DREAMEATER

MOBILE NAVIGATION Affiliated with Isola Radiale. Rank: Newcomer

[gyre-and-gimble]

judgmentrush​:

The fully inhabited state of his townhouse led Specter Knight to seeking alternative pockets of solitude. He understood well enough that little could be done about the arrangement. Well… that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe had he been granted his scythe back… The lich shakes his head. He should be able to handle this without turning to murder. Besides, that would be a hasty, improper judgment on his part, especially when one of his fellow residents seemed completely harmless. His face crinkles beneath the grill of his helmet. He could not say the same for the individual he shared the top floor with.

He is brought out of his distaste with a tug. Turning to the gangly creature, he nearly forgets to answer her question as he registers what she is. An undead, though not like any he has seen before. The lich eases as he peers at this new stranger and her numerous eyes. There was no need to have all of his walls up around fellow dead, no distance to keep unlike with the Living. “Ah… I am called Specter Knight. Though I suppose that does not truly answer your question, does it?”

The friendly, receptive answer brings a smile to Wabbajack’s face. She’s come to expect brevity and fear from new faces, so this is a welcome change. Especially as this is her first time meeting another undead! She has so many questions! She ambles around for a moment, pacing around the cloaked shade on all fours before she stops before him, her knees bent and her eyes trained on him like a child waiting for instruction. She doesn’t really know what a knight is, but having just met one, she presumes that they must all be like this. All undead, all faceless. 

Finally, she gets all her questions sorted. “Specter Knight is a lovely name; let me introduce myself, too! My name is Wabbajack, and it’s nice to meet you! I know we just met, but I have so much to ask! Who made you? How? And for what task?”

[gyre-and-gimble]

lockawayknight​:

Of course… Baxter asked the guy with the axe to go chop firewood… typical.

He’s an infamous warrior, for Gwynevere’s sake! A knight of Mirrah, trained in the most brutal of combat, blade honed to perfection from countless lifetimes’ worth of enemies slain and Lords’ souls taken. He’s a man whose every fibre is fit to fell dragons and Gods, not goddamn trees!! 

Ugh… whatever… sigh. Creighton is exhausted, terribly weak and tired from having spent the past few days living with a ghost who perpetually leeches life energy, but… perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t feel Wabbajack’s presence — doesn’t feel her fingers so close behind him, picking through the fog of his thoughts. After all, he’s gotten used to the sensation of having his very soul’s energy being constantly drained, drained, drained, drained… It’s not like his thoughts have ever been a particularly powerful entity when it comes to his overall force of life. He’s a man driven by muscle and impulse. He feels nothing. He sees nothing.

At least, not until he takes a sudden step back — makes a sudden pivot on his heel — and sees a mass of teeth and claws and one gleaming, ominous red eye in the shadows of the trees behind him.

“Motherfucker!!” He acts before he thinks. Thankfully for Wabbajack, his movements are far less aggressive than usual given the weary state of his physical self. He knows he isn’t fit to be making any kills, and he doesn’t want to hurt one of this forest’s many creatures anyway. Rather than outright attacking, he instead drags the hook of his axe through the dirt, swiping it upwards in the creature’s direction, tossing a hail of dirt and grass and magical sparks towards her massive jaws. He stumbles backwards, knowing good and well he’s in no state for a fight, but he thinks he’s got the thing disoriented, at the very least. Now the only problem is…

Wait… did she just say something? And… fuck… she looks so terrified…

Oh, oh no. Oh no, he feels bad. Shit. Shit, shit, fuck, shit, uhh…

Curse this strange new world for melting his frigid heart and moulding it into something that cares about strangers… He grunts in frustration. “Fuckin’ hell, don’t scare me like that!” he scolds, tone irritated, though he then takes a few small steps forward, body angled so his weapon is held behind him, motions clearly reading defense rather than aggression. “Shit, are… are you hurt?” What the fuck, since when does he ask strangers that? Did Wabbajack suck all the jackassery out of him when she poked at his thoughts, or is he finally going hollow? Whatever. What matters is that he’s genuinely concerned. Teeth and claws and glowing red eyes doesn’t necessarily mean evil, after all — hell, that description fits several of his friends back in Drangleic — and absolutely doesn’t warrant an attack… Gods damn it… why does he always do this… He winces and waits for a response. Please be okay…

She gasps and flinches when he turns suddenly on his heel, her eyes wide. She throws up a hand to shield herself, just in time to prevent her face from getting struck by the axe. She can’t say the same for her arm--which now has a gash running along it. Wabbajack’s instincts immediately kick in. She screams, scuttling back and hiding behind a nearby tree. She’s ready to bolt before she hears him speak, and she’s inclined to ignore it, except... he sounds upset. Was that an accident? He must have not gotten a good look at her, or he would be singing a different tune.

