open.

[jalan]

WHO: Daenerys Targaryen and various!
WHERE: De Chima, shopping; Nonah, an emergency; Heropa, a dragon.
WHEN: Throughout September.
WHAT: Some open starters in the body of the post! De Chima has a few hooks. Also, I'd like to keep the Drogon-ish starter to one person rather than mulit-tag it. If you'd like to do a dragon related thing though, that can totally be arranged because me too, or if you want a specific set up, just let me know.
WARNINGS: TBA.

DE CHIMA, midday;

[ Every girl from medieval fantasy alternative universes require at least one shopping montage.

Except that Daenerys has rather limited funds to work with, and the two glossy paper bags she now carries contains within it the capital of several weeks of stipends in the form of a few, choosily selected fine items. The coat she wears now is one such purchase, emerald green wool and simplistic lines, a purchase inspired by the rolling in of the hazy clouds despite the warmth. Daenerys thinks that these people don't know what warm weather looks like.

She stops outside the window of a jewellery store. Her fascination could be mistaken for wistful, window-shopping longing. Truly, it's for the bold display of easy wealth with only a sheet of glass separating it from the world. Gold, silver, and jewels, displayed like the wares of a fruit merchant.

Later, she stands impervious to the flow of people around her, while watching a busker perform on a violin.

And getting lost is easy to do. She turns a corner, squints, turns in a circle. Crosses the road. Backtracks. Huffs out a sigh that is also a laugh, especially as a summery pattering of rain begins to spit from the hazy sky. ]

NONAH, midday;

[ There's a block of traffic that has hit a standstill. A bus smokes from beneath its hood in great, stinking gusts of pollution. An ambulance shrieks shrilly as it noses its way closer to the site of the accident.

The fire truck had been swiftest respondent, and among the men and women in their bulky uniforms spilling out of the truck with great purpose, there is Daenerys. She is not uniformed, but she is dressed neatly -- high-waisted, skinny-calved slacks; low-heeled sandals; a sleeveless blouse that is as white as a boat sail. Sleek and modern, but the intricate braids in which she wears her silver-blonde hair are too fancy, too archaic, and between them, loose locks fly beneath the play of hot wind.

As soon as her feet touch the ground in her awkward descent from the truck, she moves out of the way. There's a car that is crumpled like an accordion ridden up onto the sidewalk, swarmed now with firefighters.

She steps up onto a sidewalk bench to watch from a greater vantage point. ]

HEROPA, late at night;

[ A large piece of night sky falls and lands on the ground with giant wings and surprisingly quiet feet.

It's the football field of the local high school. Sprinklers twitch and flood the air with great, silver arcs of water, and Drogon, a dragon the size of a fire truck, with dark wings and glittering eyes, opens a large, toothy maw to snap lazily at the flow of water while his claws dig into soft earth, disrupting smooth grass. The next swing of his great head is to regard Daenerys. Daenerys, who ran, taking flight from where she'd been despondently wandering the dark night-time pathways of Heropa, and running out onto the grass.

When he locks eyes, she stops, and flinches bodily when sprinkler water switches her way, but doesn't reel back. She waits, instead, as Drogon moves with a serpentine twist to face her, all bristle and scale.

She is still, a sleek figure in a slightly too formal coat of deep green, her white hair in a cascade of clinging, fine tendrils. ]

Comments

Nonah

[annihiliner]

[Lexa has yet to notice Daenerys, her attention firmly fixed on the crushed and tossed aside vehicle after the smoke and sirens have drawn her to the site of the crash from a nearby cafe.

For just a moment at the sight of it she hesitates, another figure standing and watching in casual, modern clothing in contrast to her anachronistically intricate hair-braids; only all in darker shades than the fair queen-to-be, with her tanned skin, deep brown hair, and uniformly black attire. And then she's moving again, swiftly approaching the firefighters as they prepare to act.

She calls out to them as she draws close, and after a brief exchange (and more than one doubtful look), Lexa holds up a small black blade of some kind that she, uh, didn't seem to be carrying earlier?? And a couple of the firefighters cautiously follow her to the driver's side door and assist her in... well, removing it from the rest of the car. Jammed shut as it was, it would have taken them who knows how long or how many tools to get through on their own to the people inside, but Lexa's knife seems to somehow slide through the metal with almost no resistance at all.]

[jalan]

[ Daenerys' observation of the precision in which the firefighters work as a unit abruptly hones to an edge as an unknown quality intrudes. She paces lengthwise along the bench to get a better view of the blade carving through metal like a hot knife in stiff butter. Her eyes widen, just a little, but she remains as she is; upright, alert, interested. Her eyes then go to what she can just see of the crash victim, his face wet and scarlet and slack.

