(no subject)

[mechanicalswans]

[OOM: You can never go back. Small warnings for oblique references to violence and self-injury.]

That, right there, in the sky out back--yeah, that's not a comet. That's just Weyland in his prototype armor, burning up with celestial and temporal energy, on an impressive trajectory that'll most likely land him on the trail nearish the stables. You know, your average Tuesday at Milliways.

It's not a graceful landing. In fact, it's a crash. A face-first crash, straight into the ground. Only the fact that he's got godblood keeps him from being a charcoal smear across the trail (kids don't try this at home). Pardon his clumsiness--he's had a rough day.

So, there's a figure somewhere between bird and man, one eye a glowing star, light and energy flickering across the surface of his armor. He's pretty dazed; he's never fallen this far before. Coherence may take a while.

[ooc: yeah, here's this guy again. Slowtime is so much love, as mun is loopy on cold medicine. Not plotlocked, but everybody else gets millitimed to after the lovely Miss Barlow]

Comments

[ostro_goth]

Teja is outside, having folded steel for a while, as that seemed to go well with that strange energy in his veins.

When the glowing figure falls from the sky, he starts running towards it, to see if help is needed.

[mechanicalswans]

He isn't aware of anything at first, as his brain tries to catch up to what has happened.

There was another fire, but he can't quite remember--

The ground is pleasantly cool at least, and solid. A welcome change from whatever else that was.

He lifts his head, with effort. Pro tip: if you're going to fall face-first from a height like that, you may not want to do it in a helmet with a beak on it.

[ostro_goth]

Teja bends, offering a hand to the fallen metal creature.

"Would you take my help?"

That beaked helmet seems quite a bother, as it pulls itself from the mud.

[mechanicalswans]

What it lacks in practicality, it makes up for in style? It hasn't dented, at least, or even scratched.

He draws some energy from the armor, fading its glow a bit more, and reaches up to unbuckle his helmet.

He is being spoken to, a strange feeling after the deafening silence of the void. But the helmet muffles the sound a bit and he can't quite process--

So he pulls the helmet off, carefully, to reveal a Weyland who looks about as unhealthy as one might expect after a year of neglecting the physical and social in favor of the creative.

"--oh, hello again," he says quietly.

[ostro_goth]

"Greetings, Weyland!" Teja says, amazed, with almost half a grin. "I should have known it was you, from the style of your entrance and machinery."

There is a certain style to all that Weyland makes which Teja cannot quite name. The mun would perhaps call it 'steampunk'(ish)?

"You have not been here for awhile, and missed a Ragnarök."

[mechanicalswans]

The problem with the route he has taken to get here is that he's not sure exactly where or when he is--maybe he has passed into a parallel world? Maybe everybody he knows will look exactly the same, but have subtle differences he will never quite notice.

Whatever the case may be, he is reasonably sure that the journey he has taken is a one-way one.

He is the last of the steampunk Vikings.

"Another one?" he asks.

[ostro_goth]

"Several of them, indeed," Teja says, "that brought this place to the brink; and then, they cancelled each other out, and in a quiet explosion of bright invisible light, all was made new. Also, the forge now has an annex, with machinery installed by some trolls, with which things may be copied. When you have gathered yourself and wish to see the forge, I shall show those to you."

Teja suspects that a collision between Weyland and the trolls, involving the alchemiter, would result in disaster; hence he shall make sure they would not surprise each other.

[mechanicalswans]

"...copy machinery?" he asks, in a tone that makes it clear how he feels on that subject.

Maybe this is some sort of shadow version of the world he had come from. Would that make Weyland his own evil twin? Or maybe he's the good one now. He must investigate this, later.

"I think I shall be working in my own room for the time being... assuming I did not destroy it."

[no_mere_marble]

"Oh, the forge is still as it was, there is just a second room," Teja says. "Use it to work upon this as much as you wish, as you used to -- I merely wished to warn you, so you would not wonder at the trolls and their machinery."

[mechanicalswans]

"I will keep my distance," he says. "I would not wish to disturb anyone with my... eccentric techniques."

Slowly, he manages to pull himself into a sitting position. Today's lesson: maybe a few more drinks before testing out a prototype would be a good idea. Or at least a few more after.

"I shall clear my work out--I think the only thing I had left in there was the horse? Unless that was already moved to the stables. Yes, the stables, I remember. Miss Barlow gave her word."

[ostro_goth]

"You were there first," Teja says firmly. "You need not take yourself away for the sake of newcomers! I merely wished to give you warning, so the small horned creatures and their technology should not startle you."

Pause.

"And, indeed, Kate Barlow is an honourable woman of her word; during the Ragnarök that happened here, I have come to think quite highly of her."

