rubycity_ooc | April Test Drive

Entry tags:

April 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:

Use an RNG to choose a location and prompt, or wait for someone else to tag.

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

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 - The place where everyone gets dumped off at. Your first view of Ruby City, complete with informational posters telling you all about where you've ended up.
2. THE BEACH - Lovely year-round, though in the winter months, you're probably not likely to dip your toes in.
3. THE BLACK STALLION - A rather quaint bar. Supposedly, the burgers are great, but you don't see anyone immediately who's willing to serve you. Maybe you're meant to get it yourself.
4. THE OBELISK - The tall monolith in the center of the city marks the gathering place of many events, though right now it seems to be cold and dark.
5. THE CLOCKTOWER - Offering an impressive view of the city, several residents come here to clear their heads, if they don't mind braving the narrow staircase.
6. THE COFFEE JOINT - the front windows are warm and welcoming, and it seems there's always someone friendly enough to fix you a cup when you wander through.
7. THE CATACOMBS - Intrepid, aren't you? Those weird holes may beg exploring, but go too deep and you're going to be in a lot of trouble, considering the viciousness of the creatures held within.
8. THE CITY STREETS - All told, Ruby City is a lovely place, once you get past the fact that several of the buildings look derelict and on the verge of falling down. There's no harm in doing a little sightseeing.
9. THE PARK - You thought it'd be a lovely stroll, but the park is anything but friendly, if those approaching wolf-like creatures are any indication.
10. CHOOSE YOUR OWN - Don't like what we've come up with? Feel like picking your own place? There's a whole host of lovely locations to choose from in the City.

Scenarios

1. NEW ARRIVAL - Step off that train, walk down the street. People usually latch on to newcomers to try and help them out. Even if you look shy, the other residents probably won't be!
2. WATCH TALK - Feeling lost? Disoriented? Don't worry, everyone feels that way on their first day. Fortunately - if the signs at the station are to believed - the watch in your pocket can be used to talk to whoever else might be here.
3. BAD WEATHER - Aw, man. Whether it's snow, or rain, or just plain cold, today was definitely the wrong day to get dumped off in a City in the middle of nowhere.
4. A RUN-IN - Maybe you weren't watching. Maybe they weren't. Either way, you just bumped into someone. Perhaps apologies are in order?
5. HELP, IT HURTS - Clumsy, aren't you? Perhaps wherever the train brought you from wasn't so friendly, or you just tripped and twisted your ankle. Either way, you're in a bit of pain. Hopefully someone will notice your booboos and help patch you up.
6. HUNGRY - It isn't very obvious sometimes that restaurants are what they are, especially in a place like Ruby City. Where can a person go to get a bite to eat around here?
7. MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Hey, there's someone you know! --Or maybe not.
8. BEING FOLLOWED - Maybe you're just being paranoid, or maybe you've got a reason to be afraid. Whatever it is, it feels like there's eyes on you...
9. CURRENT EVENTS - None at the moment, but feel free to look through our event tag!
10. CHOOSE YOUR OWN - Don't like any of these ideas? Feel free to come up with your own!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Time." He eases them both through the door, to be met by a frantic Nyelafinwe, still so young, with light in his eyes still clear of madness, and Maglor overrides him, sending him away to fetch Galadriel.

"Time is odd here" He helps him into the bathroom, and into the shower. "I... Finno, I have lived through two ages of the world since the last I saw you."

He doesn't bother to get out before he turns the taps, aiming to get the water lukewarm.

It takes a while before Fingong comments again, breathless from strain and pain and stunned into silence by seeing Maedhros - Maitimo, Nyelo, Russandol - like this (he is one of the few who never ceased to use Quenya in private, complete with names and everything, and Maedhros one of the few whom he would use it with), and then by the odd room that Maglor leads him into.

When he finally speaks up, it is in parts to keep himself awake now that he is sitting down again and the fog of pain clears up by a fraction. "He is you.... ger and you are older." He'll hold on to that thought while proceeding. "And this is not Arda." Neither Middle-Earth nor the Halls, Maglor said, but it feels nothing like Aman in general, so he'll go out on a limp (he almost snorts at his own terrible pun) and assume that they are somewhere else, as strange as that sounds. Somewhere where Maglor can be much older than he should be and Maedhros much younger. "A dream?"

