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May, 2010... Fantasy became reality. Worlds overlay for the briefest moment. Outworlders became stranded on earth as more than half the human populace vanished. Our World, our universe, was transformed.

Fiction is now reality. Humans and those now bound to this world will either learn to coexist, or battle for supremecy.

Calder Muireadach

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About Calder Muireadach

  • Rank
    Feet Wet


    Ben Dahlhaus
  • RACE
    Veil Crosser, Outworlder
  • JOB
    Freight Transport - NY
  • 'SHIP:
    None at this time
    New York, NY
    Close to six foot, Calder is lean but all muscle. Long dark blonde hair is often pulled in a ponytail, braided in a plait or pulled up into a topknot. He sports a scruff beard, growing it out a bit longer during winter months but always meticulously kept. Expressive eyes are unusually light, matching his moods and picking up the color of whatever he’s wearing; they can shift anywhere from greens, to blues and grays.

    Clothing is utilitarian, button ups over sleeveless shirts in the summer, Navy pea coats, henleys and Irish sweaters in the winter. Every once and a while he can be in a tee shirt, jeans and barefoot on his houseboat. On the rare occasion he does dress up, it suits him; manners so refined they seem to contradict a well-kept blue collar appearance.

    He has several tattoos earned from various events in his life, and often wears talismans on cords that he finds interesting and remind him of his former life.
    Compressed, intense, yet oddly easy going.

    Calder is a formidable warrior and magic wielder, and with that came fierce confidence and presence. He commanded the power of water, and was unbeaten in the raging wars that were tearing his world apart. Through storms and vicious ocean, he controlled his fate on any ship, any high sea. Wind, rain, hurricane, he could rip the storm clouds from the sky to fill his sails. Any ship, any distance, he always seemed to know the way.

    Now, the skill of his hands is all he possesses and he is lost. Still unmatched in as many forms of fighting styles as he can collect, anger pushes him forward; searching for a way back to finish the wars he could not afford to lose. He knows the people in this world are not to blame, he treats them with as much kindness as he can muster. Still, he is reluctant to build relationships in case there is a chance he discovers a way to return home.

    Hiding who and what he is, there is an inkling of his old ways; playing with the rim of his glass and making the water move, parting raindrops in his path, it's still an embarrassing demotion to who he was before. He focuses on his physical skill in hopes when he returns there will be a fight in his hands no one has ever seen before.

    He at the core has a good heart, but has no problem rising to the occasion of violence when something he deems just is threatened.
    Collection of master swords and fighting weapons from various cultures.

    The native clothes, weapons and leather armor he was wearing when ripped through the Nevus.

    Modern small freight vessel (with human npc crew) capable of making coastline and small gulf trips. It was moored in the same dock where he worked, later convincing his 'boss' to allow him to return it to service and eventually purchased the smaller vessel through his work. When the 'company' went belly up, he retained it and now works freelance.

    Modern houseboat docked in the 79th Street Boat Basin.

    "Draugr Atgeirr", the Ghost Spear, his Outworlder ship that passed through with him. It is made from traditional wood of his realm, a beast of an "evergreen" only growing in the northern realms similar in size to the Earthen Sequoia. Enchanted by the properties of the tree, it is able to reflect the water once polished and made watertight into the longship hulls- giving it an invisible appearance until it nears land and hits shore. After breaking the Veil, it seemed to retain the ability regardless of where it was; it grew stronger as he had grown weaker. It is essentially a ghost ship, taking its namesake to heart. It is moored on a beach just north of the city.
    Since the onslaught of Outworlder hate, Calder has become a ferryman of sorts for those that refuse to conform and be branded. He discretely collects, protects and relocates any that come to him seeking help.

    Logically, he has close ties to any underground "smuggling" operations, ear to the ground with great ease to move things and not be seen because of his shipping capability. The open water has no rules, even in the budding rebirth of law and order.


    Appearing around thirty years old, he is much older. At his entry into this world, he was fifty two, roughly twice his appearance. He has come to the reasonable assumption he ages in that ratio.

    Once possessed substantial water manipulation skills, now they have been muted by the rift he was yanked through with no hope of return. On a good day, he can move rain drops around him in gentle patterns or play with water in a glass. Parlor tricks. It takes intense focus but most of the time there is nothing.

    He can hold his breath for an extraordinary amount of time underwater, a physical characteristic of his mariner "species". For a little over a half hour, he can dive freely- which he finds useful for repairs on his boats. Never having "found out" why, he assumes from studying this world that his lungs are larger than Earth's human species or that the rate of his oxygen replacement upon inhale or exhale is larger. After inadvertently finding out humans didn't have this skill, he is very guarded about who and how he asks/researches.

    Extreme tolerance to cold, a characteristic of his Outworlder race- mostly for water or swimming purposes but it transfers to weather related temperature as well. In contrast, he has low tolerance of extreme heat.

    Incredible swimmer. Strong, agile and fast- it's also a physical characteristic of his Veil Crosser "species". No frills or magic, just the power of an Olympic swimmer or Navy free diver. It's not endless, tiring just as any physical ability would.

    Unassisted deep diver. His physiology is resistant to the water pressure that causes normal humans' buildup of gasses in the tissue and blood, allowing the descent to deeper depths with no decompression needed to return to the surface. He is able to swim freely within the one to two hundred foot human threshold with no consequences. Below that, he will develop the same toxicities if he remains down for the capacity of his breath, so on and so forth. Currently, he doesn't know how deep that may be and could conceivably go much deeper than a human with "weight-sled" or ballast dive assistance, but considering the length of time he can hold his breath the results could be catastrophic. As a child he became fluent in understanding where his limitations lie, just like a normal human learning how much weight they can lift or fast they can run without consequence. He has never attempted a weight assisted deep dive to test his limitations, and given the inequitable nature of the length of time he can hold his breath versus speed of weighted descent, he most likely never will. It seems an arrogant flirt with certain death.
    Mechanical/engine maintenance knowledge developed over his time in New York working the docks.

    High IQ, was able to learn English fairly easily. He still has a significant accent which seems to be diminishing over time- sounding similar to the Earthen Danish or Dutch.

    Can navigate and pilot any sailing vessel, larger ships require crew and he is able to captain with immeasurable experience. Has an acquired large working knowledge of engine driven boats, and is able to learn as he goes.