Paramedics. Gurneys unfolding, zigzagging on the asphalt. Gratitude for Lexa's contribution comes in the form of a firefighter's gloved hand bracketing her shoulder in a clasp, briefly.

It's then that Daenerys catches her eye, and then opts to hold it rather than studying the scene that is at once unfolding as it is being folded back up by North Carolina's industry heroes. Carefully, she bends at the knees so as best to step down onto the sidewalk again. She moves, utters a quiet word with one of the firefighters who ducks his head to listen, then nods, before moving towards where the bus driver is sitting in the door of his unmoving vehicle, head in hands.

She crouches before him (nimbly and delicately, hands on her knees, only her feet touching the ground) and invites his attention. His hands come down, and she touches the backs of his knuckles as she speaks with him gently. ]

[annihiliner]

[Lexa is no healer, unfortunately, so once she's cleared the path to the injured driver, there's little more she can do to help him. As she turns to the grateful firefighter, the blade in her hand seems to actually shrink and then disappear entirely, and Lexa chooses to give the man a small nod and quick word of encouragement, before allowing him to return to his work.

When she locks eyes with Daenerys while stepping back out of everyone's way, she stills and stares in return, posture tall and almost regal and expression impassive other than a slight curiosity. Something about the young woman stands out, and not just because she's a head taller than anyone else nearby thanks to the bench. Her hair, her bearing, the boldness of her stare...

Lexa's eyes follow her as she moves toward the bus, and soon the rest of her does as well, though she gives enough space to allow Daenerys her private moment with the bus driver. Instead, she moves around to the hood of the vehicle, to the source of the smoke. Admittedly, she knows very little about these machines, but in her experience, where there's smoke, there's fire, and she wants to be certain this won't become an additional source of danger soon.]

De Chima

[governorkang]

[A woman like Daenerys stands out in a crowd, and not just because of her silver hair and purple eyes. She has a certain bearing to her that practically screams nobility - what level, he can't tell as of yet - and her clothing choices only help to confirm it.

She could be from Krynn. There's only one way to find out.

And, she seems lost.]

Excuse me, Lady, are you in need of directions?

[He's tall, at 6'4, and his accent is markedly different from any American one, much more similar to something from eastern Europe. He also speaks and moves with the confidence of a natural leader.]

I may be able to assist.

[jalan]

[ She turns, and although he's likely keeping a respectable distance, she still steps back in an automatic sort of way. He has about a foot on her.

But her smile isn't timid, even if it's subtle. Polite without being insincere, reaching her eyes that give him a quick once over, while she collects her shopping bags into both hands in front of her. ] You may, [ she says, with a hint of rue.

Daenerys glances over a shoulder at the direction she was headed-- ]

I was seeking the, ah-- [ It has a word. She knows it has a word. She learned Dothraki like lightning, and yet the word subway is eluding her. ] There's a tunnel that takes you to the trainline underground. But so many of these streets still look the same to me that I must have mistaken one for the other.

[governorkang]

Yes, some of these streets do blend together. We are two blocks from the nearest entrance to the subway. I was heading there myself. Perhaps we can walk together?

[He sets his bag down to give her a proper bow - respectful, the kind used by rulers - and smiles in greeting.]

I am Lord-Governor Kang of Teyr, on the world of Krynn.

Heropa

[barbarus]

[ It's the creature he sees. The tip of its head, the crest of its wing - Damen isn't exactly sure what he'd seen, but he knows it was something. Too much about this world is strange and new. The best way to understand it is to experience it, and so he allows his curiosity to lead him.

It's fair to say he's not expecting what he sees. When he reaches the football field, it reveals an entirely new kind of beast; nothing he's ever seen on his world. Is it natural to this place, or brought from somewhere else? There's no way to tell, but the shape of his puts him in mind of something like an alligator. He's awed by its size.

Or at least he is for all of a moment, until he sees the blonde woman moving straight for it. He reacts on instinct, instantly drawing his sword from its sheath and moving towards her. He doesn't run, wary of startling the creature. No, he moves like it's something he's hunting, slow and careful, and inching closer. ]

Come away!

[ This is hissed quietly to the woman, while his eyes stay on the lizard. ]

Slowly. Don't make any sudden movements.

[jalan]

[ Her heart lurches sideways in her chest at the sound of the voice of another, at the sound of that voice in particular, and against her instinct, she turns to look over her shoulder, eyes set wide. Her hands form fists at her sides, and she can almost feel the way that Drogon reacts to the approach of a stranger as the clawtips of his wings paw at the grass, spines bristling, nostrils flaring to breathe in the scent of

well. Meat.