Still... his concern is enough to let her peer out at him. She’s all eyes and cold dead skin, gazing at him with apprehension and fear. And when still he does not react with anger and fear. He’s waiting for a response. Carefully, she leans out a little further, her opened arm in full view, but the blood is a black, stagnant liquid. “I’m... I’m alright, I can’t be hurt anyway,” she responds, offering a meager little smile, “You’re the first person that’s asked, by the way.”

[gyre-and-gimble]

While the animals have been leaving the area Wabbajack has been prowling--frightened by her presence and her vaguely chemical scent, likely. She hasn’t been harming any of them, but she knows animals don’t like her much. What she needs is to be stealthier. 

She spots something furry nearby, and calculates her approach. She shouldn’t just stalk up behind them... But perhaps if she takes to the trees and reaches down? 

Carefully, her fingers grasp at branches and pull her up to a hefty branch that hangs above the idle creature. She creeps very slowly along the length of it, coming close enough to reach towards the fluffy head beneath her. But then a snap rings out behind her. She jerks her head back to look, just in time to see the branch splinter before she falls with it. 

@grimoirerat

[gyre-and-gimble]

Wabbajack has done well enough foraging from the land, at the very least enough to not have to resort to violence. But she can’t stay out there forever--animals have begun to avoid her prowling grounds near the village, and her sense of direction has never been terribly strong. If she were to go after the animals, she may not find her way back to the village. What if it’s abandoned, and she can truly make her home there? Travelers must stop by as well--it would be perfect for her. Thus, she decides that she must go into the village proper. 

She isn’t there long before fear sets in, however. What if she’s seen? What if she runs and is followed? Where else is there for her to go?

Her fears are manifest when she spots someone watching her lurk between the buildings, having definitely seen her duck across the road. She didn’t get a good look at whatever had seen her, but something isn’t right about what little she did see. She freezes, waiting between the alleys made by the wooden huts, hoping her fears are unfounded. 

@eyebrarian

[gyre-and-gimble]

Wabbajack has not heard much from the nearby village, but she still does not trust the buildings to not house fearful inhabitants. Still... She finds that she doesn’t want to wander far. She will keep an eye on the village, and part of her thinks that maybe someday she can take up residence there. Perhaps it really is empty. But to find out, she has to stay close.

It’s one fine morning, Wabbajack crouching beside the shallow creek to watch the crawdads and tiny tadpoles swimming about, when she hears the snap of branches and bark. Her first instinct is to run--unmistakably, it’s a sign of human life, of an axe chopping wood. But she is reminded that she has to eat. Human thought will sustain her far better than whatever berries and sparse animal instincts she can find.

As sneakily as she can manage, her fingers light on the ground and avoiding any noisy twigs or dry leaves, Wabbajack creeps up on the axe-wielding figure. Her large red eye opens, and around his head she sees the vortex of thought--colors, vague shapes, all caught up in a great cloud. She stands up, spidery fingers reaching towards the haze. 

@lockawayknight

[gyre-and-gimble]

aid-lombard​:

The stranger doesn’t seem to know what phones are, then, but she has one herself. Saint-Germain realizes she might be doing her own share of helping out, tonight, but that’s okay–after her eventful day, perhaps having the chance to do good for another could take her mind off things. “Unless they’re completely different, I believe they’re called ‘smartphones.’ Where I’m from, they can connect to the internet, store information, communicate with people…but none of these ‘applications–’“ she points at one of the small boxes on the screen “–mean anything to me. ‘Dust’ count? Communications? None of my friends are here, so I‘m not certain who I’d communicate with.” She’d opened the app at one point to be swarmed with names, and immediately closed it.

Pointing at the phone in the strange, but kind, creature’s grasp, she indicates where she thinks the power button is. “I believe you press that to turn yours on. That’s what I did with mine…I think.” Could she have pointed to the volume button instead? She wouldn’t know, because none of this makes any sense to her.

Wabbajack watches with rapt attention as this is all explained to her. Of course, Wabbajack doesn’t really know what an “internet” is, either. And she isn’t sure she’ll get much use out of storing information or communicating with others... Unless, of course, she ends up finally making friends! 

At the instruction, Wabbajack turns her gaze back down to her phone and opens it up. Her face lights up along with the screen, and she smiles, pale lips giving way to sharp teeth. “I bet the communications are for your new friends,” Wabbajack says, looking back up at Saint Germain. “This place really isn’t so bad in the end.”