"Aye, you have the right of it" Okay, water is lukewarm, good enough, ad he nudges Fingon under the stream carefully.

"I could wish it so, but no, I fear not cousin. We have been brought here by the rulers of this place, but for what reason none of us know. There are many of our family here - Galadriel, as you heard. Finrod. Glorfindel, Turgon's liegeman. And... Arafinwe is here."

His eyes brighten up for a moment when Maglor begin's to speak Turgon's name, but the light dies a bit when he continues. Not Turgon himself, and he prides himself with not being a bitter man (he isn't), but the though of 'of course' is on his mind for a good, long moment before he manages to move on.

There are other things to do, anyway, getting under that strange waterfall for one, and not fainting when the water hits his abused skin for a second. "They couldn't ...have made a wider pick." It's meant in jest, but his voice can't carry tone right now and his body no specific stance, so that isn't the easiest thing to pick up on. But it is true - from where he stands, one from Doriath and one from the Halls, three from the Northern battlefield and two from Valinor, just looking at their family. Well, Maglor and Glorfindel probably won't be from the battlefield, but... not from Doriath, certainly.

And now that he thinks about it, there is a silver lining in Maglor's words, if he truly is from a far future like that. "You survived." He can only think of the battle that is still on the forefront of his mind, right now, and the question of what happened on your side is buried in the words, but it is buried in hope.

He saw that, cousin.

"Sorry, Finno. I wish more of your family were here, but they seem to prefer everyone else." He helps him stand under the shower, uses the washcloth to tab at the various cuts and bruises and look for anything else he may have missed.

"I think your clothes are a lost cause - I am going to have to remove the lot, alright?"

He bites his lip, and nods, knowing what Fingon is actually asking. "Yes. We all did. I... I am so sorry we did not get to you in time... It... was my error. One... one of the lords of the men sworn to me was a traitor."

He shakes his head minutely when Maglor mentions his family, using his arms to brace himself against the wall on the one and Maglor on the other side in an attempt to free his cousin's hands for their task. "I've done without them for years," and that should be no time, a mere two decades since his father's death, four centuries since he has seen Aredhel or had a conversation with Turgon outside of the battle briefing when he arrived with his host, four and a half centuries since Argon's death and under five centuries since he last saw his mother. ...It was long, and Turgon showing up for this battle meant so much more to him than just the military support. And now... Now he is dead back there, there is no way in which he could not be.

"And your lines fell as well." It isn't even a question. With Morgoth's forces undivided, and a traitor in their midst, there is no way that the eastern host would have held. "I could not hold mine-" Here he is done shifting and feels that he stands safely enough that Maglor can attempt to remove what clothes and armour are still on him, hoping against hope that not too much will stick against raw flesh or be glued to his skin or flesh by blood, and so interrupts his words for a brief, almost sharp: "Now." before continuing, "- Orodreth's men rose to the Enemy's provocation and I could only abandon coherence and morale, or abandon patience in waiting."

"But it does not mean you should have to." Maglor rebukes quietly, even as he cuts away the shredded remains of Fingon's clothing, using the water to soften the parts scabbed to his skin, being as gentle as he can.

"It is alright to miss them, you know."

He nods, eyes clouding at the memory. "Yes. I killed Ulfang and his traitor sons myself but it was already too late. Maedhros and I pushed to your side as fast as we could but... the rest of our brothers were scattered, and Turgon... blamed us. He... sounded the retreat. Rightly! I do not blame him. There was no way we could have won. But when he withdrew... it was a rout. We could not even rescue your body, not until Maedhros went out on his own to bring you back, and none of us realised he had done so until he was gone."

And then they had a high king who refused to leave his fortress, who refused to even speak to Maedhros, who sent no message and called no council. Was it any wonder, Maglor wonders bleakly, that things fell apart so swiftly afterwards? (Was it any wonder, that for many of the Noldor, Maedhros was still seen as High King right until the end)

"We all... missed you. I am sorry, Fingon."