Daenerys slowly lifts a hand in placation; but her bare palm is aimed towards the man with the sword, rather than the aggravated dragon. ]

Please, [ she says, also quiet, eyes imploring ] keep your blade low. He's--

[ Drogon opens his maw. While a jet of fire doesn't suddenly spring from the fleshy little ducts besides his fangs, he does breathe a warning hiss that smells potently like gore and sulphur, and raises steam into the air. ]

--hungry.

[barbarus]

[ She turns, and Damen's eyes light with recognition. She'd come to him and Laurent when they'd had questions. He'd found her kind and friendly, though she'd seemed a little sad -

And now she is standing between him and a beast that smells of sulphur and danger, and she is telling him to put his blade down?

Every instinct tells him not to listen. She's clearly in danger and he must help, before this creature turns on her. But her demeanour confuses him, the way her voice stays steady and her raised hand does not shake. She seems not remotely afraid of what is beside her, except that inexplicably, she seems concerned for him. Even though she is nearer, and unarmed.

He makes himself lower the sword, though he doesn't sheathe it. ]

He is hungry? [ He and not it? ] Do you know this beast?

[ And then, with steadily growing confusion: ] I came to save you from it.

DE CHIMA.

[nastygram]

[Darlene, with her hood up, is smoking a cigarette in the alcove of a door. She watches this chick wander down the street, then do a weird impromptu and unprompted slow-turn like she's a princess in a damn Disney movie. She's missing the twittery little birds. She makes up for it in the way that she looks up at the rain like it's the greatest thing ever instead of, you know, a hassle.

Unimpressed, Darlene flicks her thumb against the end of her cigarette with a snort. Ash jumps off the end of it and hits the sidewalk. The hiss is minimal. The rain isn't much, and there was hardly any ember to it anyways.]

Please tell me this is somehow your job.

[She sucks at her cigarette. It makes that quiet inflex of noise, air drawn through the smoldery cherried tip.]

Because you look like a dumbass.

[jalan]

Pardon?

[ --probably doesn't help her first impressions any, but is utterly genuine, bright with a laughing sort of incredulity. She hands sort of go out as if to gesture to herself, shopping bags swinging on their fibrous handles where they hook on her fingers as she looks down at herself.

Then back up at the woman who called to her. Wry; ]

Do enlighten me, what do you think is my job?

[ Her arms drop to her sides again. This latest stranger fits in, at least in Daenerys' understanding of how the locals dress and sound, although there's a roughness, a rawness, that has her look again. ]

[nastygram]

Fuck if I know.

[--Darlene says, flatly, though not unkindly. She takes another good long drag on her cigarette. Her sunglasses are pushed up onto the crown of her head, making a bulky imprint under her hood.]

Bu-ut, that means it isn't your job, so you really are just a spaz spinning around in the street. FYI, weirdo.

Heropa wildcard b/c i'm a freebird

[ofgoldenfoil]

[ Aurican is completely oblivious to Drogon's existence which is fortunate, because he would have tried to befriend another fellow dragon immediately and would probably get into all sorts of trouble. That said, he does go out and spend time outside in his dragon form. He's not always content in spending his human form with its overbearing yet weak senses.

He's at beach, just before the sun starts to set. He's learning to swim, although his preferences at the shallows makes more of a case of learning how to tolerate waves. His golden body is barely seen through the muted sea water, but his scaly, barely horned head is above the surf, along with the tips of his wings. With school year officially starting, there are less people attending to the beaches, save a couple of natives enjoying the last light of the day, but even they noticed the dragon playing in the water, giving their distance.

Aurican doesn't notice. He dives his head into the water and breaks the surface once again and repeats, searching for something.

Searching the little fishes that would gather around his claws. He's been trying to get a bite out of them. ]

[jalan]

[ There have been moments when she's woken in the middle of the night, superstition overriding logic that somehow, someway, Drogon has called to her, or that perhaps he's landed on the rooftop of her residence, or that he's been hurt by the siege weapons that Jorah had warned her about. It has, on at least two occasions, driven her out into the Heropian wilds in search of him, succeeding only once.

This is not such a moment. That she runs into a whole new dragon is merely testament to the fact that they both must enjoy the beach.

She is barefoot and walking, thinking, occasionally stopping to pick up any particularly interesting, fully formed seashells, thumbing grit out of their creamy contours before tossing them just far enough for the ocean to swallow them again. She's in such a crouch when she spies that shape break the water's surface, snagging her attention, and then snagging her interest. She is very still.