[gyre-and-gimble]

clover road starter call

Wabbajack is currently in the woods! what she’s doing i’ll figure out when i write the starters but she’s wandering around, mostly. She’s pretty tall and blue so it stands to reason she couldve been seen while foraging or walking around the woods by your muse. 

Like and I’ll write something up!

[gyre-and-gimble]

Mimsy Were the Borogroves (Clover Road Intro)

Wabbajack is plenty familiar with magic. She owes her life to magic, the very thing that animates her joints and grants her sight. It’s not something she can wield on her own, however--which makes it all the more shocking when she finds herself in a shallow stone pool. Someone must have transported her here, then. But why? Who?

For a moment, she sits in the shallow water, looking around to get her bearings. The pool is out in the open, but around her are wooden structures, stone roads with moss grown between the rocks. There is no one here to greet her. She’s grateful for that; there’s no way to know what sorts of people live here, how they would have reacted to seeing her. 

Her hands scrabble at the stone, pulling her out of the pool and leaving a wet trail behind her as she stands and stumbles off. She spots trees above the cottages, and makes for the safety away from any prying eyes. The thought does not occur to her that the town has no one in it to chase after her, instead overwhelmed with the memories of what has happened before. Each attempt to find shelter and friendship has been met with terrified shrieks, why would this be any different?

And so, the towering creature finds herself a hollowed tree trunk and curls up within, pondering what she will do next.

[gyre-and-gimble]

rainonglass​:

     Quirrel is jostled slightly as she sits beside him. It seems she isn’t only sharp, but strong… and oh, her fangs are more intimidating while in use. Actually, as her nerves seem to lessen, Quirrel’s own grow. She doesn’t seem to have any violent intent, and that’s good enough for him to stay… still, he feels very much like he’s sat on a web with a spider.

     She also asks several questions.

     “Um, ah - well, I’m a bug, yes. I’m surprised to see this isn’t the case for many others. In Hallownest, you’d not see many without a shell or a mask.” In all his travels, he’s never seen a place anything like this. As much as he is trapped here, it’s perhaps also a blessing to have this knowledge. Most bugs wouldn’t know anyone like these beings exists. “I suppose, uhm, my shell likely doesn’t feel things the same way you do… I’ve never minded rugs?”

     “Ah… It’s certainly a nice day out, isn’t it?”

Sometime during Quirrel’s answers, Wabbajack had eaten up the rest of the hot dog like a ravenous beast. A long tongue flickers out of her mouth, lapping up the grease and ketchup on her fingers. But the whole time, her eye is fixed upon the little bug beside her. There are little bubbles of fear, apprehension. Even with these new symbols, she’s very familiar with the signs of fear. She blinks. 

“...It is nice out, don’t you think?” she replies, turning a bit to reach towards Quirrel and his mask. She isn’t sure why. Friends touch each other, don’t they? Maybe that will make him feel better. “What’s wrong, friend? What makes you shrink?”

[gyre-and-gimble]

sciencysciences​:

The icebox is probably Wilson’s favorite thing in the world, apart from science. He can hear someone digging around in the refrigerator and that immediately alarmed him, and Wilson dropped what he was doing and hurried to the kitchen to check. He can see someone rummaging through the fridge. Wilson panics and attempts to throw himself between the refrigerator and the other. Not a very polite thing to do, and he reaches in and grabs an unopened tube of raw cookie dough.

Wilson is tremendously short compared to the other, but he manages to squeak out a few words. He holds the package of cookie dough close to his chest.

“What in the name of science are you doing?”

Wabbajack barely makes note of the scuttling little thing in front of her before he all but inserts himself in front of her. She pauses, part of a sandwich still clutched in her cold, blue hands and partway in her sharp teeth. Her eyes dart over the very small man, blinking rapidly, looking between the tube of food and his face. Her attempted assessment based off of the swirling thoughts hovering over him yield little to help her figure out the best way to respond.

She blinks, swallowing the bit of food and offering her new friend a smile. “It’s very simple--I’m hungry! What about you... Are you angry?”

[gyre-and-gimble]

aid-lombard​:

Oh, what a strange creature, indeed. Saint-Germain watches as eyes blink out of order, as a kind, excited voice manages to ring throughout the small restaurant. This is not the strangest thing she has seen since arriving in Spirale, though it is her first time interacting with anyone who, at the very least, didn’t look human. She wants to think–what sort of alchemical nightmare birthed this poor soul?–but no, creatures and beings from all sorts of universes have congregated here. For all she knows, this is simply the standard for the stranger.