    Combat. Any. Sword, knives, axes, blades of any kind, bows. Physical hand to hand, random objects. Firearms are a growing knowledge base, still limited but gaining skill. He was most skilled in hand to hand, knives and bows before crossing through the Veil. Since arriving he has developed an affinity specifically for the katana and wakizashi. A sharp contrast to the Viking-like brute force he was raised on. He finds them elegant and effective.

    It was all the blood that made the Haugbui warrior pause. Cleaved armor shed halfway through the battlefield, torn shirt filled with the scent of salty battle blood and seawater. The pause brought a heaving chest and the creaking grip across a metal wrapped hilt. Field had been razed in an exquisite dance of battle skills and magic, the synthesized expertise an art. Water still receded from the field, some of the fallen enemy with it to be swallowed by the sea. Terrible, terrible talent. But this, the dead in the tree. It was at that moment he realized his reputation preceded him. Another blood sacrifice, this time hanging by their feet from the branches high front of him. It wasn’t a warning, it was an offering. The army just decimated by himself and his kin had beaten and held this city. He’d taken it back. His city, and they were with him. He’d seen it before on his hammerfist sweep of his father’s coastline to pull it back from the jaws of the Grosugr southern kingdoms again. Sacrifices, to his father, now him. First criminals hung from the trees, now this. These were not criminals. This was not acceptable, and this was not respect. This was fear. Ghosts. They called his kind the undead, never seen coming. Appearing from the sea only to disappear into it again. They were worshipping a false god. He was not a god. He was just a man with terrible power, a passion for his people, and an absent father that pointed to the next battle from on high instead of picking up a sword.

    Regardless, he kept pushing south, rekindling the already hot blood feuds that had raged for centuries.

    Borders moved back and forth, villages and cities caught in the raging lines being broken and retaken. It was all barreling toward a horrible end and a new beginning. The ice storms not far off, the Otherworld was a trail of ash and blood. So close, so close to retaking their homeland. Storms came early, the sea raged and with them the tolerance that the southern tribes couldn’t withstand. Victories came swifter, the storms fiercer, until a blizzard so dark the skies turned purple. Even the water mage couldn’t hold back the tide of lavender that seemed to blur the horizon and become the water.

    Then silence.


    The man thought he was dead, lying alone on the deck of the ship that had carried him halfway around his world in battle. Consistent bumping opened his eyes. His hull was rocking against something, bringing his consciousness around. A half sunken modern steel goliath towered above his own ship, groaning with warning every time Draugr Atgeirr's side was bumped against it by the ice chunked waves. It's frayed bowlines and shredded square sail were tangled in the ugly beast's slack anchor chain, and the weight of his longship was pushing at its rusted hull's tolerance.

    The bow was threatening to collapse on top of both of them. For once there was fear, not from death or perceived defeat, but the sheer size of the thing that towered over him. It brought a bruised body to its feet, a hand to toward the waves to tell them to move, and a brow downward when nothing happened.

    Nothing. Quivered breath tried again. Again nothing. Fatigue? Pulling a knife from his belt he scaled the mast, spending near an hour cutting themselves free, all the while telling the waves to push them off... then asking... then begging.

    Alone, powerless.

    After substantial effort, he beached the longship, swimming back out to the dying freighter to climb its height- skyscrapers of New York visible in the distance, and a livelihood on the docks and harbor waiting for the stranger from another world.

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    In the silence of her garage, all she could hear was noise. It was all noise, the sound like a hurricane crushing at her skull. Jacob was right on her tail, speaking to her, glitter of perspiration in his peppered high and tight… his words warped and unintelligible. Stepping off the ramp, she heard her name shouted before she fell, the sound of pounding military boots toward the ramp safely out of view of the crowd back in their personal prep garage.

    “Reid!” Gav scooped her up, the completely limp woman’s eyes flickering under her hummingbird’s lashes. “Jacob! Doctor now!”

    “No, no!” the large man was old but he could move, trotting down the ramp after her from above, “no doctor.”

    “What?!” Gav’s normally gentle voice was incredulous, turning back to Reid as he patted her cheeks. “C’mon, Reid… wake up… why are we not getting a doctor?!”

    Jacob hurried past him, brushing through to the workbench to pick up her mouth guard and making it back in record time. Stuffing it in her mouth, he reached behind her ear, flicking the iridescent buttons hard with his fingernails. Her surge was painful, enough to make Gav jump, back arching as her gloved fingers clutched his biceps enough to leave bruises.

    “Let her go,” Jacob stood, pulling the stunned Sergeant back away from the seizing woman, “or she’ll rip your skin off…”

    Gav's light eyes furled in horror and disbelief, tearing off his fatigue green battered jacket and rolling it up to place under her head to protect her skull from the seizure. Flail sent him backward, her gloved fingers locked on the railing of the ramp, clutch so hard her body trembled.

    “That would have been you…” Jacob said under his breath.

    “What’s happening?”

    “Reboot,” Jacob’s cigarette bobbed in his lips, “happens sometimes. Usually not after a hard shut down like tonight was.”

    Brow downward, Gav knelt next to her, holding her head until the muscles spasms passed and pulled her hair back when palm hit the metal grate to push up the battered body and wretch nothing over the side of the ramp, the mouth guard clinking on the floor.

    “Is this what happens after fights in the dressing room?”

    “Not usually this bad,” Jacob nodded once before his footfalls clanged slowly downward to fetch her some water. “She doesn’t want anyone to see it.”

    Gav pulled her up, holding her head up as he checked her pupils.

    “You can’t get me dressed after a fight… you’ll look at my ass,” she murmured.

    His smile was tepid, exhale relieved. Her large pupils still worried him, they usually were almost normal by now. Helping her up, she drank the entire glass of water, holding it out to Jacob for another as he walked with her down the ramp to a bench.

    Thirst was insatiable.

