11-05-2015, 09:38 PM
It is regrettable that she will have to wait for a while longer to continue on with her most noble of quests. A rabble of scuffling denizens bars the way into the city, and so Dean Winchester pulls his vehicle over to the side so that not a single scrape will be left upon its painted surface. They sit atop the car’s hood, Winchester strewn lazily across it and PM seated primly at its front.
The drink that Dean Winchester so enjoys is absolutely abominable. In taste, it is akin to lightly-carbonated urine or something like that— or at least, that is how she thinks carbonated urine would taste like. She can’t be certain due to never having been impulsive enough to try it, but it is a pretty fair comparison to draw in her mind.
She cringes slightly as Winchester continues to down the stuff, utterly appalled and more than a little bit fascinated. What kind of warped desire for sheer suffering could drive someone to do that to themselves? Bluh!
Well, at least it is over now. She sits comfortably on the hood of the gas-guzzling vehicular contraption that has brought her here, feet just barely grazing against the warm sands. She can barely feel the overarching temperature of these dunes through her carapace, but judging by the sweat that beads on Winchester’s face and around the edge of his bottled alcoholic beverage, it really must be nothing to shake a stick at.
It is at this juncture that the Peregrine Mendicant once again looks upon the imposing walls of New Babylon. She does not know of any Old Babylons, but apparently the walled city that sits up so regally from the desert sands is a hopeful new edition. Perhaps there are many golden riches inside, glistening in their enormous coffers, splendid tiles depicting hundreds of colorful little festivals decorating the hallowed halls, sneeze-inducing spices alongside ointments and sugars and sweetly aromatic myrrh, and all sorts of fine silken cloth in the markets. Or maybe there are just a lot of anime children running around. She does not know.
There is no point to these fanciful musings, however. Peregrine is but a simple Parcel Mistress, with a few queenly attributes puttering about inside of her head. With the amount of Skaian knowledge crooning a sorrowful refrain at the back of her mind, PM could surely fend off an unruly horrorterror if she so chose. It would be almost easy. But, she does not desire to, there are none wriggling about out of the precipitous cloudbank, and it would likely be a waste of energy. She settles for merely handling Demetri Malius’s letter while gazing anxiously at the city’s barred gates.
The speed with which Dean Winchester answers her inane questions is nothing short of admirable. This is most likely because he does not have to rap out every word he speaks into her mind, but PM likes him for it all the same. He also seems to possess a relative wealth of knowledge, although some of the things he says are rather questionable in their… lack of detail. Still, she finds some of what he says witty, and so she sends out barely-perceptible cues of encouragement into his mind as he gesticulates about the Omniverse.
Humans are such remarkable creatures with amazing amounts of potential sparking at their fingertips, like a scribe or a dutiful monk about to commit to the creation of some fanciful, wondrous masterpiece. Carapacians, unfortunately, are far less inventive, although they are also far less prone to distractions when provided with a definite goal. This is surely the primary distinction between them.
This human, however…. He has a few strange tendencies that veer away from Skaia’s plan most treacherously. He is almost like a rabid hell-beast in the way that he tenses and stares fixedly at the commotion taking place outside of Nippur’s gates, his fists clenched as if preparing to launch himself into the fray. It could have something to do with the peculiar way that his eyes flicker black from time to time, but PM wouldn’t bet her mailperson’s cap on it.
When she considers the fight taking place across from them, if it could even be referred to as such for how disorganized it is, PM mentally cringes. There are all kinds of aspects jarring against one another here, wholly incompatible in spirit and scrambled, although some are definitely more brazenly displayed than the rest, and the jilting tunes of quite a few fraymotifs scramble to the forefront of her mind at piercing volumes.
Unrealized players, she realizes. A Knight of Breath, with a perplexing absence of periwinkle blue sky and wispy clouds about their person. A Prince of Mind, who is no doubt faced with a good many logical choices while attempting to beat his opponent into the dirt with well-aimed sword thrusts. Several others who are hidden from the light of Skaia mill about, their aspects clouded from view and hopelessly muddled. All of it amounts into one large cluster of dizzyingly cacophonous melodies that crash against one another with little care for the ears of any surrounding game constructs. Truly, a work of genius to which even Mozart could not compare.
As she has only just arrived to this strife, PM cannot say who might emerge as victor. However, it does appear that several denizens— humanoid in appearance, although that might not mean much— are all facing a single opponent, who happens to be the Knight of Breath. PM would like to aid him, really she would, but there are far too many duties that she must attend to beforehand and it is likely that he cannot hold out for that long against so many spirited foes.
Then, there is an extraordinarily white explosion, which even after it has dissipated results in dazzling sparks that filter like dainty snowfall across her vision. PM is totally pissed, because this unexpected flare of power is most likely going to cause for a good deal of trouble that will keep her outside of this city’s walls for even longer, and, while she certainly enjoys Dean Winchester’s company, he might soon choose to abandon her for the road.
I do hope that they wrap this up soon, the Peregrine Mendicant says as an aside to Winchester, shiny black eyes watching the combatants for any signs of giving up. They are being very disruptive.
