rubycity_ooc | June Test Drive~!

Entry tags:

June Test Drive~!

Thinking of apping a character but not sure they'll fit in the city walls?

Have no fear, a meme for you is here.

Directions:

Post with your character with their name and canon on top!

Choose a location and prompt or wait for someone else to tag.

If you'd like, leave contact info for people to get in contact for plotting and other such shenans.

Tag around! Make friends. Don't be afraid to chat OOC while tagging.

Locations:

1. Train Station: New arrival, or waiting to welcome people? Either way, the train comes in, but you still can't ride it out.

2. Cathedral: Looking for redemption? Just doing a little sight-seeing? Or just getting a little shelter?

3. The Clocktower: You can see the whole city from here!

4. The Black Stallion Saloon: You were told the burgers were great here-- but maybe you just came for the beer.

5. The Library: You came to do a little research, but it looks like all of the information's just out of your reach. Though, you can always find a way to pass the time here.

6. The Coffee Joint: A lovely place to have a chat and a bite to eat.

7. Le Cafe Anglais: A Parisian-British fusion that's as charming as it sounds and serves the best tea around.

Scenarios

1. Just walked in: You intended to get here, and you made your way in; but now someone's caught your eye and you'd like to have a chat.

2. Been here all day: You've been sitting around minding the time. Maybe you didn't notice them at first or maybe you were just working up the courage to talk-- either way, they know you're here and you know it too.

3. Bad weather: You're here because you've gotten rained in. This wasn't your choice, but at least it's dry-- right?

4. Wild card: Got something better in mind? Well screw these prompts, try it out yourself!

Have fun, guys!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I hope there's an abundance of bacon in this realm, at least," Loki said, walking along beside Damian, looking around as they went. The rain didn't really bother him, though it did plaster his dark hair down. "Please tell me there's free bacon."

"All the bacon. If you can get it before stock runs out." Bacon didn't last long, around here. "Be prepared for a fight."

It's a good thing he has boots, because his feet are sinking nearly half an inch deep into the mud covering the cobblestone roads.

He points places out as they pass - there, the clocktower, and there, the cathedral, until they come to the main square.

"This is where you'll find most of the shops. Your local Home Depot is over there, this is the grocery store - probably looted of bacon by this time of the week," he adds. "And this, next to it, is the tea shop."

Coffee, coffee, coffee. And none of that bitter, horrible stuff that Grayson drinks. Actual coffee.

"Okay, come early for the bacon. Got it."

Loki wasn't sinking into the mud, oddly. There was a faint magical glow around his soles, courtesy of his seven league boots.

"Hey Robin, how far would you say our destination is, as the crow flies?"

Wow, that's cheating. Damian looks down at Loki's boots, gives a haughty scoff, and continues tromping through the mud.

"From here?" He squints over at where he can see the tea shop on the left side of the plaza, near the river, and pauses to calculate. "To the door, about 199 meters. Give or take."

(A tiny Hawkeye, if he cared at all for long-range weapons like bows. He really only likes to use his estimation skills to point out Red Robin's own shortcomings.)

Loki looked at him, mildly startled, then grinned and held out a hand. "That's accurate enough to give me confidence that this won't screw up too badly. Take my hand if you want to get out of this mud a little faster."

"I don't mind the mud," he grumps, but, after a beat (to make his point known, he is just fine with the mud), reaches out to take Loki's hand without a hint of hesitation.

(Ruby City has taught him many things, but to be properly wary of potential threat or damage to his person has not been one of them. Of course he is invincible.)

"Oh sure, mud is fantastic," Loki replied agreeably, rolling his eyes at the boy's recalcitrance. But as the smaller hand settled into his, he smirked and spoke a phrase in Old Norse, that sparked and fizzled with magic.

They shimmered out of existence, and an instant later found themselves standing - still in mud - but right in front of the tea shop.

"Ah, this looks nice," he said cheerfully, dropping Robin's hand and striding up to the front door.

It's his first time being transported by magic.

On arrival, he is briefly seized by the certainty that if he lets go too soon, he may fall between the cracks in the worlds, or be whisked away elsewhere. It isn't until Loki is the one to release his hand that he starts, realizing that he'd been standing there like an idiot for several seconds, stiff-backed and gripping the teen's hand like a child about to be walked across the street.

Rolling his shoulders in irritation at himself, he follows in Loki's wake, eager to get out of the mud and rain. Inside, with the rainy season, the cafe has a small area set aside for swapping out muddy shoes and jackets for complimentary slippers and towels, and he hangs his cape up, toweling himself as dry as he can until his hair is even more of a curling, spiky mess.

"They use the best ingredients." He's not sure how they get the higher-quality stuff (perhaps the wardens, too, are soft on quality chocolate), but as far as its fare goes, this little tea shop blows everything else the city has to offer right out of the water. Kid is already bee-lining for the open cases of goods; the shop is staffed, but intermittently throughout the day, and most of the time he times his visits for when it's empty.