    “I need that cheeseburger now,” she mumbled.
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  1. Calder Muireadach

    Sunset Slowdown

    "From the same place I do. My world doesn’t have a name. Not like this one. No one there has ever even dreamed of another ‘world’. Every race calls it something different. Most don’t even think of it like that, as a single place. Their world isn’t the plane. It’s their country. Their village. Wherever they call home.” Not unlike his. This world seemed to be unique in that way. Except, there was no their. There was only his. He had it all. When he was ripped from his world, the world was finally his. Captured, conquered, pieces pulled back together from the fractured puzzle they'd become under his brother. “Mine was Basen’gir. In this tongue the closest word would be...The Abyss. My kind had a city there. A fortress. Before I lived there my world was the forests of Angir. Now it’s here.” This would never be his world. It was dark, and hot. Everywhere that he would have been happy to stay were virulent against his kind. it was nice to see someone settling in so well. It was a rare occurrence of late. “And you? Where do you call home. Not here I think.” Nobody had ever asked him that, not as bluntly. He’d never been one to offer the information either. The studious expression paused to take a long drink from his mug before placing it back down on the bar counter. He could tell her, the odds someone was in this world that would recognize him let alone call him out for the slayer he was, was slim to none. Fingers tapped quietly on the counter for a moment. “No, not here,” he started. “Himinioourr.” It was a word he’d not spoken since he came here. It felt strange to even say it, hell it was a strange word for this world to hear. “It means, rim of heaven in this language,” eyes watched the television for a moment, then her. “I am a Haugbui… warrior… from Grosugr.” Words were chosen very carefully. It was all true, the extent of which was ruefully untrue. He wasn’t A warrior, he was THE warrior. The king. The conqueror. Seen and worshiped as a god-king. There. Here? He was just a small boat freight captain that could hold his breath for a long time and make water droplets wiggle, sometimes. The power, was gone. His physical skill, had been extended tenfold. He focused on it, honed it to make up for his frustrations. “This city tolerates us...outworlders they call us, but it’s unusual to see a Hume actually champion us.” “It wasn’t my first impulse,” he confessed, smiling slightly for the first time. “Admittedly things were quite different here at first. I came from... a lot of conflict. In the middle of a conflict actually.” The end of a conflict. The end of the last battle. He took another drink, trying to decide how much he was going to divulge to someone who was clearly fine with divulging a lot. Discretion was something he always had to be concerned with. “I thought I was dead at first until it was apparent I was just somewhere else. I enjoyed the quiet at first, then I was asked to help. Seemed like the right thing to do instead of what I’d done before. Fighting. A lot of fighting. I'm fighting for people that can't fight for themselves now.” Fighting for them, instead of killing them to take their city? When he spoke of his home, his thoughts always ended up reminding him of the monster he was. He took another drink to make himself stop talking for a moment. “New York seems to be a melting pot. You go north, Ireland. I have to pull Outworlders through checkpoints at night so they won’t be killed. After I started to see how awful it was, it’s become my mission. So you... own this place?” Potential safe house? It wasn’t out of the question.
  2. Calder Muireadach

    Sunset Slowdown

    Brow cocked slightly at the laughter, taking another drink. What peaked his curiosity more was the reaction from others in the bar. Interesting. “I mean no offense.” “None taken.” Nothing ruffled him. Ever. “I thought your reason would be different. You’re very strange.” The answer was just vague enough to make him wonder if she had been accosted before. It was nearly impossible given her appearance that she hadn’t had any trouble. New York was fairly live-and-let-live but there were limitations of some of the more intolerant. The city itself usually swallowed them up and took care of the problems on its own. Sometimes it took longer than others. She seemed to have navigated fairly well so far. “Since I've been here many have come, not for me. No, for the “dark skinned elf”. Many just to see. Some for more than that. I'm an...oddity. Foreign. Mysterious. I make them curious. I don’t mind mostly. After all this world is much the same for me. Their interest keeps me employed...and entertained. Some don’t enjoy the mystery. Fear it. They lash out. I make them regret it.” He didn’t move as she leaned in. Not many ever had the guts to get this close to him. He had to keep reminding himself he was not in his world anymore. “I say you’re strange because when people find me most of them do it because they want something. Large, or small, a night in my bed or just the sight of me. Not, to worry over me. It’s...appreciated, I think? Mmmm. Not likely needed though.” The captain wondered if she’d ever really seen what people in this world were capable of when they found someone they didn’t want. This would be a problem eventually for her now with the damn Outworlder Registration laws blanketing everything. He would have to continue to check in occasionally and keep an eye out. “That aside I would be a poor bartender to send you away after one drink yeah? Especially to hell. No, you’re much too interesting to waste there. I’ve not met a Hume like you before. I think you’re fine right here.” It was his turn to crack a slight smile, the joked threat on his life not missed. She amused him when so few did. Hume, he’d not heard that word before, the meaning fairly obvious. It reminded him he had a distinct advantage in this world. He looked undoubtedly human, and he used it to his advantage. It allowed him to move between worlds without suspicion because he looked ‘normal’. “Refill?” He nodded once. “Hume is not a word I know,” elbows on the counter, his fingers intertwined and tapped his chin a few times. He was pretty sure what it meant. The dismissal into the category was concerning. It meant she most likely couldn’t tell who was from this world and who wasn’t. “Where does that come from?”
  3. Calder Muireadach

    Sunset Slowdown

    Eyes slid back to her smoothly at the laugh. She was comfortable here, or seemed to be. Quite a change from his adventures of late. Maybe she was fine. “No, no he didn’t. He had one other here to help me tend the bar, but like you I seem to have an unfortunate lack of work today. I let the boy go. Another will be here later, once the sun goes down. Won’t see more than this till that’s happened if we do at all.” The scent of water was powerful as she filled her own glass. Not saltwater, tapwater, tainted by tapwater ice. It had a distinct scent to it that was foul to his nose; water that languished in iron pipes and was mixed with chemicals to make it fit to drink. It had gotten somewhat better as the world got itself back together. Saltwater was by far sweeter to him, but tapwater was water too. It didn’t obey him as much as the sea did, and that as of late wasn’t much. "M' Ayli. Something tells me that you're not here for what's in that glass. Don't much care if you are so long as you're polite. Cause trouble here and trouble's all you'll find friend." “Nice to meet you Ayli.” He took another drink, eyes over the top at her as he straightened himself at the bar and leaned on it with both elbows. The wall still managed to be at his back, but his voice was only for her to hear. “And no, I’m not, though it was a nice discovery and distraction.” He enjoyed the beer again for a moment, then set it down. “I’m here for you,” smile was quiet but his tone matched hers, absolutely fine with throwing away his small talk. He wasn’t good at it anyway except with people he knew well. This was what he did and he felt no reason to hide what he was there for. Odds were she wasn’t a traitor to other Outworlders. He’d seen that on a rare occasion, some trying to save their necks by turning in others. Without exception, it never ended well for either. The world now was willing to push others forward to block their own blows instead of standing in front of those in danger. Even individuals threatened with death shouldn’t stoop to such cowardice. Not everyone was a warrior, so he couldn’t chide them all for it. Still, an Outworlder was a race on its own as far as he was concerned, and betraying each other was an offense in his book. They had to stand together, or so the elf had told him. “To make sure you’re okay,” fingers intertwined together. “That’s what I do when I make connections. Network. Make sure others are fine with where they’ve chosen to be. And if they’re not, I provide safer options.” His gaze was absolutely serious, voice only loud enough for her to hear. “I hear things, about people. Then I check on them. You can tell me to go to hell and I will finish my beer and leave. But, if you, or your employer ever needed help, I’d be here.” He lifted the mug to take another drink. Cards were on the table, she could take them or leave them.
  4. Calder Muireadach

