Estinien Wyrmblood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stardiving) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
victory_road2020-05-03 07:27 pm
stardiving) wrote in victory_road2020-05-03 07:27 pm
action/video
Action.
Estinien had gone to sleep in a simple room in Camp Dragonhead's barracks, intending to return to Foundation in the morning and check in. He'd woken up with most of his legs hanging off a tiny bed, in a room that might belong to a child, being prodded by said child's mother who spoke...far too familiarly. Despite his best attempts to get answers, he'd had a bag and a small white fox unceremoniously shoved at him and then shown the door.
Outside holds more surprises. Though he was expecting something odd, it wasn't a small collection of houses nestled in green trees, nary a snowflake to be seen. No one is armed, or armored, and there are more of the odd beasts running around. And now that he's paying attention, there's music playing from somewhere. It's omnipresent, growing neither louder or softer as he approaches and moves away from buildings and people.
What in the Fury's name.
He glances down at the pack in his hands, at the fox sitting curiously at his feet, and decides upon his course of action.
First, he leaves town--he doesn't wish to have people's eyes on him--and sits under a tree off the side of the path. The fox almost immediately curls up beside him and shoves its nose under his hand seeking attention. He nearly jumps back to his feet--he doesn't expect it to be cold, its breath chill as a Coerthan wind against his skin. After he gets over his shock, he gives the creature a cursory scratch, fingers dragging through ice crystals in its hair.
What.
After a few moments, he turns his attention to what he meant to examine--the bag he'd been handed. There's a neatly folded set of clothes, what looks to be smallclothes, neatly labeled soaps and towels, a bedroll...very little actually useful for being in the wilderness. How long are they expected to travel? Hmph. He reads through the given journal quickly, then picks up the...device, turning it over in his hands.
"I don't suppose that you know how this thing works, or even what it is supposed to be," he murmurs to the fox, certainly not expecting to be understood or recieve an answer. Much less for the little beast to snatch the thing out of his hands with its teeth and drop it to the ground, paw it open, and poke at it until a tinny voice rang out.
"Vulpix, Alola form. It exhales air colder than -58 degrees Fahrenheit. In hot weather, this Pokémon makes ice shards with its six tails and sprays them around to cool itself off."
...Finally, something that might start to give some answers. Now if only he knew how to work it. He'll just be sitting here under this tree poking at it for a while.
video.
[The video is starting upside down, which is a good start. Someone doesn't know his camera angles. Or what a camera is. But he figures it out soon enough and turns it right-side up.
The man on the camera is, despite the shockingly white hair, fairly young--probably no more than 35--and fairly annoyed, especially as his long hair slips forward into his face. He reaches up to shove it behind one short, pointed ear.]
What is it doing...sending? Oh for Fury's sake.
[He pokes at the screen for a bit before he manages to hit the right button to turn it off.
Someone's not feeling social today.Or ever.]
Estinien had gone to sleep in a simple room in Camp Dragonhead's barracks, intending to return to Foundation in the morning and check in. He'd woken up with most of his legs hanging off a tiny bed, in a room that might belong to a child, being prodded by said child's mother who spoke...far too familiarly. Despite his best attempts to get answers, he'd had a bag and a small white fox unceremoniously shoved at him and then shown the door.
Outside holds more surprises. Though he was expecting something odd, it wasn't a small collection of houses nestled in green trees, nary a snowflake to be seen. No one is armed, or armored, and there are more of the odd beasts running around. And now that he's paying attention, there's music playing from somewhere. It's omnipresent, growing neither louder or softer as he approaches and moves away from buildings and people.
What in the Fury's name.
He glances down at the pack in his hands, at the fox sitting curiously at his feet, and decides upon his course of action.
First, he leaves town--he doesn't wish to have people's eyes on him--and sits under a tree off the side of the path. The fox almost immediately curls up beside him and shoves its nose under his hand seeking attention. He nearly jumps back to his feet--he doesn't expect it to be cold, its breath chill as a Coerthan wind against his skin. After he gets over his shock, he gives the creature a cursory scratch, fingers dragging through ice crystals in its hair.
What.
After a few moments, he turns his attention to what he meant to examine--the bag he'd been handed. There's a neatly folded set of clothes, what looks to be smallclothes, neatly labeled soaps and towels, a bedroll...very little actually useful for being in the wilderness. How long are they expected to travel? Hmph. He reads through the given journal quickly, then picks up the...device, turning it over in his hands.
"I don't suppose that you know how this thing works, or even what it is supposed to be," he murmurs to the fox, certainly not expecting to be understood or recieve an answer. Much less for the little beast to snatch the thing out of his hands with its teeth and drop it to the ground, paw it open, and poke at it until a tinny voice rang out.
"Vulpix, Alola form. It exhales air colder than -58 degrees Fahrenheit. In hot weather, this Pokémon makes ice shards with its six tails and sprays them around to cool itself off."
...Finally, something that might start to give some answers. Now if only he knew how to work it. He'll just be sitting here under this tree poking at it for a while.
video.
[The video is starting upside down, which is a good start. Someone doesn't know his camera angles. Or what a camera is. But he figures it out soon enough and turns it right-side up.
The man on the camera is, despite the shockingly white hair, fairly young--probably no more than 35--and fairly annoyed, especially as his long hair slips forward into his face. He reaches up to shove it behind one short, pointed ear.]
What is it doing...sending? Oh for Fury's sake.
[He pokes at the screen for a bit before he manages to hit the right button to turn it off.
Someone's not feeling social today.
text
tis not something i am used to seeing. as you surmised.
[He's considering 'losing' it into a nearby body of water, like he has with linkpearls in the past. Oops.]
text
Well, my first bit of advice when handling a new contraption: while doubtlessly shiny and irresistible, try not to press every button you see. It will save you a great deal of embarrassment.
It is rather fortunate you were not in a more precarious situation when you turned on your camera. Perhaps we should praise your—what was it...Fury? Yes, praise your Fury for that not being the case.
text
were i in a precarious situation, i would not be dealing with the thing.
[He is quite safely ensconced under a tree on Route 29, no compromising position to be had.
He narrows his eyes at the text appearing on the screen, tilting it so the sun glare doesn't blind him. He is not the most devout follower of Halone but that makes him feel twitchy. He doesn't say anything about it though.]
text
Accidents happen, my friend.
My next bit of advice is to see if there is an instruction manual that came with it. Familiarize yourself with it. That will save you a lot of headaches in the future, though it will likewise save us a great deal of entertainment.
But sacrifices must be made, eh?
text
i suppose.
[Though he doesn't want to entertain you, so he'll have to take it under advisement.]
text
Not much of a talker, are you?
text
whatever gave you that impression.
text
Perhaps the paragraphs upon paragraphs of text you've been sending me. Or, rather, the lack there of.
Really. Have you no words for me? Not even a simple "thanks" for my assistance?
text
Urgh. Fine, he supposes.]
thank you for your assistance.
text
There you go. Now, was that so hard?
text
Also, you are getting left on read.]
no subject
But that's fine, he considers for a moment to keep the conversation going—even if one-sided—but decides instead to leave it be. There will be more chances to prod at this fellow from the Source, he's certain.
RIP, Estinien.]