Sol Badguy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
immoralflame) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vatheon2012-05-27 09:04 pm
immoralflame) wrote in vatheon2012-05-27 09:04 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Sol Badguy and presumably Zelda and her welcome wagon anyone who wants to run into a grumpy man.
When: May 27th, evening
Where: Plaza
Style: Anything goes, I'll match :>
Status: Open~
Ochre eyes reflected little other than what could be dulled annoyance but what probably was his usual indifference as the man found himself sprawled gracelessly half-in and half-out of a fountain, long brown hair soaked and winding through the water lazily. The last time he'd wound up in one of these things, a Gear was knocking him around in a deserted city sometime during the war. This one actually had clean water running through it at least, and it did something for the tell-tale stick and grit of salt water clinging to him. It didn't really matter either way, but the lack of salt meant he'd be marginally more comfortable. This left him with a question, even as the bounty hunter hauled himself up onto his feet proper with even less grace than his landing position.
Where the fuck was he? Too blue to be where he just was--dry, drought-ridden, deserted formerly-European city number-whatever this was not.
Popping his neck what felt like back into place, he decided he only cared enough to find a way out. Lotta magic around, but nothing else that caught his elusive attention. The oddities he could sense also felt pretty trivial, but it was when Sol reached for the Fireseal (which had mercifully not landed in the water with him, not that it'd matter too much, just a shit-ton of steam) that he paused, but only for a split second.
He really must've been out of it for someone to be able to ink him unawares. At first, he didn't pay it much mind; as he straightened back up, Fireseal in hand, he stared at the marking just below the fold of his elbow. The longer he looked at it, the more he decided he didn't like it. Thin lips turned down at the corners, and Sol growled on reflex.
It wasn't just some idiot running around with ink and a needle gun. This was a brand.
This would not fly. In fact, that plane was going to crash as soon as the wheels lifted up. Complete system failure, right back to the runway. He'd been branded once, and that was all he needed. Time's up, blue place. This Badguy is just gonna walk away.
. . .
Except he can't, apparently. So he'd been informed by a shopkeep of some kind. They'd thrown a towel at him and some starfish-lookin' thing that even Ky couldn't get mad at. Sol remembered cell phones, PDAs, tablets, and all that shit but this was different.
The blunt edge of the Fireseal struck the ground, partially impaled, and Sol folded his arms while that would-be scowl returned. Well, then.
When: May 27th, evening
Where: Plaza
Style: Anything goes, I'll match :>
Status: Open~
Ochre eyes reflected little other than what could be dulled annoyance but what probably was his usual indifference as the man found himself sprawled gracelessly half-in and half-out of a fountain, long brown hair soaked and winding through the water lazily. The last time he'd wound up in one of these things, a Gear was knocking him around in a deserted city sometime during the war. This one actually had clean water running through it at least, and it did something for the tell-tale stick and grit of salt water clinging to him. It didn't really matter either way, but the lack of salt meant he'd be marginally more comfortable. This left him with a question, even as the bounty hunter hauled himself up onto his feet proper with even less grace than his landing position.
Where the fuck was he? Too blue to be where he just was--dry, drought-ridden, deserted formerly-European city number-whatever this was not.
Popping his neck what felt like back into place, he decided he only cared enough to find a way out. Lotta magic around, but nothing else that caught his elusive attention. The oddities he could sense also felt pretty trivial, but it was when Sol reached for the Fireseal (which had mercifully not landed in the water with him, not that it'd matter too much, just a shit-ton of steam) that he paused, but only for a split second.
He really must've been out of it for someone to be able to ink him unawares. At first, he didn't pay it much mind; as he straightened back up, Fireseal in hand, he stared at the marking just below the fold of his elbow. The longer he looked at it, the more he decided he didn't like it. Thin lips turned down at the corners, and Sol growled on reflex.
It wasn't just some idiot running around with ink and a needle gun. This was a brand.
This would not fly. In fact, that plane was going to crash as soon as the wheels lifted up. Complete system failure, right back to the runway. He'd been branded once, and that was all he needed. Time's up, blue place. This Badguy is just gonna walk away.
. . .
Except he can't, apparently. So he'd been informed by a shopkeep of some kind. They'd thrown a towel at him and some starfish-lookin' thing that even Ky couldn't get mad at. Sol remembered cell phones, PDAs, tablets, and all that shit but this was different.
The blunt edge of the Fireseal struck the ground, partially impaled, and Sol folded his arms while that would-be scowl returned. Well, then.