    Sunset Slowdown

    Hunters always knew; being aware of those that had their attention on him was ground into his bones. It was a survival skill, a warrior’s skill. He didn’t mind that she was 'sizing him up', he’d done it as well. The way she moved was unique if one was looking for it. Nod was slight when she set the mug down. He picked it up, an almost unnatural affinity for balancing the liquid as he brought it to his lips and watched the window a moment. Perhaps it was the fact he could make the liquid inside do what he told it to. Maybe he was just lucky. “That’s good,” he commented particularly to himself, looking at the mug before putting it back down. He didn’t come into the city proper much save for business. Everything he needed he could get on the harbor except good beer. The docks were like a city unto themselves, and regrettably beer was something that only seemed to come in cans there. Various beers on tap weren’t exactly something you could hook up on a dock. In any case, fingers slid around the mug when he set it down, the chill appreciated. "Quiet for any night." He nodded slightly, taking another drink. “I’ll take your word for it. Unfortunately I’m not on this side of town much.” "Mmm seems cold drinks aren't enough cold for this heat. Drinks are the only cold I like though” “A bit too cold this past winter for even my blood.” Small talk was not his strength. He gave orders. It was difficult not to for once. "And you? What brought you out into the heat?" “Lack of work unfortunately,” fingertip played absently with a droplet of water on the counter from the now sweating glass. “I’m in shipping. Weather has been making it difficult to go north or south up the coast, so I’m taking the time to make some more contacts while we’re docked.” Everything he’d said was absolutely true, normal. He’d had this conversation a hundred times in bars around Ireland and down the east coast; there it was far from normal. It was the play to get contacts where they needed to be so he could get them out. “I’m Calder by the way,” he took a long drink, inflection on his name not exactly an English one. “What about you?” he turned slightly in his seat, back to the wall so he could see most of the occupants. “Boss leave you all alone on a Friday? Pretty sure it’s not going to pick up?” Attention was on her, but his senses were thrown out wide. Interactions, glances. Seemed, normal. Nobody as much as batted an eye at her. Maybe this was one he didn’t have to worry about and he could enjoy a beer and a conversation for once.
  5. Calder Muireadach

