopefully we might get some useful info out of them. [He pauses, and shakes his head a little in disbelief.] That is not a sentence I ever thought I'd say, by the way.
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[She replies, lips pursed. Not that she really expects very much out of people anymore, but still. The Green always had its protectors.]
It will be useful to me. I don't know if you'd care. [She adds, eyeing what she can see of the books in his bag.]
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[He's cheery about this, deceptively so, but there's a quiet bitterness underneath it, like he'd learned that the hard way. He looks away, idly picking up a clipping and scanning over the words. His eyes widen a little—a zombie dragon? Seriously? Jesus Christ.
But he rallies himself admirably well.]
I don't know either. Guess we won't know if we don't try, right? [He glances briefly at the books. Oh, right, those.] I can leave them here if you want. Is it offensive to the trees?
[Why is he considering this.]
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You know what paper is made from, right?
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...yeah, point. I'll leave them here.
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Good things don’t last forever, though. He’s had an excellent lesson in that today.
He smirks coolly as he steps out of his bedroom, but nothing can mask the storm clouds that have gathered behind his eyes. A lot has transpired since this afternoon, and his new roommates are lucky to have just missed out on his personal drama. ]
For how long, I wonder.
[ Yes, Foggy. He does recognize you. ]
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Wow, something's up with his roommate. He's not sure what, exactly, but he gets the feeling that he missed something big and dramatic. Which, well, fine, Foggy's had his fill of big and dramatic already, he's not going to pry with this guy.]
Not very long, if I had a say in it. No offense. [He truly means it. He just misses New York and his friends there already, and if he had a choice in the matter he'd find his way back, somehow.] But I don't! So who knows how long I'll be here.
[A pause, then:] I never caught your name when we talked over the network, by the way. Ever feel like telling me?
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Despite his unwavering smirk, he sizes Foggy up with a dark look. On any other day, he might offer a quip in response to his question. Something like a smarmy “not particularly”, but he’s not feeling it. Not today. ]
Theon Greyjoy. If you once refer to me by "mister Greyjoy", I will hide your key.
[ He cringes literally every time. ]
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Theon, then. [Weird name.] You already know my name, but just call me Foggy. [He shrugs, helplessly. Yeah, he knows, but he's gotten so used to the nickname that it takes him a second to answer to his real name, nowadays.] And thanks for the heads-up, I'll get my keys duplicated.
[Just going to put his bag down on the nearest flat surface, which in this case, happens to be the coffee table. As he rifles through the books and notes and various other things he'd been carrying on him when he'd been pulled here, as well as the things he's picked up in coming here, he asks:]
So what can you tell me about Maurtia Falls?
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He backs off, allows the man to set his things down and rifle through them, but never looks away. ]
Nothing.
[ He shrugs, still smirking, though he’s being truthful. Theon’s life since arriving hasn’t been particularly happy. He does as he pleases, he comes and goes, makes a living through his own means, but it’s all done in an effort to keep his thoughts occupied. If he allows his mind to lapse into silence, unwanted darkness returns in floods. If he were to look at what he’s done in the last month and tries to pinpoint a moment when he was truly happy, he would come up empty handed. It’s quite depressing, really. ]
Petyr Baelish is the city Ambassador, though I couldn’t tell you what he does. Why ask? Would it not suit you best to find out for yourself?
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Which he kind of is right now.
Anyway, he picks up a pen and a notebook, scrawls something inside it.]
I like being prepared. [A pause. Then:] Also, it kinda reminds me of Hell's Kitchen, and I'm just paranoid enough from living there that I'd rather not find out how many more similarities there are myself.
[Because he can already tell there are A Lot, okay.]
Do you know this Petyr Baelish guy, then? You don't have to tell me what he does now, just—have you guys ever met, or anything? [He doesn't really think so. Baelish is a public official, Foggy might've met a few in his time but he's aware not everyone gets to meet their governor or DA at all, and Theon just seems like some guy who's a little bitter and unhappy over something.]