Then, she stands, slow with tension. ]

[ofgoldenfoil]

[ Aurican takes a deep breath and dives his head in, practicing how to swim underwater. Of course, after that nasty scare he got during the beach party Swear-In, he doesn't dare swim too far out. He uses his wings to "fly" underwater, his manta ray-like wings helping him in moving through the water like a graceful fish. He breaks the surface of the water briefly regain his breath before diving once more, his claws scrapping against the sandy floor.

Without realizing it, he's swimming closer to Daenerys until he surfaces again, blinking the saltwater out of his golden eyes. He sees something pale at the corner of his eyes and sees Daenerys staring at him. He's not sure what say, except perhaps: ]

Hello.

De Chima

[the_caped_crusader]

[Bruce is out in De Chima by himself after a previous day of reunions with old friends and family. He had gone through the other Bruce's wardrobe to find that, while very nice and perfectly tailored, did not fit him. With only the shirt on his back, so-to-speak, Bruce Wayne decided that it was time for his own shopping spree.

Because if princesses from medieval fantasy have shopping sprees, then so does Batman.

He only has a few small bags in his hand, ties and shoes and other accessories while the greater heft of his jaunt are being fit to his measurements, when he hears a violin playing and stops to admire them along with the young woman in green.]

Bach's Chaconne. [He identifies simply, without directly addressing her.]

[jalan]

[ She glances across and up, a glance that lingers into look when she thinks she can identify his profile from contribution to the network, before returning to the violinist. Daenerys is quiet, as if content to allow his words to settle on their own, unaddressed to anyone in particular.

Instead, she repeats it, because she cannot resist the shape of new words in her mouth; ] Bach's Chaconne.

[ She watches as another stranger stops, a little further aways from both she and her fellow imPort; a mother and her child, to whom the woman slips a one dollar note and urges the little girl forward. Shyly, she totters over, casts the note into the open violin case as if it were a condemnation, before fleeing back to her mother's arms.

Daenerys' laugh is low, husky, understated. ]

I have never heard such a sound.

[the_caped_crusader]

It's beautiful. Sad. A song about death and grieving.

[Bruce smiles at the child. He thinks Bach's music targeted the very young, composing with simple emotions that even a child could understand-- things like grace, thanks, fear and hope. He turns his head to her.]

He wrote it after returning from a trip to find his wife had died.

a coast. closed to sam merlotte.

[jalan]

[ It's a clear, cool night, and the moon looks like someone took a neat bite out of it. The ocean absorbs lunation in its currents and its palette of deep grey, frothing against cold sand.

Daenerys has taken off her shoes, and the hem of her skirt is now damp and gritty, slapping against her calves as she approaches the hulking shape that looks almost like a wreckage washed to shore. Drogon sleeps with his head curled to nose beneath a wing, craggy in the dimness, and his tail trails in the silty water. This corner of the beach is less popular even during the day thanks to rocky edges and industrial warehouses making for an unpretty backdrop, and at night, it's practically empty.

Practically.

She isn't sure what to do. Her instinct is to send for Jorah, but something terrible and stubborn in her refuses, and also: what would he be able to do for her now?

There's a leathery shift as a wing readjusts, and she pauses her approach, catching her breath. ]

[shifting]

[Not long ago, an owl was swooping through the sea spray, a dark shadow on the water as its keen eyes picked out every foraging fiddler crab and silver fish daring the shallows. It tumbled out of the air to become a man, sank under the waves and broke the surface again with a smile, breathing in a dozen varied scents.

Night swims aren't new to Sam, but the ocean is - it's been a long, long time since he's been seaside. If pressed, he'd say he still prefers the lakes and ponds of Bon Temps, still and swamp-green as those could be, but there's something to be said for the way the waves lift and carry him as he swims for shore, and the cool shift of sand beneath his bare feet as he walks the beach. He's hidden his clothes behind a pile of rocks not far from the pier, but he's not worried. Even in daylight this isn't a crowded beach - he should be alone.

The moment he crests a dune, walking the beach back towards his clothes, he realizes he isn't. Without cloud cover, the moon is bright enough to illuminate a woman just at the edge of earshot, her long hair, silver as a star, blowing as she stares out at the black folds of the water. Or... stares out at something else? Something -

- moving. Oh, Christ. The wind shifts and with Sam's soft gasp he also catches a reptilian, sulfuric smell, dried blood and seaweed. That's a dragon. That's a fucking dragon. There's no other word for it. Oh hell. Oh good goddamn, what the fuck, how is there a fucking dragon?

