#miklos lind

[lifeamongthedistantstars]

secret world legends → reinvented

[lifeamongthedistantstars]

miklos: 1, 20, 15

1. What position does your character sleep in? ( i.e; stomach, side, back, etc. ) Describe why they do this — optional.

Miklos generally sleeps on his back with his arms down at his sides. There’s no particular reason for it, only that he feels most comfortable that way and has always done it. It’s not for lack of room as he always had plenty available and could always stretch out at any time. Given that (and the obvious matter of physical size) he doesn’t like sleeping spaces that are too small or walled up.

20. If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why?

As it stands currently there isn’t any one person he could think of that he’d like to murder. Miklos would actually have a somewhat difficult time believing that there wouldn’t be any consequences at all. He could accept that he wouldn’t be punished by the law or superiors for it, but he would probably be very concerned with the other effects of that action. If he was given the option he’d probably hold onto it (if allowed) until cold logic and facts supported the decision, not anger or annoyance. There’s no moral basis behind his being so careful; it’s simply a matter of understanding the relationships between things in a system.

15. Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time?

A good portion of Miklos’ abilities are devoted to multitasking and make him a master at it. The bees enhanced the ability of his mind to make sense of the data streams he is almost constantly plugged into and in fact he finds it rather jarring and distracting not to be. With contact he can share directly with another person but in order for it to make sense to anyone else he would need to filter the information drastically (and translate it into things anyone else can comprehend).

[lifeamongthedistantstars]

03:00

Miklos had been careful this time; he hadn't gone into the field in $1500 Tom Ford's. All the same he was still sharply dressed, perhaps still inappropriately for his task given the steady stream of rain falling outside the warehouse. The storm had only gotten worse as the day crept onward toward night, rain-bloated clouds gathering thick above the city. The leather duster thrown on over his suit jacket kept most of the rain off, but it was soaked into his hair which he slicked back out of his face.

The air in the old building was stagnant and reeked of mold and damp and now burnt flesh and blood. The display of his phone glowed bright in the dim lighting, the text of the message he was writing zipping across the screen faster than anyone could properly type. He didn't even glance at the screen as he held it, as if his thoughts were simply spilling into the SMS automatically. Whoever had failed to mention the large demon circling around the artifact he'd gone to collect was about to be in for a bad time, the device letting out a cheery little chirp to announce it had sent the message off successfully, the sound feeling out of place in the nightmarish scene. He stepped casually over a spreading pool of blood that was still steaming in the chill air, heading for his prize.

His palms itched beneath his gloves and he rubbed his hands together, the room lighting up for an instant as lightning jumped from cloud to cloud above, the pattern mirrored in the hard-edged lines that snaked along his skin in vivid, pulsing white energy before they faded just as the thunder shook the foundation. Miklos always enjoyed a good lightning storm while he worked, the sensation of being 'plugged in' more intense than usual. Now it was a feeling that was as much pleasurable as it was maddening, crawling under his skin, raw electricity arcing along the lines etched into his flesh like current down a wire. He'd stopped walking at some point, reveling in the power as he hadn't in a long time, his eyes burning white like the flash outside. His arms crossed in front of him, fingers dug into the material at his shoulders, as if he wanted to reach through the layers and tear it away, peeling back cloth and flesh.

[ He itches and he scratches. ]

Distantly, he was aware of ringing. It grew louder, rattling in his head, shrill and repetitive and buzzing in his ears. The bright, burning energy dissipated in a gasping breath, coming back to himself as if waking from a nightmare. His skin faded back to normal and he squinted even in the low light. His eyes refused to focus for a breath or two. When he blinked he could see words scrawled in the artifacts of light that lingered in his vision, the contents of a response.

Every sense felt suddenly too alive and too vivid, wincing at the sound of his continued steps or the sensation when his fingertips finally grazed the wooden box that held what he'd come for. He was shaken whether he cared to admit it to himself or not, an unnamed sense of dread gathering in his chest like a sticky, poisonous cloud that threatened to choke off his air. He tucked the box under one arm, trying to ignore the feeling of the cloth on his skin, the pressure of the wood against his bones, the shifting weight of the item inside. Wood grain catching on the minute ridges in his fingertips.

[ Have they noticed you noticing them? ]

The happy chirp sounded from his pocket again, another message sent.

03:01:05 CET: Item in hand. Heading back. 51.275122, 4.375332.

At least if there was more trouble he hadn't vanished in the night, with its oily black clouds swirling in the sky above. It was going to be a long walk.