“Ah–I’m glad I’m not the only one, then.” She glances around, and while a few people seem to have glanced over to see if there’s some sort of commotion or fuss, their gazes aren’t fixated on Saint-Germain. There’s no need to be so rude, so she coldly stares back, and the lookers-on quickly return to their meals. She returns the stranger’s look with a soft smile. “Here, let me–” She fumbles about for a bit, pulling her phone from her coat pocket. It boots up with a soft chime, and she stares at the LCD, the various applications meaningless to her. “I suppose yours is the same?”

Wabbajack focuses on the little brick and smiles, pleased that her new acquaintance hasn’t begun to shriek and run away just yet. She reaches into her own little shawl, her hand re-emerging with her own phone. She’s seen these before, but never held or made use of one. She isn’t even entirely sure what they do. Still, she shows her friend that they are, indeed, the same. “I’ve got one, the same as you! What do you suppose these strange things do?”

[gyre-and-gimble]

It’s been a little while since Wababjack has arrived, but she’s finally managed to find her way home. It’s nice here, she thinks. The surrounding area is very interesting, what with the pink flowers in the trees and the curving shapes of some of the roofs. Still, she’s more concerned with having a home for the first time in her life. What’s it like on the inside? 

As she enters, though... She’s immediately overcome with the urge to check the fridge. That hunger won’t go away, and she knows there’s food in there. She stumbles over, opening the fridge with a little crackle of the jars inside before she starts grabbing things, tearing open wrappers and shoving food into her mouth.

@sciencysciences

[gyre-and-gimble]

glidewing-bard​: 

He watches her, as she watches him back. Is she approaching him? If so, he’s going to do his best to seem as non-threatening as possible to her and oh god she’s running away.

“W- wait!” He calls, stepping forward against his better judgement. He raises his hands in a show of innocence. “I’m not here to hurt you. I don’t want anything bad with you, okay?” He can’t see her in the dark from where he is… is she even still there?

“…You know, it’s not exactly healthy to eat straight from the dumpster,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn’t get any response, and concludes that the joke failed. “Ah… Are you hungry? This place is a restaurant, you know. I could take you in there and buy you something. Anything you want. Does… does that sound alright?”

Wabbajack has already shoved herself into the corner and gorged the rest of the burger. By the time she hears him calling for her, she’s already started trying to crawl up the sheer brick wall without much luck. She turns, her eyes searching for any signs of danger or ill will. But his voice is gentle, and she sees no thoughts that would indicate a desire to cause her harm. Slowly, she approaches him again, crawling on all fours, ready to bolt at any moment. 

She looks up at him, tilting her head a bit. “...Go inside? Don’t you think they’ll be scared of me?” she asks, her large red eye glancing around for a moment. “Not to mention, I might rack up a hefty fee.”

[rollerm0bster]

@gyre-and-gimble​ liked for a starter!

Niko’s definitely out too late. At least they know this place has a day and night cycle now, but that just means that they don’t have an excuse for staying out past 9 PM anymore! They don’t know the exact time, since they left their phone at home (Mom always said they were too young for one anyway), but it definitely feels later than 9 PM. Much later.

And since it’s dark out, it’s doing its part to make navigating the streets a lot harder. Niko’s pretty sure they’re lost by now… they’re never going to make it home at this rate.

They turn a corner, down into a much darker street. Only a couple of streetlamps are working here, and most of the functional ones still threaten them with their flickering light. There’s a figure standing, further down the street… maybe they can ask for directions?

As they get closer, though, Niko starts to notice more and more things that just… don’t sit right. Limbs that seem to be just a little too long, their whole figure seeming strange and… not human… As they finally approach, Niko comes face to face with what surely would have been called a monster back home.

“Hi. My name’s Niko! Can you help me out? I think I’m lost…”

[gyre-and-gimble]

Wabbajack is just used to the dark, and ever since she’s figured out that there are some fun creatures about at night, she’s spent the night hours wandering around trying catch one to play with. She’s found a small group of strange little cats with radio heads, and has spent the night following them. After they disappeared down an alley and into the darkness where she lost sight of them, however, Wabbajack has simply just been... well, waiting for something to happen, she supposes. With no need to sleep on top of now being quite lost, she just stands beneath the street light.

But when she hears steps behind her, Wabbajack quickly turns around, her hood shading her features a bit, but her large red eye seems to be backlit, leaving it fully visible in the darkness. She looks ahead, then down--then further down.  Judging from their thoughts, they seem curious, a little apprehensive... but as they speak, it becomes apparent that they’re just as lost as she is. “Hello Niko! My name is Wabbajack!” she answers, bending her knees to crouch and get on Niko’s level. “I’m lost too! But I’ll try my best to guide you back.”