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[ There's quite the reveal, but all the same, Theon knows little of Petyr Baelish. He knows his name, knows what position he held on Robert's small council, and...little else. They met once, when Theon was in the middle of a Robbwind-induced breakdown, but he can recall little of it. What did they speak of? He was in a panic, too frightened by the creature who was almost pulled straight from him own nightmares. All words spoken to him slipped in one ear and out the other.
He decides that bit might be best kept private. ]
Back home, he served as master of coin to the King, before the King was killed by a pig.
[ There’s that smirk again, though more amused this time. It really was a way to go. ]
But no, we’ve not met.
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Master of coin—oh, so he was Treasury Secretary? [It's the closest analogy he has, anyway, and it's not an inaccurate one, either. And hey! At least the guy seems like he's got some experience in government. Foggy makes a note of that in his notebook.
He whistles, lowly.] And here I thought getting your melon chopped off was bad. That sounds so much worse. [Killed by a pig. Yeesh, what a terrible way to go for anyone. He sets the notebook aside, tucks his hands into his pockets.]
So if this Baelish guy used to be "master of coin", what about you? What did you do before you got dragged here?
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[ He does seem to flinch slightly at the mention of beheading—bemeloning? The only King he ever truly supported lost his head, and he wasn’t there when he should have been. He can laugh at Robert’s death, but his smirk fades when he thinks of Robb.]
I was heir to the Iron Islands.
[ Ordinarily, he would choose his words more carefully. He would insist that regardless of his father’s own uncertainty of who his heir may be, Theon was and still is the heir to the Iron Islands, as he will still be when he returns home. But telling the truth to Robb did little to relieve him of his guilt. His heart is still heavy with grief, and he doesn’t know how to undo it. If he goes home, he knows what’s waiting for him. In hindsight, his title and the Iron Islands don’t mean quite as much anymore. ]
My father lords over them now. I’m his last remaining son.
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[That's essentially how it works, where he's from. He catches the slight flinch, but keeps quiet on that because—well, he can't just ask a guy on the first meeting if he ever saw someone get their head chopped off, can he? Even if it's probably a thing where Theon's from, considering wherever he's from still runs under a monarchy.]
Was? [The past tense is odd, especially when Theon talks about his father in the present tense. Was—there's a story there.] Can I ask what happened?
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Nothing's happened. [ Yet. ] You asked what I did. Not what I am.
[ Okay, so Theon is basically a lil shit with a list of issues a mile long... ]
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Foggy shrugs.]
Fair point. [Somewhat wistfully:] Man, my old professor would've liked you. [And back to cheery:] And what do you do now? Or—what are you now, since you've made the distinction so clear?
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You will find merchandise carrying this image being sold across the porter cities. It's my doing. Whatever you may call that, that is what I am now.
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Or the hearts of do-gooders everywhere if someone went down the opposite road.]
And there's no one copying this? 'Cause someone with a few black shirts and enough money could seriously cut into your profit.
let me know if this is not okay pls i can edit
With blazing eyes, he strides forward and slaps a hand to Foggy’s chest, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, leaving behind that same golden kraken. ]
It is a kraken, and there is no copying it.
[ Yeah, well…enjoy that, Foggy. I hope you didn’t like that suit too much. ]
IT OKAY
A—kraken, okay. You stick krakens onto T-shirts. [He looks down at his suit, and makes a face.] And suits too, apparently, thanks for that. [Not. This is his only suit, man.]
Yeah, I guess there's no copying the method, but—you've got this trademarked, right?
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[ He signed a lot of paperwork, mostly stuff he didn’t quite understand with the help of people who knew frustratingly more than he had. He assumes it’s all taken care of, but he doesn’t really know for certain. Sometimes he has to sign more paperwork, but it’s all worked out fairly well for him. He doesn’t make a lot, but his pockets aren’t suffering.
He seems angry now, though, far more high strung than he was before—and he was certainly high strung before. Thanks, Foggy. ]
What more do you wish to pester me about?