    Sunset Slowdown

    Always rumors. Leads. He had to check every single one out that was thrown his way. The horrors he’d seen within the last year were immeasurable. Humans’ penchant for the despicable were making him feel more and more each passing day that he needed to hang up his work with the elf, and search for a way home. Those that spilled blood on the shores where he had left it were at least given a fighting chance. Terrified Outworlders loaded on a “boat to safety” and then dragged out to sea and sunk was the worst of humanity and then some. He had been able to save some. Only some. The heat. Gods. Loose shirt rippled as he passed an alleyway, the updraft giving him a bit of comfort as the breeze shuffled in between buildings. His sense of direction hadn’t waned in this world, several blocks east. Then north. Soon an unsuspecting bar came into view. He seemed dressed appropriately. What was appropriate anymore really though? Khaki’s and a short sleeved pale green Henley that lit his eyes in that color were easy on his cut frame. Several cords around his neck were tucked inside; several more around his wrist were threadbare and held a collection of small odd trinkets. Blue tattoos were branded in bands up his arms, nothing that was out of the ordinary unless one looked extremely close. The script was foreign, and the color seemed almost alive as it shifted. Of course, that was if someone was really looking. Long hair was in a ponytail on this day, topknot ditched for something a bit more normative when he was walking the streets of the city. Hands slid in his pockets as he entered, shouldering the door and wondering why there weren’t more people until he felt the swelter inside. The heat would kill him in this world. “Welcome to Sunset friend.” Eyes looked over, and there she was. An elf, not quite any dark elf he’d ever seen, but absolutely beautiful nonetheless. The rumors, were probably true. Obvious Outworlder in plain sight. How long would it be until somebody gave her problems, they may have already done so. If not, it was just a matter of time. Smile easy, he nodded, finding a comfortable place at the bar. “Beer, dark. Surprise me,” he said, forearms on the counter and folding his hands. Glance cast around the room, trying to pin anyone else that may be worth talking to. A bartender though, that would be one of the easiest to breach the subject. They were naturally chatty, or at least pretended to be. Under the employ of Durion, he’d started watching for those in New York when the weather kept him from reaching Ireland. New York was a bit more friendly than most, but still surprised him on occasion with the viciousness of hate. He’d find out a little bit about her, then keep tabs on her in the future. "Quiet night for a Friday..." he commented, looking around again.
  6. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    mmm….. sort of? Brow cocked. You either are or you aren’t. He wasn’t fazed, that was certain. Good grief, he didn’t know how she’d survived this long with her soft voice and averting gaze. Himself, sure he hid his dragonboat and didn’t go about broadcasting himself to the world. When it came down to it though, if he was confronted he’d rather die than live crushed. I’m not a shifter, my body is just different than humans. If you change, you’re a shifter. All sorts, Outworlder just implies you’re not from this world. The basic description still applies in my book. Good to know though. If you’re something that might sink this boat when you shift, warn me first. Especially if it was something that might sink his boat. He didn’t like surprises. You know….the more you are bitter and angry with these waters…. the more strongly they will ignore your call. Eyes snapped to her briefly. You have no idea what I’m feeling. It was abrupt. His explanation apparently not settling the subject. He wasn’t used to his words being argued with or questioned. You are wrong. These waters are powerful and wild…but coy as well. They have not had those that could call it. Now that they do, they can be stubborn in answering when they don’t like the tone of askance. They don’t understand the way the ours did what it is to be in unison. Resisting the urge to pull his hand back, he watched her little trick, apparently expected like some savant to take over. It never did anything, ever, except seem to spit back at him with some sort of contempt. Humoring her, the markings on his arms could be seen to light up through the weave of his shirt. He did truly try, at least just to humor her efforts. Of course, it did nothing, settling so still it seemed to almost become clear as a marble. Blink was slow and he looked back at her before picking up the binoculars again, as he did it thrummed like being peppered by rain, the same sound washing around the boat as if a downpour had suddenly started and stopped as quickly as it began. It always does that. Lesson was clearly over by the sound of his tone, and he left it where it lay, making his observations about the lighthouse. Siren?... tlhu'moH bIqDep?......a umm…. ….. um…. seduction witch…? He nodded, gearing up. Something still didn’t feel right. The darkness of the water from before, like tendrils of shadows pulling at him. Was it finally talking to him? He knew better than to ignore his gut. Instead of looking at the horizon, he studied the water. Ripples. Tide. It didn’t look right for what the charts said. Were his calculations wrong? He was never wrong, but his gut said otherwise. The surface was not moving like water at this depth should. Shit! The curse was dark. Fist slammed on the ceiling above him and he started moving. Hold on to something. Stay here! Engines suddenly gunned in reverse, despite the sudden surge, he deftly moved up the stairs. Items that normally were secure rolled off and clinked on the floor at the severe shift. He was in the pilothouse within seconds, depending on a massive machine of steel to stop a boat that he was pretty sure was going to hit something. *npc* Drop anchor?! No, if it’s not ground we’ll lose it. This was a clusterfuck. Same as fucking New York… Ireland. Fucking rogues sinking shit like landmines. We’re in a debris field. The sound of the hull scraping something lightly made Avi’s eyes snap to him and widen. They were almost to a stop, turning slightly to the side and drifting gently. The water had warned him. What the fuck? Talk to him, but not do what he wanted… The boat undulated lazily, on no particular path as the captain leaned over the rail and scanned the water, already pulling off his clothes and shoes. There was no hesitation. I’m going in to see if we can drop anchor. We might have to wait until it’s light to maneuver out of here, but I don't thin we have that long. We’re right where someone wants us to be. If something moves out there, shoot it. He left the lifeline off for now. Too much risk getting tangled. As soon as he touched the water, he knew. The sound was there… hum of something that wasn’t his boat. A motor, far off. Slow. This was a big fucking spiderweb and they hadn't wiggled enough to catch its attention yet. He came back up, Avi trotting over. We have company. I’m not sure if it’s a lighter boat that can skim across the top of this shit and beeline to us or if they have deerpaths like we need to find, but I need you at the helm. Turn the ship and I’m gonna lead us out of here back to open water. If they catch up, at least we'll have the advantage of maneuvering. I’m assuming St.John’s been compromised. When I hit the water, I need you to follow, keep the bow centered on me. Get the Irish girl up in the pilothouse with you, she has a good spotter eye. Don’t run my ass over, I can swim fast, but not that fast. Would she agree to spot for them? He wasn’t sure, but if she could watch their backs while his crew made sure they kept an eye on him and didn’t run him over- it would be helpful. He monkey barred to the front of the ship, hooking his lifeline on the bow, dropping back into the water. Shit. It was everywhere, shadows looming and the vibrations of decaying hulls throbbing in the water. Listening to the ships engine’s start to turn and he started moving, the line snapping taught as paused for a moment under the surface and centered a moment before he surfaced again. If you can hear me, now would be a good time to finally start talking to me, he murmured and started moving. They hadn’t gone in far, but enough to slow them down and get their asses sniped by skimmer boats looking for a take down. It could be a tense trip, but not by much more.
