Mr. D (
thewinedude) wrote in
vatheon2013-06-09 10:39 pm
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Entry tags:
Heroes and gods (Open)
Who: Mr. D (grumpy wine god) and anyone who wants to pester him
When: daytime, current day.
Where: the Plaza but possibly anywhere else in the city, too.
Style: action brackets or prose. Whichever.
Status: Ongoing and open
The longer he was here, and he obviously hadn't been here long, the more Dionysus was convinced that this was his own little pocket of Tartarus. He couldn't remember off-hand how he could possibly have pissed off the Big Three enough to deserve this. Not recently anyway. And never all of them in conjunction. Even drunken gods have a sense of self-preservation.
And yet here he was. Alone. Separated from his wife, his wine, his son(s)... even his overbearing father. He was still somehow in charge of looking after ungrateful half-bloods, and this time there was no Pac-Man to distract him. Even a normal deck of cards eluded him. If this wasn't the eternal torment of the most grievous of sinner, Mr D didn't know what was. Give him a rock to push up a hill any day.
So the displaced wine god did whatever a normal person did in times of great strife... he sought religion. Or whatever passed for religion in this place. He'd heard talk of Lamufao, and it was really only proper for Dionysus to present himself.
(...He hoped Lamufao wouldn't think he was being inconsiderate for visiting while dressed in dark purple sweatpants, purple running shoes, and a leopard-print shirt. And for getting a little lost along the way.)
((ooc: Feel free to approach him in any stage of his "going to see Lamufao" excursion. Open to all!))
When: daytime, current day.
Where: the Plaza but possibly anywhere else in the city, too.
Style: action brackets or prose. Whichever.
Status: Ongoing and open
The longer he was here, and he obviously hadn't been here long, the more Dionysus was convinced that this was his own little pocket of Tartarus. He couldn't remember off-hand how he could possibly have pissed off the Big Three enough to deserve this. Not recently anyway. And never all of them in conjunction. Even drunken gods have a sense of self-preservation.
And yet here he was. Alone. Separated from his wife, his wine, his son(s)... even his overbearing father. He was still somehow in charge of looking after ungrateful half-bloods, and this time there was no Pac-Man to distract him. Even a normal deck of cards eluded him. If this wasn't the eternal torment of the most grievous of sinner, Mr D didn't know what was. Give him a rock to push up a hill any day.
So the displaced wine god did whatever a normal person did in times of great strife... he sought religion. Or whatever passed for religion in this place. He'd heard talk of Lamufao, and it was really only proper for Dionysus to present himself.
(...He hoped Lamufao wouldn't think he was being inconsiderate for visiting while dressed in dark purple sweatpants, purple running shoes, and a leopard-print shirt. And for getting a little lost along the way.)
((ooc: Feel free to approach him in any stage of his "going to see Lamufao" excursion. Open to all!))
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Still, even with the slow pace, it doesn't take too long to finally get to the Plaza, and when they do, Kurloz points it out with a flourishing gesture and even a little bow.]
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He nods in recognition of the bow. "You got a name?"
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At the question about his name, Kurloz takes a moment to fish out his SFC. Rather than typing something out, he goes to the list of foreigners in the bubble, and scrolls through it, until he reaches his name. Then, he holds it out to Mr. D and points at it: Kurloz Makara.
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A whole list of the foreigners in the bubble right at one's fingertips? That might be the most useful tip yet. Using that list to point out his how name seemed a bit inefficient to Mr. D, but it was ultimately very helpful. He took his own SFC from his pocket and gave it more than just a passing glance this time before putting it away.
"If you find yourself needing to address me, you may call me Mr. D," and since they were facing each other again, he emphasized his name with sign language. But the sign he made when he said 'D' was not the letter but rather the sign for 'wine.'
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He nods and signs the more literal version of "Mr. D" to assure that he heard it right, but then he signed out "wine" and tilted his head curiously.
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He repeated the literal sign. "Mister D. Yes, that's correct. Wine is something of a specialty of mine,and back home my name was synonymous with the best." He bitterly repeated 'was' in his mind. Not while he was on restriction. For now it was strawberries, which (in his not so humble opinion) weren't too shabby either.
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Either way, he should do what he came for, which is come to touch the coral. It's a regular occurrence for him, since getting energy from it regularly means he has an easier time with food and doesn't have to drink through his sewn-shut mouth nearly as often.
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sortahas a son that's really into red Kool-aid with a pretty particular ferocity. Mr. D appreciates things such as ridiculous consumption, even if it isn't as mind-freeing as wine and other alcoholic beverages.Touching the coral was a good idea. That's what Mr. D was coming here for as well (before he got lost). He needed to experience the local deity for himself so he knew what he was up against. The wine god didn't care much for competition, even if he was the visiting divine being himself, and needed to establish some kind of relationship with this place that might work for both of them.
"The tour was very helpful, Kurloz," and that's as close as a 'thank you' as he's going to get. It's better than what more people get. "I won't be too disappointed if we happen to run into each other again."
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He tilts his head, then gestures to himself, then off into the distance. It sounds like here's where Mr. D would like to part ways. Hopefully he won't get lost again.
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Nodding, Mr. D looked off toward the coral. "I think I can handle it from here. You've been most useful. I won't be getting turn around in this gods forsaken neighborhood again, that's for sure."
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