"I'd almost swear the tea really is from England, and the pastries from France."

Almost.

Loki pretended not to notice Robin's discomfiture. He wouldn't gain anything from pushing the slightly volatile boy away by making fun of him too much - no, being Damian's friend was going to be a lot more useful, and he was still feeling him out, figuring out how far he could push him.

He took off his horns and towelled off his hair, slipping off his shoes as well. He could have used a glamour, but he'd have still been wet and dirty, he just wouldn't have looked it. So his hair was a little mussed - oh well.

He popped the jewellery back on and put on a pair of slippers, then moved to follow Robin.

"I like this place already. What do you recommend?"

He's staring critically at the proffered assortment; this batch has already been picked over a bit, but there's plenty left to choose from. He has to choose carefully. Exercise self-restraint.

Decision made, he gathers a watercress and cucumber sandwich, as well as two vanilla wafer biscuits, loading the small china plate he takes from the stack on the counter. Hardly the most decadent things in the case, bland in comparison. There's a variety of puddings, creations covered in ganache, ornate sandwiches laid out on different breads. Even the croissants are homemade.

"Anything, really. Their rolls are really good - actual crust, with a crunch, none of that spongey stuff that the supermarket dares to call a loaf."

He leaves the case, strolls over to the coffee drum, and, picking the largest of the mugs, pours himself the Turkish option, right up near the brim. No restraint there.

"I used to have to order this in Dari." No cream, no sugar, just the coffee is balanced upon the plate. "There was this vendor, in Tehran, who'd moved from Afghanistan - he was the best, hands down, but if you didn't speak Dari he wouldn't serve you. Very old-fashioned."

Loki grabbed a ganache-covered confection and a far more interesting-looking sandwich involving layers of different kinds of meat. He loved human cooking far more than Asgardian, but he still had a taste for meat.

Then he went over to the coffee carafe and here he copied what Damian had done. "I've never had Turkish coffee," he admitted, brightly. "At least, not that I remember. When I was young and didn't have my memories yet, I was in the same general vicinity of the world, but I was a street rat. No money for good coffee."

"It's meant to be paired with something sweet," he advises, feeling the heat of the mug even through the material of his gloves. "Powdered donuts, wafer sticks. Ever been to Japan? The same idea, with green tea and wagashi."

Something something about harmony and balance, refined palettes, etc. Damian doesn't care; it just tastes good, not bitter like American coffee. There's not enough donuts in the world to make that sludge taste good.

"But it's good without the sweets, too. It's all in how it's prepared." He throws a side-eyed glance at Loki, curious. "You didn't have your memories?"

Loki nodded. He'd been pretty much everywhere, including Japan, and probably had a better idea than Damian about what was up with that.

He settled into a chair and dug enthusiastically into his dessert, pairing the bite with a sip of coffee. The sandwich could wait until after dessert - he was a rebel. "All I know is, it's great."

He shrugged at the question about his memories. "Nope. When I first was reincarnated, I had no idea who I was. My brother Thor tracked me down and reawakened my memories, though I don't remember everything from my previous life even now."

Yeah, no, the sandwich is obviously the lesser priority here. He takes a long sip of the coffee, letting the steam of it warm his nose as he brings it up close to press against the rim, pleased. As warm as it's been, the rain itself is still cold, and there's no protective gear to keep the rest of his face from getting chilly.

"That must get tiring," he decides, after considering the scenario for a moment. "Just - surprise after surprise. Not knowing who's telling the truth or who's lying about anything."

He pulls a face, nose scrunching, and takes a large bite of his sandwich.

"Trust no one."

Cynical kid.

"It's tiring," Loki agreed thoughtfully. "That's definitely one way of putting it. Though the one who's lying the most is usually me."

He sighed. "My brother and his family are known for being honest, forthright and true - noble sorts. They mostly hate me and don't trust that I'm reformed. Others want to use me. But that's all just part of being Loki. I can't escape who I am and what I've done. All I can do is try to change."

"I get it." He shrugs, another bite of sandwich gone, and half of that mug of coffee has already disappeared. "I'm kind of in a similar boat."

It's not fair, he'd said. Hard to think that that conversation really wasn't so long ago.

"At least you have your brother, right? You said he sought you out, helped you remember."

"Really? How so?" He was bemused at the idea that a mortal could be in a 'similar boat', but honestly interested to hear more.

He smiled fondly. "Yes, he's the one who brought me back from the dead. Thor loves me far too much for his own good, and I'm lucky to have him."

Edited (....icon misfire) 2014-06-16 18:40 (UTC)

"In short?" He uses a wafer stick to stir the coffee. "I was raised an assassin. Heir to a shadow syndicate of killers, and ultimately merely my mother's pawn in her games. I chose differently after I met my father and learned there was another way, but I made - make - a lot of mistakes. And I try to fix them. But with my history?"