“You and me both.” Dean drawls, taking another swig of his beer.
The drink that Dean Winchester so enjoys is absolutely abominable. In taste, it is akin to lightly-carbonated urine or something like that— or at least, that is how she thinks carbonated urine would taste like. She can’t be certain due to never having been impulsive enough to try it, but it is a pretty fair comparison to draw in her mind.
She cringes slightly as Winchester continues to down the stuff, utterly appalled and more than a little bit fascinated. What kind of warped desire for sheer suffering could drive someone to do that to themselves? Bluh!
Well, at least it is over now. She sits comfortably on the hood of the gas-guzzling vehicular contraption that has brought her here, feet just barely grazing against the warm sands. She can barely feel the overarching temperature of these dunes through her carapace, but judging by the sweat that beads on Winchester’s face and around the edge of his bottled alcoholic beverage, it really must be nothing to shake a stick at.
It is at this juncture that the Peregrine Mendicant once again looks upon the imposing walls of New Babylon. She does not know of any Old Babylons, but apparently the walled city that sits up so regally from the desert sands is a hopeful new edition. Perhaps there are many golden riches inside, glistening in their enormous coffers, splendid tiles depicting hundreds of colorful little festivals decorating the hallowed halls, sneeze-inducing spices alongside ointments and sugars and sweetly aromatic myrrh, and all sorts of fine silken cloth in the markets. Or maybe there are just a lot of anime children running around. She does not know.
There is no point to these fanciful musings, however. Peregrine is but a simple Parcel Mistress, with a few queenly attributes puttering about inside of her head. With the amount of Skaian knowledge crooning a sorrowful refrain at the back of her mind, PM could surely fend off an unruly horrorterror if she so chose. It would be almost easy. But, she does not desire to, there are none wriggling about out of the precipitous cloudbank, and it would likely be a waste of energy. She settles for merely handling Demetri Malius’s letter while gazing anxiously at the city’s barred gates.
The speed with which Dean Winchester answers her inane questions is nothing short of admirable. This is most likely because he does not have to rap out every word he speaks into her mind, but PM likes him for it all the same. He also seems to possess a relative wealth of knowledge, although some of the things he says are rather questionable in their… lack of detail. Still, she finds some of what he says witty, and so she sends out barely-perceptible cues of encouragement into his mind as he gesticulates about the Omniverse.
Humans are such remarkable creatures with amazing amounts of potential sparking at their fingertips, like a scribe or a dutiful monk about to commit to the creation of some fanciful, wondrous masterpiece. Carapacians, unfortunately, are far less inventive, although they are also far less prone to distractions when provided with a definite goal. This is surely the primary distinction between them.
This human, however…. He has a few strange tendencies that veer away from Skaia’s plan most treacherously. He is almost like a rabid hell-beast in the way that he tenses and stares fixedly at the commotion taking place outside of Nippur’s gates, his fists clenched as if preparing to launch himself into the fray. It could have something to do with the peculiar way that his eyes flicker black from time to time, but PM wouldn’t bet her mailperson’s cap on it.
When she considers the fight taking place across from them, if it could even be referred to as such for how disorganized it is, PM mentally cringes. There are all kinds of aspects jarring against one another here, wholly incompatible in spirit and scrambled, although some are definitely more brazenly displayed than the rest, and the jilting tunes of quite a few fraymotifs scramble to the forefront of her mind at piercing volumes.
Unrealized players, she realizes. A Knight of Breath, with a perplexing absence of periwinkle blue sky and wispy clouds about their person. A Prince of Mind, who is no doubt faced with a good many logical choices while attempting to beat his opponent into the dirt with well-aimed sword thrusts. Several others who are hidden from the light of Skaia mill about, their aspects clouded from view and hopelessly muddled. All of it amounts into one large cluster of dizzyingly cacophonous melodies that crash against one another with little care for the ears of any surrounding game constructs. Truly, a work of genius to which even Mozart could not compare.
As she has only just arrived to this strife, PM cannot say who might emerge as victor. However, it does appear that several denizens— humanoid in appearance, although that might not mean much— are all facing a single opponent, who happens to be the Knight of Breath. PM would like to aid him, really she would, but there are far too many duties that she must attend to beforehand and it is likely that he cannot hold out for that long against so many spirited foes.
Then, there is an extraordinarily white explosion, which even after it has dissipated results in dazzling sparks that filter like dainty snowfall across her vision. PM is totally pissed, because this unexpected flare of power is most likely going to cause for a good deal of trouble that will keep her outside of this city’s walls for even longer, and, while she certainly enjoys Dean Winchester’s company, he might soon choose to abandon her for the road.
I do hope that they wrap this up soon, the Peregrine Mendicant says as an aside to Winchester, shiny black eyes watching the combatants for any signs of giving up. They are being very disruptive.
“You and me both.” Dean drawls, taking another swig of his beer.
![[Image: 18yM1ww.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/18yM1ww.gif)
She's a Killer Queen!
Gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam,
Guaranteed to blow your mind!
- "Killer Queen", Queen