  7. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    Two miles inland is the halfway house. A stop over for a big meal and to learn of their options, which are two from there. He simply watched; expression uninviting. It never really was anything but, he rarely smiled before this world and even less so now. Well fed they may take the bus down to Rio. The city is dominated by outworlders. A bit noisy and too much….concrete…. for my taste…. One New York for another, only filled with those of their kind or those at least sympathetic to their kind. It might be a good place for some. Then again, the elf could be lying his ass off. …. but they can look for work there and set up a life there if that is how they want to go. No guarantee of an easy transition but at least a guarantee that they are not hunted there… not reviled. The other option is they take the truck the rest of the way into my lands deep in the jungle. There they are guaranteed a home for each family and a job to get them on their feet. It is community living… they find a role to provide to the community in addition to working for the company. There it was, gaze sliding to the verge beyond and back to him. Tending the garden….the animals… something of that nature. Mind wandered off for a moment. Best intentions, for a cost. Stay a week…. a year… a lifetime…. choice is theirs. “Is it really?” question was quiet, deeply mistrustful. He’d used people, because that’s what royalty did. Everyone lived for the rulers’ right to live comfortably, and in turn they provided protection with the expectation they would lay down their lives if they asked them to. This was the best of situations, but deep down he knew he was delivering them to something that benefitted the elf in the end. They just needed to know it that before they made the decision to stay. I get help that can be trusted not to blow up my home…. they get a chance to get on their feet in a place where they are safe from the outside world…. “I don’t vet anyone before I bring them here, so what they do here is on you.” Satisfied? “No, but it’s not my choice.” He nodded slightly to Avi and the man broke from point to head down to bring up the weary travelers. Light footsteps brought him back onto the rail of the boat, where he balanced until they all had emerged. “We’re going to get on a caravan to get something to eat, then you can choose to go to Rio or you can go further in with Mr. Caranthir and work for him. Both options have pros and cons, but the decision is yours. Know though, that I will not leave without any of you that want to return with me. I will not leave you here if you don’t want to stay.” There were nods and murmurs of the half dozen tired and hot passengers. He unpinned the gangplank with the aid of his crew and secured it to the dock, stepping to the side to let them begin to make their choices. Leaving them to it for a moment, he went to his quarters and found a gray t-shirt and peeled it over his torso, abandoning his larger blade for small utility-looking ones that were in leather sheaths at the base of his spine. T-shirt would be soaked through in a matter of moments. He simply was not of this climate- it seriously took him off his game; he just didn’t have the physiology to deal with it. Shoes were somewhere, sliding on a pair of worn skipper shoes. He was going with to check out the locations. “Keep sharp, leave if there’s any trouble. Half mile out, I’ll find you. If it’s safe we’ll rotate shifts to go up the road and get things we need.” They nodded and he took the gangplank for once. “I’m going with. Not that I don’t trust you, I don’t trust anyone until I see it with my own eyes.”
  8. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    The outworlder was stoic, long after he’d spoken his last words. He knew those in the rooms of his larger ship were hot, and tired, anxious… scared, but there was no way in hell he would just dump them off and leave them to wolves that may be in sheep's clothing. Words were spoken in New York that were all bright and shiny, full of hope. Reality was rarely so. Muireadach…. Eyes left the Avian to blink and refocus on the elf. Pants and a turtleneck. Cripes on a crutch, did people really deal with this heat that well? I was not sure I would see you down this way. He left it unanswered for a moment. NPC: Vehicles are on their way Durion… Thanks Kahird. Vehicles to…. of course, take “possession” of his charges. Have food and drink for you and your crew as well as those you carry. I have a few questions about the northern territories I would like to ask you. My crew is fine, you need to explain exactly what is going to happen here and I will transfer that information to my passengers before one person steps off my ship. After they’ve settled in, I will check in with each and make sure they want to stay or return with me. It was business, and he didn’t budge from his position. One businessman an elegantly dressed host, the other half naked, barefoot and strapped with a deadly elegant weapon. Arms remained crossed, and he waited for a run down.
  9. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    …yes….. but fear often drives people to act like children. That was a given. Fear made people act in a lot of ways, and it ultimately bared souls. “It also tells you everything you need to know about anyone.” It was said particularly to himself. He didn’t have a read on her. She was running, she’d huddled in a corner in his ship even after he’d done nothing to warrant that behavior from her. She hadn’t trusted him. Even so, it was a boat that offered passage and if you were going to accept the ride, cowering would only lead to being taken advantage of with the wrong person. You fought for yourself. You showed the world where you stood… he too often forgot that his world didn’t work as his. Now though she obviously didn’t give two shits putting her hands on someone that obviously was comfortable stabbing people in the face that threatened him. She was hard to read. More than eighty percent of mine was blanketed in water….. we had only a handful of land dweller tribes. Interesting way to put it, eyes casting slightly to the side and down at her as she stood next to him. Land dweller tribes. That’s what he would be called he supposed. I was a…um….two worlder?.... I passed between water and land…..to keep the peace…. Two worlder? “You’re a shifter,” he said matter-of-factly, scanning the horizon again as he filled in the blanks. It was simple logic. There was really nothing about her stature that gave any indication it could pass in water to do what she was implying. She was avoiding above deck. Logic. She was a shifter, unless she was lying. “Is that what you’re telling me?” The lighthouse was definitely more on his mind, his world had shifters. Not many, but they were there as they were here. Other worlds had to have the same. He’d fought with shifters, he’d killed shifters. That distance… that bright.....more likely to be some magic? She brought his thought process back to the present. You know….the more you are bitter and angry with these waters…. the more strongly they will ignore your call. ….and then not. She was looking at him again, the stoic distance normally calm… starting to hint of grouchy. The soft knocking above his head questioned shifting their heading, brain once again back on their growing predicament. If the hull wasn’t in the shape it was in, they would have definitely kept going. Sigh was soft, brow furrowing as he pulled out another chart, spreading it out on the table and clicking the light on for a moment. A thick glass magnifier slid across it slowly, fingertip tapping the map and then checking their position. “The waters here are apparently too weak to do what I tell them,” voice was calm, decided. The thought had occurred to him often he wasn't strong enough to control it. It simply couldn't be. “A lot of things in this world are disappointing.” He “hm’d” to himself as he looked again at the map. That was genius, and dangerous… it was either a good or bad thing. Usually bad from his experience. “The lighthouse is a Siren. It’s tricking people in that direction that really don’t know the exact location. Runs straight into shoals. They’re trying to ground incoming ships.” He knocked on the ceiling for Avi to stay on course. “The ‘lighthouse’ is purposely drawing boats into shoals. I know our heading is correct. Question is… are they keeping travelers and themselves safe by only having people that know the exact location safe, vice versa... may have been taken over and now pulling those that know where it is in to return to Ireland, or worse.” Light clicked off, they were going to run as silent as possible. Coming in at night was safer because they couldn’t be seen, but it was harder to see what they were running into. Knock on the ceiling called the entire crew to “quarters”. Guns were coming out, spotters were going on the rails, himself choosing a matching pair of knives from his wall and pulled up his sleeves to strap them to his forearms. When they got closer he would go investigate if he had to. “We’ll know when we get there.”