He leans back in his seat, tucking slippered feet up under his knees. The wafer has seemingly been forgotten in mid-nibble, lips twisting in an irritated ~~pout~~ frown.

"My own father doesn't trust in me. And one of my... brothers, I found out he has a contingency plan to take me down if I go rogue."

He'd shamelessly hacked into Drake's database to snoop. He heaves out a sigh through his nose, shaking it off with a roll of his shoulders. He doesn't like to dwell on how messed up his situation is for very long. Too practical for that.

"But I'm lucky, too, to have my partner. He's been the only one who's stuck by me, even when I was ready to stop trying."

Loki listened with curiosity. Trust no one, indeed. He was making progress here, and he was pretty sure Robin was just the sort of person he wanted to spend time with here. Not necessarily useful to exploit, but as an ally to help him out if he needed it? Gold.

He really hated himself for thinking about it that way.

Come on, Loki, just like the kid for being a kindred spirit, he told himself, and reached across the table to steal the wafer from Damian's fingers.

"So you were raised by the local equivalent of the Ten Rings. That explains a lot." He munched the wafer stick. "I understand how that feels, though. I have it on good authority that the only reason I wasn't summarily executed by my father upon my return from the dead was because he knew Thor would just bring me back."

Loki is a dirty wafer-snatcher, so Damian feels entirely justified in fighting fire with fire, quickly snagging up a piece of Loki's dessert for himself and moving the last wafer on his plate solidly out of the god's reach in one honed two-handed maneuver.

Dinners with Grayson have taught him valuable new skills in the art of dining table warfare.

Unlike Loki, Damian doesn't give much thought to his relationships beyond two learned paradigms: that of master and servant (or equal), and that of ally and enemy (or acquaintance). He can like or dislike a person no matter where they sit on the graph; the teenager sits comfortably in the middle for the time being.

(The outliers, for now, are just Dick and Colin, in a little circle labeled friends.)

He tilts his head, making a face at the too-sweet taste of the ganache but determinedly stuffing it in his mouth because it is a retaliation maneuver, finishing off the other half of his mug soon after to lessen the intensity.

"Mother will probably execute me herself if we meet in the field again. It's how the League operates; if a soldier abandons their commander, all ties are cut and their life is considered forfeit. Father doesn't kill, so the worst that I face with him is being disowned."

His chin tilts up, leaning forward curiously.

"What of your mother? I've only read the standard lore, but she sounds like a queen amongst queens."

Loki made a token attempt to stop Damian from snagging some of his dessert, but recognized it for what it was. He smirked at the face Damian made upon taking a bite - really, Loki won again just there.

"Is your father a superhero, too?" he asked. Obviously Damian's mother was one of the assassins, and it sounded like his father was a different kind of person if he 'didn't kill'.

He smiled wryly. "The All-Mother are my bosses these days. Odin isn't around, so they rule Asgard. I'm working for them, doing missions for the benefit of Asgard, to make up for my former crimes."

"He is. The original Batman." Stop smirking, Loki, he ate part of your dessert and is entitled to some form of victory. "He didn't know I existed until--"

He purses his lips, thinks on it. He had been introduced to Bruce very shortly after his tenth birthday, and the eleventh is now only a few months off.

"Nine months ago. And he was dead for several of those months."

He chomps down the other half of his sandwich. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Who're the All-Mother?" He doesn't recognize the title. Then again, his knowledge of Scandinavian mythologies is a lot shakier.

"Original Batman? So your partner is your father's successor?" Loki asked, picking up his sandwich finally. Sorry Damian, it takes a greater power than you possess to stop Loki from smirking.

"I'm sorry for your father's death," he added. Not that the boy probably felt that much from it if they'd barely met.

"The All-Mother is a trinity. Gaea, Freyja, and Idunn." He cocked his head. "By the way, what's your actual name?"

"He is, sort of." Oh. His coffee is gone. Still, he plays with the mug, tipping it idly between his hands. "Thanks for the condolences, but they're unnecessary; he came back. Turns out he was trapped in the past by the evil god Darkseid."

Some things don't change between worlds. Ridiculous situations like that? Remain a constant.

(Still, Damian had mourned his father's death. He'd only personally known the man for two months, but it had upended his world.)

"Huh. The stories never mentioned them banding together." Perhaps they got tired of being politically sidelined by the male deities. It's the modern age, now. "My actual name?"

He tilts his head, considering.

"Ibn al Xu'ffasch al Ghul."

Son of the bat, a demon. The smirk on his face says, clearly, that the name is entirely useless in terms of secret identities.

"Or, it used to be."

"Oh, well I take it back, then," Loki teased wryly. Same old same old, then. The most powerful of the metahumans never seemed to stay down, and even if these people weren't metahuman, it wasn't surprising to him that the same held true for them.

He understood the translation easily, and smirks. "Son of the bat. That's good."

"So what it is, now?"

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