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Visions
Sept 20, 2005 10:44:12 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 20, 2005 10:44:12 GMT -5
The wings hit the ledge, and drop over into the misty abyss.
Walking along the ledge, Puck eventually comes to a crude lead rainpipe. The thing has seen better days, but it seems to be the only way down from here. It is not an easy climb by any means. Once or twice, the pipe creaks warningly, and once it actually gives in on Puck's weight, and he makes a ten-foot drop, still clutching to the pipe, before it remains there, creaking dangerously.
He makes it to the ground safely, however. He finds himself standing on the other side of the house block he was passing on the street earlier. He is in the gardens. These gardens are not very big, and they are completely paved with mostly broken grey tiles. There are two big pots for flowers, but in them stand only the black, whithered remains of what have one day been plants, rotting in the too-wet soil. A wooden, half rotting fence with the paint peeling off is all that stand between Puck and the next street. The windows of the house that this garden belongs to are closed, as are the paintless shutters and the paintless back door.
The fog is thick as ever.
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Puck
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Visions
Sept 22, 2005 11:42:05 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 22, 2005 11:42:05 GMT -5
Puck blinks in surprise and holds tight to the pipe as it falls. It was comical, to say the least. He waited, and then hopped off, rolling across the ground to make sure he doesn't land oddly or break anything from a rather safe distance.
The Tiefling stand up and dusts off his white coat for awhile.
"I just had to choose white. I couldn't be like all the cool guys and travel in reds and blacks or something interesting like that, no, I choose white! Oh yes, that was such a brilliant idea.
...I love white. Oh hey, a flower!"
Puck immediately plucks the flower and cheerfully hops the gate, making his way through the streets.
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Visions
Sept 22, 2005 13:59:44 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 22, 2005 13:59:44 GMT -5
The flower, whithered and black and smelly as it is, comes out of the soaked ground very easily. Hopping the fence is even easier for Puck. The streets are... foggy. Surprise there, eh? They are cobbled and it is hard to see two feet ahead, which is better than other places, really. Puck passes a cellar-pub- one of those places that you have to get down a staircase to get into a dark lair sort of place, usually smoky, always iffy. A dingy wooden plate over the stone steps announces its name as the "Mizty Musjroom", and indeed the smell of the fog here is slightly more suspect than in other places, which is of course not saying much.
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Puck
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Sept 23, 2005 17:17:30 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 23, 2005 17:17:30 GMT -5
He puts the wilted plant to his nose and took in the dead scent, heavily. He smiled and sighed, happy as he took a sudden and sharp turn into the interesting place off to the side.
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Visions
Sept 24, 2005 1:52:30 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 24, 2005 1:52:30 GMT -5
After the stone steps is a narrow passage with a low stone ceiling. The smell intensifies, and it gets really bad once Puck opens the door at the end and steps into the small, very smoky room. The room is round and has three doors beside the one Puck comes in from. The ceiling is still low, like a cellar. There are various tables, chairs, and a few straw beds on the grounds, at and on which are some five people, four men and one woman, all in more or less advanced stages of unconsciousness. There is one other, a man, standing behind some sort of bar construction- a plan on two wooden crates to make a table, upon which are various bottles and other things. This man, late twenties, half-Elf, messy dirty-blond hair under a broad-rimmed hat, is smoking and looks up uncaringly as Puck enters. There is a cloud of blue smoke in the room, not quite as inpenetrable as the fog, but certainly as strong.
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Puck
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Sept 24, 2005 2:00:30 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 24, 2005 2:00:30 GMT -5
Puck blinks in the blue smoke, coughing once or twice. Wow, this was interesting.
"Don't mind me, just passing through, interesting color for your smoke, does it do tricks, see ya."
And he heads towards one of the other doors, opens it, and walks through if he can.
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Visions
Sept 24, 2005 3:33:15 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 24, 2005 3:33:15 GMT -5
The man at the bar takes a disinterested pull on his cigarette. The other people do not even seem to notice Puck, except the woman, who rubs her neck groggily and looks at him with the blood-filled eyes of one who has been awake too long. She waves an unsteady hand at him.
"No... de rabbiiiids, fear de... ah... black... someding..."