"It is selfish." Because Turgon has good reason to stay away, and his daughter and Aredhel with him (even though he cannot really imagine that Aredhel is happy as locked in as she must be, and even though he doesn't agree with Turgon's choice). Because Fingolfin surely didn't mean to die (he has to believe that somehow, his father thought that he could win, because he doesn't know how he would deal with the alternative). Because Argon definitely didn't mean to die, and his mother was absolutely in the right to stay behind.

His cousin's words are a lot of information to process, and while Maglor does his work well, his fingers deft and gentle, it still is a painful process, exhaustion settling in more and more strongly as time passes, so Fingon doesn't say more for a while.

It is no surprise to hear those things, none of it, really - not about Turgon, not about Maedhros, not about Maglor's part in it. But there is one thing that he wonders. Where Turgon retreated to, and what happened after, considering that he never had a heir of his own so High Kingship must have fallen to him. How well he did, the younger brother who carried all the hatred that Fingon didn't and had so little experience with the politics of Beleriand.

"I am sorry for leaving you." General you, and general sorry - it is not an apology, because he did his best to not die, in every way that he could think of. Not regret either, for there was no better path that he could have taken. But pity and a heartfelt misery at having left them behind. "How did Turgon - how did my brother do then? Is he a good king?"

"It is normal" Maglor corrects. "High King or no, you are still a living, feeling being, Finno."

"I know. It was not your fault - and I have had a long time to forgive any minor grievance." Although to this day Maglor still wonders if Maedhros ever did, but Nyelafinwe is too young to be able to tell him.

"... He... Turgon... I heard, ruled his people well." His people, not our people. "But it was not enough, and his hidden city could not remain hidden forever. I am sorry, Fingon. Everything you worked so hard for came to nought, in the end."

They need to get out of the shower, he thinks, but here, under the spray, both of them can weep without anyone the wiser.

"It makes no difference."

He doesn't quite smile, can't make himself, but there is a hint of warmth in his eyes, past the exhaustion and pain and sorrow. "And there are others whom I can depend on." And how strange it is that he can depend more on Elves who have betrayed him before and might be forced to do so again and on Men who will be dead in less time than one of their kind needs to reach full maturity than he can depend on his own blood and family? But he will concentrate on that all those Elves and Men who will support him are there, as troublesome as the alliance can be, and that there are some among them - Húrin and Maedhros and Maglor, and others more - who will give him as much support as they can, without wavering. It is not absolute, but it is as much as he can hope for in a place like Middle-earth, he has learned.

More than he could hope for of Turgon, apparently. He closes his eyes, quelling the disappointment (he should have known, should have seen to a solution, but the Eldar do not have children in times of war nor do they marry for politics, and the one whom he desired would have been most unpolitic and not have brought forth a heir, anyway). Maglor doesn't say it, but it is clear from his words and what Maglor has told him, and for a moment he feels all strength seeping out of him with the water that runs down his body (he would cry, for their people and all the hopes that brought them to Middle-earth, for the love that he still feels for his siblings, that he knows that they still feel for him and yet their goals and ideals had been too different to stay together... but he is too dehydrated, too entirely dried up on the inside) and he stumbles, slipping on the wet ground and without strength or proper hold to catch himself.

"It matters to you." Maglor rebukes quietly. "So it matters."

Family stick together, the Feanorionnath were taught. They look to each other first, but their cousins are family too. If their cousins refuse them, they will turn away - but Findekano opened his arms to them. Maglor and Maedhros do not forget.

"Findekano!" When he crumples Maglor lunges for him, catching him before he can fall.

His hand comes up to grab Maglor's arm, but the movement and stretching of already heavily aggravated areas makes stars dance before his eyes and it is all that he can do to try and lean against his cousin and not really fall to the ground.

Maglor's arms are sure and steady, even if his hands are scarred, and he waits patiently for Fingon to get his strength back.

"We need to get those injuries bandaged and then you to bed, I think." He says quietly. "I am sorry - I have little good news to bring you."

"But you did." He still leans heavily on Maglor when he regains his footing, but stands now in a way that indicates that he will be able to walk, if slowly and requiring help. "I was granted to meet you again, and brought tidings of Maitimo being here, if younger than I remember him."