[aid-lombard]

@gyre-and-gimble

Her day has been particularly turbulent, and while Saint-Germain appreciates the help she’s gotten, she also…just wants a break. While she’s starting to grasp her situation a little better, she’s not particularly found comfort in it. The reality that she’s here, alone, and that Cagliostro and Prelati are dead–she can’t linger on it for very long, otherwise her thoughts start to turn especially grim. So she’s trying to find a distraction.

The issue, though, happens to be that she’s really quite poor at doing anything that’s not research or moping.

She’s ended up in Cotes Ward during her aimless wandering, and the almost-familiar sights probably aren’t the best for “getting your mind off thinking about the last bit of time you spent with your loved ones.” This place is clearly at least modeled off of Tokyo, which raises a plethora of questions Saint-Germain would normally be jumping at the bit to investigate. Instead, she glances at a restaurant lit by a neon sign, and remembers how Prelati would always beg her to let them go out and eat something aside from hotel room service or the various boxes of tangerines she somehow always seemed to have.

Well, I guess it can’t hurt. So she enters, and soon finds that it’s rather empty, but she’s not the only customer in the establishment. A few people are littered about at tables, but the one who catches her eye is a large, humanoid being who’s standing in line, thoughtfully gazing upon the menu. Clearly, this isn’t a human, but Saint-Germain can’t really make out any distinct features just from looking at the stranger’s cloaked back.

“Pardon me.” She doesn’t know if she should…tap the other on her back, or what, so she hopes speaking up is enough. “Um…I hate to bother you, but I’m new around here, and…I don’t understand how these phones work.” It had been explained to her, but…usually, Prelati or Cagliostro were the ones who handled things with computers, if they were ever needed. A tech-savvy teenager’s explanation wouldn’t be much help to her.

[gyre-and-gimble]

Wabbajack has gradually come to realize that people aren’t as scared of her as they tend to be. Perhaps they’re used to monsters around here, or maybe she just isn’t the worst thing they’ve seen. Both hardly concern her--so long as they aren’t trying to chase her away or hit her, she won’t complain! That means she can eat at a restaurant--she’s always wanted to do that! If she can’t eat dreams, she has to settle for human food, and the food being hot makes it noticeably more pleasant to eat.

As she gazes at the menu in her hands, her ears prick up when a voice behind her calls to her. She turns right away, each of her eyes looking over the stranger and blinking out of sequence as she processes the question. “You’re not nuisance, not a bother!” Wabbajack replies, her voice perhaps a bit too loud and excited for the space, “I don’t know much about phones, but we can learn together!”

[gyre-and-gimble]

rainonglass​:

     Yes, very sharp teeth indeed. He wonders just what they’re built to eat… certainly made for piercing and tearing rather than crushing, at any rate. She reminds him a bit of the spiders of Deepnest. Well, that just means she’ll have an easier time eating this.

     “Of course. I’ve heard it said that food is best enjoyed with company.” It’s a beautiful day outside as well. The warmth on his shell is a welcome luxury.

Her grin widens somehow, and she shuffles onto the bench to settle beside him. Her long limbs seem rather unwieldy, bumping Quirrel with her knee as she tries to get comfortable, but eventually she sits relatively normally, albeit with her long legs reaching up a little more than they would. As for the hotdog, she tears into it, messily ripping off a chunk and swallowing it. 

“So, so, so--Are you a bug? Where are you from?” She asks, her eyes wide and full of curiosity. “Are rugs truly so snug? Or does your shell make you numb?”

[gyre-and-gimble]

rainonglass​:

     Quirrel looks at the hot dog first, and then at the person taking it. She… well, she looks very different from the humans he’s seen. Her arms are longer, she has many more eyes, stitches adorn her skin, and… ah, what sharp teeth she possesses. Were she not so nervous, Quirrel would be quite intimidated. It seems, however, that she’s more afraid of him than the other way around.

     “I don’t… entirely understand why I bought it in the first place, actually.” People were lined up before the cart, and so he assumed the vendor sold something enjoyable. Instead, it’s… a sausage in some bread. And a very sugary bottled drink. He dislikes both very much. “This, ah. Hot dog is not what I expected it to be.”

She blinks again, tilting her head at the answer. She supposes that there are people that have preferences for food, though that isn’t a luxury she’s able to afford. Still, she straightens a little, adjusting the foil-wrapped hot dog in her hands. She doesn’t want to leave just yet--he’s showed her kindness, after all. Maybe she can stay. Maybe they can be friends! 

“Goodness, that’s very generous of you,” she murmurs, smiling at him with all her sharp teeth, “Can I sit here while I eat, too?”