[mechanicalswans]

"I cannot work around such things," he says with a slight shrug (which he immediately regrets). "It is hardly fair to make others suffer for my... eccentricities."

Although he does need to see what has become of his room, first.

"I have thought highly of her since the first time she came to my world."

[ostro_goth]

"She did that?" Teja says. "I was thinking of asking her to come with me and meet my people, so she can see the life I have been talking of, and that which was worth dying for, for me."

He shrugs; such an invitation might be too forward, too importunate.

"In any case, you shall ever be welcome in the forge; there is a natural place there for you, as you are Weyland the Smith, after all! Let not mere trolls drive you away, if you need a place to work."

[ikissdhimbck]

Kate's had Beaut out for a leisurely ride, enjoying the good weather while it's still good.

(Lord knows in Milliways that can change in a blink.)

When something whirs through the air behind them, ending in a crash loud enough to spook the mare, all hopes at leisure are well and forgotten. Kate calms her mount, keeping firm and light on the reins as she sidesteps, showing the whites of her eyes.

"Easy, easy, Beauty."

She can't see anything from where she is but a rut in the ground, disappearing into a shocking blackness that wasn't there a moment ago.

She dismounts, and grabs her rifle from the saddle in one quick motion.

"Get on back t'the stables. Go on!"

Beaut needs little encouragement. She heads off down the trail at a gallop, leaving Kate to inspect the new arrival.


Whatever it is.

[mechanicalswans]

He can't see anything but the afterimage of all that light, all that destruction. At least the ground--the cool, welcoming earth--isn't moving.

It's not the easiest thing to see through either; that would be why he can't see anything through his helmet. Of course.

He takes a mental inventory of his components--everything hurts, so it's all still attached, right?

Wherever he is.

He draws some energy from his armor, fading its glow somewhat only fair, it has more energy than he does right now, and slowly reaches up to pull at his helmet.

[ikissdhimbck]

It's moving.

Kate stops in her tracks, rifle at the ready.


And watches.




"Ho there!"

[mechanicalswans]

Not moving very fast, but definitely moving.

He slowly unbuckles his helmet, part of him surprised that the strapping held, though part of him thinks of course it did. Let's see the dwarves do that... whatever that was.

But they're not here and he is. It feels strange and awkward to work his fingers, but the coolness of the air around him and the lightness of removing the helmet more than make up for that.

It has apparently been a rough year for Weyland.

[ikissdhimbck]

Her eyes widen.

"Weyland?"

She squints at the rugged face, eyes darting over the strange — armor, she reckons. Light-eating, unsettling, but exactly the kind of thing she'd expect from the forge god.

"Is that you?"

[mechanicalswans]

"I was when I left," he says after a moment, "though I have a feeling my wife would disagree."

Wherever she may be.

He sets the helmet down beside him and, with effort, manages to squirm round to a sitting position. Baby steps.

[ikissdhimbck]

Only now does she relax her finger from the trigger, shifting her weapon into a less ready position. Her brow furrows, wondering if he means Mireille, or if he's come from another place in time.

She crouches next to him, setting her rifle on the ground so she can tenderly touch his cheek.

"What happened t'you? You've been gone so long — d'you know who I am?"

[mechanicalswans]

He's significantly warmer than usual; it takes a while for the heat of a journey like that to wear off, it seems.

"Of course I know who you are," he says quietly. "How could I forget? I was so cruel to you."

Not something he would normally admit to, but hey, it's been a rough day.

"My latest prototype seems not to have worked, unfortunately."

[ikissdhimbck]

She blinks in surprise. His temperature's high, that's for sure, but even more startling are his words.

Her eyes sweep over his face.

"I — that was a long time ago, sugar. Things changed."

Her thumb brushes his cheekbone.

"You're burnin' up. Does your kind even get sick?"

[mechanicalswans]

"I've never been sick in my life," he says. "Sickness didn't even exist, when I was a child. There are some advantages to age."

His parentage may also help, in that regard.

"I seem to have passed through the end of the universe, or maybe back through the beginning, it's hard to tell. It was very warm there. I don't recommend going that way."

[ikissdhimbck]

"Y'need t'stop doin' that."

Dry sarcasm is sometimes the best substitute for concern. She's given him a thorough once-over, and he doesn't seem to be in any mortal danger or pain. But he's not quite himself, and after all, he did plummet from the sky rather dramatically just now.

"Well, you're burnin' up now, an' it's a wonder y'didn't break every bone in your body. Even the metal ones. Can y'get up? D'you feel all your extremities?"

[mechanicalswans]

"I can feel everything," he says. "Even things I shouldn't be able to. They say that some people feel things they no longer have, but that has never been one of my problems."

Pride, yes. Cruelty, yes. A double helping of brooding, sure. But never phantom pain.

"In retrospect I think I should have had more insulation."