a most curious state of affairs

[leatherboots]

WHO: Rupert Hentzau and you!
WHERE: literally anywhere in the porter cities
WHEN: early April
WHAT: Rupert settles in, to varying degrees of success
WARNINGS: nsfw threads ahoy! debauchery in the comments, and a merry young villain just being himself

one: welcome home
open to housemates & visitors of jeopardy 001...

[ If young Rupert von Hentzau is anything, he's adaptable. This modern world suits him very well indeed, with its conveniences and technology. Everything about the house delights him, from the refrigerator to the TV to the very concept of internet (a book of conversations! How remarkable!). He doesn't understand it of course, but who needs to understand science as long as it just magically works? Rupert is happy enough to take everything in his (long and leather-booted) stride.

But there's one thing Rupert isn't particularly fond of: tidying up after himself. Servants seem to be in short supply in this world, Rupert's noticed, but that doesn't mean he's prepared to do any chores. That would be too modern.

Instead he leaves bits and pieces around the house, the detritus of his very modern version of decadence. Fine wines are drunk and their bottles abandoned in very conspicuous places. Clothes discarded in every room, somehow - even rooms that don't belong to him. A frying pan left on the stove, still bearing the remnants of burned bacon reduced to a blackened, charred crisp.

And while all this is strewn around the house, Rupert amuses himself. Today he's larking around in the shared front room with a fencing sabre, dressed in nothing but a padded velvet dressing gown (where did he get it from? Best not to ask). With his sword arm extended, he attacks the wall, shadow-fencing with an imaginary foe as he practices quick, artful strokes, chipping at the paint and plaster with every flash of the blade.

Sorry, housemates. ]

two: thinking with portals
open to anyone, anywhere...

[ Portals. The word itself is strange, suggesting doors but Rupert prefers the idea of windows. The whole idea is patently ridiculous and he nearly doesn't believe he can do it, until the first time he tries and... suddenly it all makes so much more sense, the moment he finds himself creating his first portal. A window from here to there, big enough for a man to step through and lasting just long enough for Rupert to not get his coat tails caught behind him.

(He hasn't changed his clothes, not yet. Leather boots, buckskins, a tight jacket of a military cut - the clothes he was wearing when he first arrived are far more flattering than anything else he's seen in this world yet.)

The sound of reality tearing at the seams is something Rupert von Hentzau knows he will never get used to. Like fabric being torn, slowly and viciously; a sound that is decidedly wrong. Like reality itself is protesting the unnatural split in the fibres of its being. It's the kind of noise that gives Rupert a shiver of delight every time.

He opens a portal the same way he opens curtains; pulling them apart and peeking through to the other side. His aim isn't particularly good - no matter how hard he focuses on where he wants to go next, he always seems to manage to be a good few ards in the wrong direction. Sometimes he ends up somewhere completely different to where he planned. But practice makes perfect, and Rupert is a stubborn hound when it comes to perfection.

So here he is, practicing, opening portals and stepping through to the other side, regarding whatever he finds with a great deal of interest. Where does he turn up next? Next to you on the street? Your place of work? Your own home? ]

Comments

[crassidy]

You're not wrong there, just gotta deal with the plastic though.

[The lack of any real weight or recoil takes a whole lot of getting used to, but Cassidy's obviously played plenty of shooters in his time judging by how well he appears to know the enemy placement.]

Shoot them boxes for health, shoot this big arse guy in any of his many eyes. [Prompted as some sort of ridiculously over the top boss fight shows up, dramatic music playing and lots of projectiles flying around the screen. It's not easy, but arcade games basically exist to drain a player's money.]

You're doin' well for a bloke who's never shot a zombie with a neon pink plastic pistol before, mate.

[leatherboots]

[ Rupert's in the presence of an expert, he knows this, so he dutifully does as he's told. After the first few fumbles with the ridiculous plastic gun he finally gets the feel of it; his aim is sharp and his reflexes are quick, and soon he's laughing with delight as he picks off their enemies. ]

Oh, I've shot uglier and nastier foes than these, [ He replies lightly as he directs his pistol at yet another zombie. ] And these delightful fellows aren't shooting back at us!

[crassidy]

[Between Rupert's talent for shooting and Cassidy's experience with shitty arcade games, they might just make it to near the end of the game. Naturally one of the final boss fights will wipe them out, because unfair tactics are a speciality for this kind of games, but at least they're both having fun!]

Hah, yeah, that's the appeal alright. Sometimes y'just wanna mow down a buncha zombies without any real life consequences, y'know? [Because shooting lots of things in a game is fun, especially with epic music and appreciative polygon ladies with oversized anime tiddies thanking you.]

Oi, I gotta show you the dance machines too.

[leatherboots]

Dance machines! [ Distracted by the ugly boss that rears its pixel head next, Rupert focuses on squeezing out a few more shots before giving that thought any further energy. The idea of dancing machines really is quite spectacular though and he lets his gun slacken momentarily in his hand, shooting Cassidy a confused look. ]

What kind of dance do the machines perform?

[crassidy]

[It's a losing battle with the end of this game anyway, and Cass has lost interest now that he's got the idea of dancing in his head and Rupert's showing eagerness. The plastic gun in his hand gets discarded as the "continue?" flashes up on screen, Cassidy's attention already turning further into the arcade.]

It's not the machines that dance, you eejit! [Amused as he reaches for Rupert's sleeve, tugging lightly off towards the promise of more dumb games.

Cassidy leads them right to the bright lights and thumping music of a fabled dance machine, already in use as some energetic teen stamps and spins along to a fast beat with some fancy foot work.]

See there, gotta match the arrows to what you step on.