"Poor comfort, I fear" Maglor says wryly, and watches carefully in case he needs to catch him again.

"But I thank you for the kindness."

"Yet comfort nonetheless where there could have been none." They probably don't have this discussion for the first time, because it mirrors some of what he felt about his own situation after his father's death (his cousins had been there where his siblings hadn't, even if only briefly and even though they, well, weren't his siblings).

He'll take the smallest of steps towards the door, or to whatever other spot he is led.

They have all dealt enough with death to know that comfort is comfort, even if it should have been someone else. Maglor only nods, helping Fingon walk.

"As you say - but I think we will get you bandanged up first before anything else."

Fortunately, the house is large enough to have spare rooms, and Maglor nudges him down the hall slowly towards one of the guest rooms.

He falls quiet during the walk, the movement and all that it brings to an injured and exhausted man enough strain to make it unwise to add anything else to it, but though his steps are small and he has to pause once or twice, he makes it.

And even then it takes a bit before he has gathered the strength to speak, but when he does there is amusement and mischievousness in his voice - he may be weak and in pain and still in a state of some shock, but that doesn't keep him from joking (really, it's not a bad coping mechanism and he has utilized it before). "We must be glad that none saw us as we walked, for what if an innocent young maiden would have beheld me like this? She might be ruined for all other men after." It might not be a good joke at all, but a lighter atmosphere will make things easier for now.

Maglor smiles, shaking his head in fond amusement. "You think most highly of yourself cousin, if you think to sway a young lass even in this terribly bedraggled state! Fortunately, I suppose we will never know, as the youngest maid in this house is Galadriel's daughter, and Celebrian is already wed."

He hums thoughtfully as he gets Fingon onto a bed. "You will need to wear my things until we can get things made, I suppose - you will swim, in Nyelo's!"

"She has a daughter?" Not that he had on principle thought that that wouldn't be a thing one day, but it still is a happy surprise to hear it (and this that shortly after learning that his sister had a son. The children are just popping out of the woodwork for him right now).

"His shirts make the finest dresses for me, I will assure you." It's not like it would be the first time that he's worn Maedhros's shirts - and while he didn't mind as a child, the fact that he never stopped swimming in them was rather disappointing. Not that he really feels terrible about it - he just is the short one out in the family.

"She does - this is her house, in fact - she has been the longest in this strange world. And she is wed, with children of her own, although neither husband nor children are here. You will like her, I think. A charmer, that one!"

Maglor chortles softly. "This much is true. Here now, I will go and fetch clean and dry things, as I hear voices at the door - likely, Nyelo is back with Galadriel and they will want to tend your injuries. I will return shortly, yes?"

He nods carefully and shifts into a more comfortable position on the bed.

"Ask Russandol to prepare a broth for me, perhaps, so he will be held up until my wounds are seen to?" Their innocence back in Valinor is a distant memory for him, but he still knows that the worst injury that Nelyafinwë will have seen on him was a broken arm, and he'd rather not have him witness this.

Maglor nods in understanding. "He will want to see you." He warns. "And he will have a lot of questions. He knows something... is very wrong with me"

Oh, like the fact that you spent the last several thousand years thinking about Fading grumbles Caranthir

"I begged him not to ask, and he has not but... he grows increasingly frustrated. I will... have to tell him eventually, I know, or you will, I suppose. I will let you be the judge of how much you wish him to know. Finrod... has promised not to say anything, but you... I think I should not... make that judgement for you."

"If he asks, I will tell him what little I know, for your words speak of many deeds to be wrought by his hand after my death. Yet ...I cannot lie, nor keep truth from him." A faint smile, radiating warmth and gratitude and affection, graces his lips for a moment. "Thank you for not asking me to."

It might be better if certain things are told by other lips, even, Fingon thinks - he feels that his words will be less harsh on Maglor than if his cousin would speak them himself

Maglor always paints himself in the worst light. Has only gotten worse as he has gotten older.

My fault

"If you think you are up to the telling, Finno, then I wish you strength in the doing. I... do not know when I will be able to face him. Things... get much worse. After."

April Test Drive

juuuuuuuust godmodding Maedhros sob

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