Reynard North (
shardofwinter) wrote in
nexus_sages2016-01-11 11:23 pm
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Entry tags:
In which Winter has a thematically appropriate query
Not all Nexus days can be sunshine and beautiful frost patterns. Days like this are a grim, sombre grey. The mist is so thin in places that all it does is make the distance fade away sooner than normal, but it does apply a more reserved filter on a place often filled with joyous shenanigans. No, this is unmistakeably a day which makes the multiverse feel close, secretive.
It's in this clandestine scenery that Reynard strolls about. Far from hopping or skating through the landscape, he strolls about the place, setting ice on the path and covering it with a dusting of snow. In the residential and commercial districts, he's sent ice along as many pipes as he could find. As he goes he rumbles a low slow tune. Some might recognise the sea shanty when he reaches the familiar 'Ho... Ho... and up she rises...'. He's not a bad singer, all things considered.
He looks up from his work and fixes his eyes on the nearest stranger, singing fading into a deep hum and then silence before he speaks. "What is the coldest thing you've ever done? The most cold hearted act you've ever brought yourself to commit. Go ahead. I'm not one to judge."
Just as the quiet settles back into place, he pipes up again. "Actually, you can tell me the literal coldest thing you've ever done too, if you'd prefer. I can't resist a good ice story."
((Reynard is still handing out Winter Curses & Blessings and causing trouble if you would like to avail of any. Other than that: Caution to those who talk to spirits, they are proud and fickle people.))
It's in this clandestine scenery that Reynard strolls about. Far from hopping or skating through the landscape, he strolls about the place, setting ice on the path and covering it with a dusting of snow. In the residential and commercial districts, he's sent ice along as many pipes as he could find. As he goes he rumbles a low slow tune. Some might recognise the sea shanty when he reaches the familiar 'Ho... Ho... and up she rises...'. He's not a bad singer, all things considered.
He looks up from his work and fixes his eyes on the nearest stranger, singing fading into a deep hum and then silence before he speaks. "What is the coldest thing you've ever done? The most cold hearted act you've ever brought yourself to commit. Go ahead. I'm not one to judge."
Just as the quiet settles back into place, he pipes up again. "Actually, you can tell me the literal coldest thing you've ever done too, if you'd prefer. I can't resist a good ice story."
((Reynard is still handing out Winter Curses & Blessings and causing trouble if you would like to avail of any. Other than that: Caution to those who talk to spirits, they are proud and fickle people.))
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"Although you do strike me as one for mischief."
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"I do quite enjoy mischief." Sage nodding. "Causing it more than enduring it, naturally."
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He props his chin on his hand, his posture getting a little lazier. "What sort of trouble does a winter spirit get up to?"
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"All sorts. Fun, light hearted playfulness. Or daring game playing that has a chance of fatality... Slippery paths are a favourite. Unstable icicles are fun too. You should see how people jump when they fall!"
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"I had at least a couple good, icy face plants growing up. Thanks for that.
"And of course I have to ask now: has anyone actually died? Just because they happened to be around when you were bored?"
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"People have died. But not because I was bored. They died because that's what Winter does. It takes life. It puts the living through a trial. Admittedly, it doesn't care much whether people die of starvation, the cold, or slipping the wrong way. Sometimes it's by my hand, sometimes it's not." He pauses and signals for another drink. "But if you're asking if I've killed for Winter, the answer is yes. Many, many lives. Many, many times."
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"Didn't mean for this to go back to a dark place," he says with an awkward laugh. "But whatever! You said you don't bother with the uh-- what was your word? drudgery of warfare anymore. Do you still cull the herd on a more personal level? Mountaineers and whatnot?"
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"Not usually mountaineers, but for revenge? Yes, a couple of times." He takes a sip of his drink and gestures vaguely. "Winter offers me a few favours. Perks of the job, if you will. Revenge, grudges and cold blooded killing? All very Winter activities."
"What about you? Do you ever kill for personal reasons?"
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"I've only wanted to kill one person out of pure, visceral anger. And shit if I didn't get damn close to finishing him off," he says with a nonchalant shrug and laugh that belie the intricacies of that particular story. "He won, and now I work for him."
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"... You've been around a while. You know how love and hate essentially come from the same kind of ... adrenal place, right? They bleed into each other. It's stupid that we think of them as polar opposites."
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He laughs hoarsely and sets his glass down with more force than was entirely necessary. "Just trying to preserve my goddamn dignity."
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"So when did you abandon yours? Assuming you practice what you preach."
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"My boss, huh?" He exhales between clenched teeth and rubs a hand on the back of his neck. "Well ... first and foremost, the guy's a born soldier. A goddamn genius when it comes to combat and spec ops. Charismatic -- but it's the real charisma that comes from decisive action, not pretty words. That's why the men like him."
There's a pause as his tone shifts from borderline adulation back to its former drunken cockiness. "Thing is, he's not the best businessman. Doesn't know how to market himself or his vision. So that's where I come in. He'd still be operating the MSF out of a leaky shack if I hadn't pulled in work fit for a legend like himself."
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"Sure, but we keep the chain of command intact, or the trappings of it. He gets the final say on the big things, but not before I have a chance to argue my case. Sometimes until I'm blue in the face."
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His shoulders sag with an invisible weight and he smears a hand along his jaw. "God knows what state things'll be in when-- if I get back. Christ. How the fuck do I even explain this?
"... 'Look, sorry Boss, I've been stranded in a place that physics won't be able to define for a good, long time.' How's that sound?"
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He taps the bar and has their glasses refilled again. Kaz is paying for all this... right?
"Enjoy your holiday while it lasts, my dear. Fretting won't help you now or later."
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"Nope. I've talked to a guy who says he can make me a portal, but I'm still leery of doing business with self-styled 'mages' who have ... uh, horns and crab claws." He mimes a pincer.
"You go back and forth much, North? Know anyone trustworthy?"
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He closes the notebook and hooks a thumb at Reynard. "You're telling me a guy dressed like that isn't a whiz at technology? I'm shocked."
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