  10. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    The avian was unexpected, but logically expected just the same. He nodded to Jerry and Avi, and they tossed the ropes to the dock. The captain ducked below deck to find the restless passengers trying to peer out. “You’re going to stay below deck until I speak with who’s in charge. I didn’t bring you halfway across the world not to make sure you’re all safe first.” There were nods, but eyes were still on the light that filtered from the stairs. He trotted back up the steps. Still barefoot, he slipped below the bridge and laced an elegant, exotic scabbard across his back. Long strides brought him to the edge and he hopped off his boat to wordlessly greet the dockmaster, black corded necklace with sea-glass pendants twinkling as he landed. Eyes scanned their surroundings from the new vantage point and he nodded to those of his crew that were still guarding the corners of the small vessel. They had orders to shoot in the the face and ask questions later if they were threatened before he spoke to the elf. Well… with only being threatened. Shoot first, ask questions later. This was the way he always had worked. Bargains were struck, you broke the bargain or tried to play him, the consequences were immediate. “They don’t go anywhere until I talk to your boss.” Voice was quiet, arms crossing, a defiant guardian as he stood between the greener pastures and his boat. If something was going to happen, they had to get through him first. “…and I will stay docked here until they’ve all gotten to see whether or not they want to stay or go.”
  11. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    ….that is the problem…. ….I can slaughter them back. Lower lids tightened slightly, looking like a squint as he studied the chart… the words he was thinking were right on the tip of his tongue. There was a little self-control for a moment, but as he moved he felt he had to say something. “Problems are subjective... I don't see your issue, as a problem.” It was all he offered. He truly didn’t see it as a problem. Defending yourself was never an issue, and his words spoke volumes of it. He wasn’t a stranger to violence, though being here had reduced it to a considerably rare event. He looked somewhat warm and fuzzy, but there was a distance that had a lingering feel of arrogance... or lethal brutality. …. I don’t….pass….…… not always….. His own eyes adjusted just as hers did when he turned out the light, a silvery sheen very reminiscent of reflective cat eyes was brief as he glanced at her. “Some more than others seems to be the way of it." Arms crossed as he studied the horizon, still holding on to the binoculars. “It’s not up to us to make others comfortable with what we are. To lash out at those who are different is to act like a spoiled child that doesn’t want to share their toys.” He realized intimately that he was chiding himself. Maybe he’d grown up a bit in his ten years away from home. …. mine didn’t have so much land…. The glance over to her was a little longer this time. He’d put that together. The kind of control she seemed to have over it, there was definitely a water element there. Outworlder, clearly distressed and introverted, her small comments about her appearance... he'd connected it all. “Mine was about sixty forty… in favor of water,” he commented, bringing the glasses up to look again. Soft taps erupted quietly from above his head. “Yah… I see it too…” he said absently, tapping in response with the glasses still in place as he stared at the horizon. A light flickered wanly, barely visible even through the glasses. It was so faint he’d almost missed it. This far out, it had to be something bright. “I controlled most of it. Lot of fighting, on land… on water. A lot of fighting,” he got back on subject. “There was no difference for me between the two battlefields. Now I have a boat. Just a boat." There was sarcasm in his last sentence. Sigh was long. As long as they were spilling secrets, he wasn’t going to lie and say he was a good person. He needed to get off it and back to the issue at hand. “Our destination port doesn’t run lights at night. You have to know what you’re looking for to find it. That looks like a lighthouse to me…” he turned fluidly, scanning the circumference of glass around him, they lowered and he went for the radio. Channels were still all dark, eyes narrowed as he checked their position. He knew he was right, but the light was slightly off course. Had he made a mistake in his navigation? They were missing something, but he was going to stay on course.
  12. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    He sat in the pilot house... cold towel on the back of his neck, literally half naked; no shoes, no shirt, boat shorts barely on his hips, hair in Mohawk twist and off his neck. This heat, was killing him. He would have been below deck, but it was worse there. Stifling. Humid. He could barely breathe, questioning his entire decision to do this. The sun though... the sun was the bastard that needed to die. They were early. Really early. The storm that had been predicted to batter what was once Florida and threaten to halt them in Georgia for a week minimum had taken a sharp turn into the gulf, enabling him to ride right behind it. Daring, but that's what he did. It was odd for a storm to take such a drastic turn, something was up with the weather, he could feel a cold nipping at their heels- but for now he was in tropical hell, still unaware the same storm that let them arrive quicker had burst into snow in the gulf and was battering the entire central land mass with flurries and white-outs. There was also talk of someone on his tail, and he wanted to lose their asses. He would deal with them on the return when he didn't have a boatload of terrified Outworlders. Word traveled fast, and not in a good way sometimes; he'd almost had to leave a few behind. They were restless, his insistence on them staying below deck and out of sight was a firm one. It was uncomfortable, not ideal, but it kept them safe from whatever they may still encounter. They were on the coast and coast meant they could be seen unlike on open water. He didn't come this far to lose them now. He also didn't come this far to die of heat exhaustion either. This would be the make or break moment, learning as much about where and who he was dropping them off to as the fae seemed to know about him. It still reeked of servitude. Hopefully, it wasn't. Head perked up slightly, watching the mouth of the river. Bare feet on the bridge, he stood quietly from his chair and put the boat at full stop to kill the engines, coasting quietly into the mouth of the river. High trees and a few ridges on either side as far as the eye could see. He didn't like the vulnerable position, but they really had no choice. The dock was less than a half mile in- at the point where his boat could go no further. They would be trapped, and alone. His crew were stationed at key points, armed, and waiting for a hint of something to shoot. He hated guns, but they were necessary in certain situations. This was one of them. Boat was completely silent save for the lap of the water on the hull. An occasional screech from an exotic bird that didn't heed the instinctual silence from the rest at the strangers' trespassing brought muzzles up and his eyes toward the fluttering green foliage. Barely anyone breathed as he steered to a coast with precision, looking for someone on the dock ready to throw a line. Do or die time.