The door opens into a corridor. It is badly lit and rather damp in here- there is water dropping from the stone ceiling. It smells like sewers. Further down the corridor, a rat scurries away into the shadows.
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Visions
Sept 25, 2005 15:47:23 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 25, 2005 15:47:23 GMT -5
The street is still there. When Puck gets out of the passage, walks up the steps and into the street again, a carriage passes. It is a rickety old thing with a tired-looking black horse in front of it, and a tired-looking driver huddled under a checkered blanket. Behind the windows of the little doors Puck can see the outlines of two passengers, one of them wearing a top hat. The wheels of the carriage rattle and the hooves of the horse clickety-click on the cobbles of the street.
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Puck
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Sept 25, 2005 15:55:50 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 25, 2005 15:55:50 GMT -5
Puck was extremely happy that the street remained. It meant he didn't burn all his brain cells yet, which was excellent news to him, yes.
He yawned, putting a hand to his mouth to cover it. Keeps demons out, they say. Then he follows after the carriage, interested in where it was going.
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Visions
Sept 25, 2005 16:04:05 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 25, 2005 16:04:05 GMT -5
The carriage is not going all that fast. It is easy for Puck to keep up with it on foot. It turns a corner at one point, and keeps going. They pass a few houses, barely visible in the fog, a couple of street lanterns, a woman with a basket full of groceries.
At one point, Puck hears a familiar female voice in his head. "What a joke. I'm bored, take him away."
The carriage goes along with a curve in the road and stops at a cross-roads to give passage to a donkey-cart with peels and other household rubbish going across. The drivers give each other a sleepy greeting, but there is an impatient tapping from the inside of the carriage.
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Puck
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Sept 25, 2005 16:32:41 GMT -5
Post by Puck on Sept 25, 2005 16:32:41 GMT -5
Puck smiles and taps the side of his head.
"Still there, sister? I can hear you... hehehe, you don't know the meaning of boring until you hear stock options, oh no, not at all."
He grins, knowing it was unlikely she heard him. He didn't mind. He talked to himself all the time, so it didn't bother him to talk to an audience that may or may not hear him. Besides, the looks people gave him were funny sometimes.
He walked past the carriage, glancing inside to get an idea of who was there, and continued towards the happy tower of unhappy people who can't take jokes.
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Visions
Sept 25, 2005 16:49:45 GMT -5
Post by Catriona on Sept 25, 2005 16:49:45 GMT -5
Inside the carriage Puck can see a man, wearing the top hat. The man is rather fat, with massive sideburns and an impressive moustache. Beside him is a woman, and she seems to be the impatient one. She has her hair pinned up tightly, with a big flower in it, which is rare in and of itself here, and she is fanning herself with an expensive-looking fan, presumably to drive away the smell of the fog.
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Puck
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Post by Puck on Oct 3, 2005 8:55:54 GMT -5
Puck contemplated buying a fan to try to fan the fog back into the carriage, but he didn't feel like spending the money. A pity, he was sure they would appreciate the trick pretty well.
Smiling, he walks on past them, still heading towards that nifty mage academy off in the distance. He had nothing to do, really, so there was a whole world out there to fiddle around with.
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Post by Catriona on Oct 3, 2005 9:07:15 GMT -5
The fog is thick as ever. Puck quickly loses all sight and sound of the carriage and finds himself yet again lost in an eerily white shadowy world. Once, he nearly numps into a street light. Another time, he almost trips when the pavement suddenly drops a foot and he finds himself standing in a very narrow gutter. Some dirty looking water and several wisps of fog drip in a little stream past his feet.
At one point, there is a strange sound in the fog, almost as if someone was singing, faintly and faraway, a woman's voice. While in the fog he can only hear shards of the song, and the words are even harder to make out than the sound, it sounds very sad. The fog is getting a little more chilly, and even thicker, as it tends to do when you approach water. From the depths of the white shadows sounds the raw voice of a fish monger.
"Fresh fish... fresh fish..!"
The echo lingers in the fog a little, but the fishmonger himself never comes into view. The street narrows dramatically, because suddenly Puck finds himself able to see the walls on either side- both no more than an hand's bredth from his shoulder. He must be walking through a very narrow alley. The walls on either side are of a dark brick, and both are blind walls. The end of the alley is not visible in the fog. In fact, Puck cannot see beyond two feet.
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