my reputation's kinda clouded with dirt

p. Pascal | City Square

POSTED: Sat Jan 18, 2020 1:51 am

PACK PROMPT: It takes a great amount of work to keep the City Square lit at night. Have your character light torches down the main road to keep shadows at bay.


come get lost in the static

There was a steady rhythmic drumming downtown in the City Square as small chunks of ice fell from the sky. When the hit the ground, or the lamp posts, or the benches, or the buildings, or the Luperci, or the broken windows of buildings, they made an array of sounds that was kind of comforting to Dystopia. The night was silent and there wasn’t much going on. The moon had been high in the sky earlier that night, before the clouds rolled in and the hail started to fall. Dystopia huffed, holding a torch with a flame on the end of it. The flame illuminated her face, her blood red eyes, but most importantly it warmed her. The fire gave off a violent glow, the threat of heat as she held it close to her body. She liked playing with fire – as in she liked walking on the edge of life and death. She was sent out here to do a simple task, and here she was considering setting herself on fire to see if it would truly burn.

A large hail piece fell, hitting her in the nose. Bonk. She snapped out of it, but still, the fire danced in her eyes, reflecting the violence in a different way. She took two steps forward and reached up to light the first torch, likely previously snuffed out by the gusting winds from the previous day. Luckily, with the hail came very little wind, else she might’ve been up and down this road all night lighting the torches that were blown out like a whack-a-mole game of sorts.

The warm violence of the torch kept her company in the evening light. Each torch she lit along the main road made everything glow in an orange light. Dystopia imagined a forest fire or a fire set off by some old, faulty wiring or a magnetized beam of light on some old cloth… a very small thing that could get so out of control, spread so quickly, and kill so easily. Dystopia broke her gaze from the torch as she lifted it up to light another one, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she thought she saw a shape up ahead. Squinting in the dark because her eyes had not yet quite adjusted, she tried to figure out if she were seeing things or there literally was a Luperci coming towards her. ”Hello?”

(402) Dystopia's mostly thinking things about fire that normal people wouldn't be xD good luck Pascal

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POSTED: Thu Jan 23, 2020 12:48 am

He woke in darkness and stagnant air, hyperventilating even when he reached the door, so horribly scared it would not open.

Pascal's search for a proper residence was ongoing, and tonight was already a failure. The building they'd found that evening had a good location and other promising features, but what seemed cozy by the light of day could easily transform into a tomb in his nightmares. He was not the same man he'd been before Campion had barricaded him in the cavern, and anything that triggered that memory was enough to send him into a blind panic, desperate to escape his containment and feel that fresh air on his whiskers.

Fortunately, the door opened without resistance. Unfortunately, a hailstone bounced off his muzzle, causing him to flinch and yelp. His hands covering his snout, he stepped gingerly back into the lee of the stone hovel, until he realized that he'd walked out into a storm rather than an assault.

He hummed a singular, tuneless note and shut his eyes, resting the back of his head against the wall. The hail would drive him mad, each cold sting like a meteorite's impact against his overly sensitive flesh, but he could not linger here, either. He needed to move, to pace, to assure himself he had the freedom to do so. Taking a breath and feebly covering his skull with his hands, he headed down the road in the direction of the forest.

It was longer walk he would have liked, but the cedars and spruces beckoned him with their sheltering boughs. He stuck to a path that offered him the most shelter, occasionally tugging his curls, flinching each time hail struck his hands.

He didn't expect to find anyone else en route, but a flicker of torchlight drew his eye, and a voice called an uncertain greeting. A tall woman stood before a series of bright torches that dotted the Square, staring in his direction. He stared back, then forced himself to drop his arms to his sides, striding toward her.

Hello, Pascal said back, then rubbed his mouth. Practice had helped him with small talk over the years, though he couldn't help the extra beat before he decided on what to say. This is terrible weather to be wandering in. Were you tasked with lighting up the street? His mismatched eyes, which had only alighted on her dark-masked face for a fraction of a second, studied the other torches now. Perhaps it was a duty in New Caledonia, something of cultural significance.

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POSTED: Fri Jan 24, 2020 3:35 am

come get lost in the static

The other, who came forth in the darkness now, was a brown and gray-furred fellow. He had cool, mismatched eyes that she caught in the hint of a second in the torchlight. They were pretty, interesting, and she wanted him to look back at her so she could look into them and study them, but he refused to look at her and instead pretended as if the torchlights she had already gotten to were so much more important. The wind was strong, and the hail that fell from above bounced uncomfortably against her head and snout; she thought she caught a hint of fear in the air. The only two Luperci there were she and him, and she looked down at him with curiosity burning in her blood red eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t know that, given he avoided her contact.

”No, I wasn’t tasked,” she retorted back, almost unkindly. It was just the way she spoke; if she wasn’t careful or paying attention to it, her tone was often blunt and unfriendly, off-beat in a weird way. ”I decided to come out here and do them. Because why not? At least it’s not snowing.” She wouldn’t miss the eight feet of snow she had to trudge through. The snow was melting with each day that passed, and thankfully, making it easier to walk now. The City Square was one of the easiest places to walk in New Caledonia.

”How about you? Why are you out in this ‘terrible weather’?” A rather large piece of hail came down between them and hit Dystopia right on the tip of her nose. Unlike the other, she did not yelp from such a small ounce of pain. Taught from a young age that her pain was irrelevant and screaming about it would only make it worse, she rarely ever expressed pain like most others would. Instead she growled in frustration, rubbing the tender area with the pads of her fingers, with her eyes on Pascal, awaiting his answer.

”I’m Dystopia, by the way,” she added off-handedly.

(343) poor beeb :<

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POSTED: Fri Jan 31, 2020 3:58 am

Blunt as her response was, it bothered Pascal none – if only because he also had a tendency to come across as curt to those who took his flat tone at face value. He peppered in polite phrases and niceties to soften his speech, sometimes, and his body language offered the truth his voice and expressions might not.

If anything, Pascal tended to distrust sweetness more than terseness. He knew how cruel honey-tongued folk could be.

He grunted. I would prefer snow – it doesn't hurt, he remarked, shaking out his hand as another chip of ice struck his fingers. He retreated back a few steps in an attempt to shelter at least partially beneath a nearby roof. He thought to ask what had made her decide to light torches at an odd hour, but he wasn't sure if he should press the matter if she didn't already introduce a reason. Maybe she'd just seen something that needed doing and took the initiative to do it.

While his eyes at least lingered in her vicinity when she spoke, they darted away quickly when she asked why he was outdoors, too. Staring down the road toward the forest, he answered dully. I felt... stifled, inside. It was the truth, though it downplayed the effect his nightmare had on him.

His ears, which pinned against his curly hair when she growled, pricked forward again at her name. It was odd – but not the oddest he'd heard, probably. I'm Pascal, he replied. Have you been here long? He wondered if she would have some insight about the houses around here – or insight about anything. He felt confident that he could adjust to the pack fairly well, once rules and traditions were established; he was good at following those. It was the people that was the hardest part.

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