She's moving closer to it. Is she out of her mind? Fear clenches in the shifter's chest and he darts a look between the beast and the girl. Without thought to his nudity or her relation to the fantastic monstrosity (which he still can't quite wrap his head around), he walks carefully towards the latter. His thought is only to get close enough to whisper her away - warn her. As if she somehow can't see the same sleeping mass of muscle and death he's seeing.]

Hey. ...Hey.

[jalan]

[ The stranger summons her attention, and receives it in the form of a sharp look, a held stare. And that he is that, a stranger, isn't helped by the fact he is naked and she is alone. There are mad men who might remove their clothing and go wandering around the coastlines at night. Equally, mad women who don't flinch when a nearby sleeping dragon gives a low, deep bass growl in his slumber.

Hopefully it's his slumber. But Drogon's eyes remain closed, hidden in shadow.

Daenerys steps aside in a way that puts her between man and dragon, her stare full of accusation and suspicion. Tense, in the lines of her throat, her jaw, her shoulders. ]

Come no closer, [ she says, also thinking to speak very quietly, but not quite a whisper. It isn't quite in the tone of a threat when she appends; ] If you value your life.

[ Here be dragons. ]

de chima |

[kryo]

[ He hadn't been expecting the rain.

When it came though, a part of him had been glad for it. America is no Akielos but it is still somewhat hotter than he'd like, and his repressive choice of clothing does not mix with it well. An uncomfortable prickling had sat at his spine beneath the fabric of his tightly buttoned shirt for most of his day exploring the cities and he's about tempted to give up and retreat to somewhere cooler when he hears the laugh.

Laurent turns to the source of it and finds Daenerys' golden head, the rain doing it's best to flatten her yellow hair. There's a moment where he weighs up approaching her - he's alone, and unchaperoned, and she is a woman. But this isn't Vere and he can make up his own mind on what is socially acceptable. He doesn't have an umbrella, but he does have a newspaper tucked under one arm that he lifts and holds aloft over her head, catching most of the damage with it. ]

These maze like cities are hard to navigate, are they not?

[ She looks lost. He's hazarding a guess. ]

[jalan]

[ She is more concerned with her purchases than she is about her hair, or the rest of her; she holds her shopping closer against her midsection just as someone enters into her periphery, and she turns in place. Recognition is there and clear in her eyes, most likely identified in that brief obligatory internal wrestle; wariness, warmth.

He is newer than her, anyway. So that is something. She glances up at his makeshift umbrella, and smiles a little wider, toothier. ]

Yes they are, [ she confirms. The rain becomes bolder, striking the paper raised above their heads. ] But instead of confusing you with dead ends, they simply keep going.

I was in search of the way back to the Porter.

[friendzone]

[khaleesipls]

[ Artificial lights diffract to dance cold over dark flooring, the weight of a thousand tons of seawater held back by half a meter of acrylic glass. Nurse sharks stir in sleepy circles amidst triggerfish and wrasse, overshadowed by the sleeker shapes of reef sharks and dogfish. Their bellies ghost pale white overhead, jaws full of snaggle teeth and silver eyes slit like a cat’s.

Jorah’s gone quiet -- bristled chin craned back, following the progress of a spotted ray as it swans past.

Mid-afternoon on a school day, the aquarium at large is all but empty. For denizens of the twenty-first century, the novelty of keeping fish in a bowl has long since worn off.

This is his second visit.

First time into the tunnel.

A rattle and clank marks his return to reality when he takes a step further in; he turns to look back to Daenerys, one hand at his sword.

He appears to be around 65% sure that this is fine. ]

[jalan]

[ It's with only a little trepidation that Daenerys follows suit, her gaze following the curvature of the tunnel at first before her attention penetrates beyond that, at the clear blue, the things that swim within it. Her experience of sea creatures extends mostly to stinking coastal markets beneath an Essos sun, and Drogon showing off when he was littler, bursting from the ocean with something big and writhing caught in his mouth.

She is all summer dress and sandals, her hair held back only by itself through braiding she has managed by herself. Pale enough that the light of the aquarium, the way the water holds the sky and reflects its painted walls of blue, reflects a little off silver locks and her long arms, and a hand that delicately wonders to touch the clear surface that separates them from all this water.

A little sign indicates she shouldn't be doing that. ]

Someone dreamed this, [ she proposes, a little dry. ] And then simply made it.

[ She keeps her hands to herself, then, glancing sideways at the automatic moving pathway, only a little tempted to step onto it. Ultimately, she refrains, preferring to keep her own pace. ]