  13. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Not the water….. Pressed lips didn’t betray the inner seethe. ….the people of this world….ten years and they still slaughter what they do not recognize…… Jaw set slightly. It nicked a little too close to the bone. Would he have been as tolerant if others had slid into his world? No. The answer was immediate. He would not have. He would have slaughtered anyone he did not recognize… and this was his hell for it. The ocean was lost to him. His family, his kingdom. He was being punished. And now? He was ferrying the very same people he would have gutted if they had set foot on his own lands. ….acquaintance….. Quiet eyes blinked himself back into the present, watching his own fingers trace across the map as if he was assuring himself this life would make up for the last. He was being watched. He didn’t like being watched, the loose, still-damp cascade of hair was pulled high on his skull and secured into a topknot with some technic lost on this planet. That is all they care about isn't it….. Blink again at her was slow, his finger tapping once on South America before reaching to adjust the volume on the radio. It was silent. Just as it should be. No chatter. No ships. I don’t care what they care about. It doesn’t matter the horrific power one might wield…. just that they can "pass"… He rolled up one map, sliding it into the shelf under the table as he pulled out another; a much more detailed version of where they were currently traveling. Nothing was said for a moment, plotting their position quietly. Again the nip at his throat. She wasn’t doing it on purpose; there was no way she could have known. It matters. It matters if it makes money, or secures power. Ireland wants its little corner of normal and screw everyone else. New York swallows Outworlders... and altered. Someone can be L-infected and fight in the middle of a cage in front of thousands of people and be cheered on by the masses. Or, an unusual magus can be sought for hire as a bodyguard…horrific powers and all. New York embraces the different if there’s something to be made from it. Voice was quiet, intent on his work but circling back to something she’d said earlier as he checked their course. If the people of this world… are intent on slaughtering you… then you slaughter them back. Eyes flicked up at her a moment, clearly incensed at this world's insistence on playing nice before turning to scan the channels on the radio. They were all silent. A few more hours and he would radio in to the port. If there was chatter he would have to investigate first before coming in. I can pass but I refuse to allow those that can't to be terrorized. If anyone threatens my passengers they will die… regardless of any horrific powers. Anyone attacks my passengers and crew, they will die. Matter of fact and without any sign of apprehension, the dark words remained quiet... as easy as breathing. He reached up and turned off one of the main overhead lights, much less harsh now that he didn’t need it to read the chart. It also helped keep the ship less visible in case of any other travelers. Rare and unlikely, but flirting with fate never ended well. Not my place to judge, only protect. That’s what Mr. Caranthir sought me out for. Sometimes the most passable have the worst secrets. Like himself, he finally divulged. He drew in a long breath, realizing he’d crossed his arms and was staring aimlessly at the invisible horizon in the direction they were headed. Picking up a set of glasses, he scanned the horizon. Coming in always put everyone on high alert. They were still in no-man’s land. If you’re restless, I could use another set of eyes on the horizon. St. John has been safe in the past, but things change. He nodded toward another set of glasses on the shelf near the door, clicking through the channels again and rapping a pattern on the ceiling to communicate with his first mate up in the captain’s chair. No unnecessary radio this close to land. Morse code. Another weird little thing he’d learned in this world…
  14. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    The once upon a time prince was an intuitive one. He had to be, nuances caught in the tone of her words. Had she expected he’d understand her language? No. She’d hoped he would. He knew what it felt like. Being an outworlder was disorienting and cruel, but most often lonely. He didn’t know how to fix that, for himself or anyone. She looked at the water the way he did, but could control it… still shielding herself from it as if it was poison. He’d never heard of such a thing, eyes narrowing slightly and pausing partially into his descent, watching her wipe more water away. I don’t get wet…… The melancholy had pushed aside for a moment, replaced with a cautious curiosity. “Why?” he asked quietly, hand paused on the overhead before he was going to duck under into his hidey-hole chart room. It was the eyes that finally made him put all the pieces together. Humanoids on his world didn’t have eyes like that, and this wasn’t his first rodeo with people that had an affinity for water. There were all kinds, and all shapes, and all types of powers. Terrible and mystical. Brow cocked slightly, “seems like the water controls you, because you think too much.” The statement wasn’t a question, it was a fact delivered with a nonchalance she may not have been used to. Observation turned back to business. “Got a towel for you, the others below deck aren’t dry yet from cleaning your friend’s last round of festivities.” He descended the few steps after ducking the edge of the bridge, clicking on a radio and turning the volume lower, pulling several towels out from a footlocker in the corner and tossing them on the bench near the stairs if she chose to partake. He kept a steady supply to wipe the windows when they fogged on the inside during this weather. Light was clicked on over his workspace, eyes wandering over the chart a moment. Morning. They’d be there by morning. St. John was a safe place, but they hadn’t been there in a while. Less stops meant a faster run, less gas, less chance to be followed or tracked. Staying hidden in open ocean was easy. Hopping ports was predictable. He wouldn’t have done it unless it was necessary. “St. John,” he put his finger on the chart. “Quiet, sympathetic friends there.” Finger slid back to the coast of Ireland. “Cruise ship sank right here, I buoyed it on my last run. It shifted during the time I was gone and the buoy moved, tore the hull on the stack. We were anchored for a few days while I fixed it, that’s why we were late. Docked in St. John instead of open water and I can do it properly.” Hand brushed over New York. “We stop here, this is where I live. I wait for enough that want to go south and then I make this run,” he traced down to South America. “A lot stay in New York, they can blend in with the magus. The more physically unique usually decide to seek refuge with the Fanya Niasa, Durion Caranthir has a particular protective nature. It’s isolated, and he is able to find ways for them to live comfortably and make a life.” Eyes moved over his blades on the wall behind the small seats and went back to the charts. “I can pass, so I do what I can to get people where they need to go. I'll get you where you need to go.” The implication was ominous. He didn't just 'do what he could', he did whatever was necessary, without question- and most of the time it included clearing the way, in a bloody fashion.
  15. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    SoH 'Iv? Eyes narrowed, one hand snatched by the passenger but the other low on his back with a blade already out and inverted against the inside of his wrist. He somehow knew she’d be strong, the little things always were. Calm ones, quiet ones; they were always those with the most bite. veHHeHDaj DaSov'a'? The language was lost on him, and when she let go the blade was placed none-the-wiser back into its sheath under his sweater. She probably would have no idea how close she’d come to becoming a Pez dispenser. People didn’t touch him. He didn’t like to be touched if he didn't know someone. It was the only outward sign he couldn’t control that he wasn’t "normal". Skin, much cooler than a human and couldn’t be explained away. To her though, he’d not divulged a thing. For all she knew he was a magus. ….you think too much….. That brought an uncharacteristic scowl from his features. Bullshit. HoS lughoStaHvIS… He didn’t watch the water, he watched her. He’d seen waves, storms, the heave of water off the beach out to sea as he’d pulled a wave in so severe it’d decimated cities. His fist, his fury. He used it to conquer the world. It wasn’t new to him. What was, was that he wasn’t doing it. The impotence was wearing him thin. Eyes closed to shield off the waterfall, peering upward through wet lashes, the seethed sigh annoyed as he glowered back at her. ..this water doesn’t like lots of thinking….. “This water needs to start doing what it’s told,” the grumble was under his breath. “Jhuh xeinv ftuh ih’j hej…” His smooth, yet percussive language was cast toward the dark waters with a spite he wasn’t going to explain. “Be dark soon, it’s going to get colder, we’re shifting north slightly. Might want to find some more warm layers if you’re going to be out here.” A calm had come again over his countenance, moving to retreat to the room under the bridge. He could still see everything the first mate saw from the bridge, its recess underneath just gave him a place to eat on his own, and his personal items were there. An apartment so to speak, but it wasn't where he slept. He relished it there when his crew was asleep, only a few tending to the job and an insane silence over the black water except for the hum of the engine. It was also the home of his toys when he didn’t feel like playing with anyone. These two were going to annoy him until the end, if not from anything else but pure jealousy. He wanted more of his hot chocolate too, but in all honesty... he was just too melancholy to deal with anyone at the moment.


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