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tushanshu_logs2013-02-12 03:53 am
aenseidhe) wrote in tushanshu_logs2013-02-12 03:53 am
[OPEN] I just want to play on my pan-pipes
Characters: Iorveth and YOOOU
Date: 2/12
Location: Outskirts of the Wood sector
Situation: Elf sits in tree doing typical elf shit like having pointy ears and playing his manly elf flute and leaving traps that will set you on fire.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing really? He won't let anyone actually step on the traps :| Unless anyone is Dean Winchester.
[ A suitable tree hadn't been hard to find, nor had been setting out the sturdy enough, thick enough branches and wooden planks over a couple level enough arms of the tree, nor the subsequently lashing them down with rope to make a makeshift sort of lofted platform with room enough for him and his pack alone. Setting the traps had been more of the difficult part. It wasn't that making and setting them were particularly hard - the crafting second nature to him after so many years - but it was more trying to find materials for the last few, after he exhausted the ones he had with them. That, and, listening to a bunch of humans telling him how horrible he is for wanting to put up fortifications where he sleeps. It's been laughable how absurd it is, and he almost wishes another Scoia'tael, or Geralt were around just to hear it. The day he sleeps without a bow in hand and something around to wake him if another approaches is the day he finds himself in a free Elven state, far out of Nordling or Nilfgaardian lands. He wouldn't even had mentioned it if he wasn't concerned a Kedan might wander by.
Despite the fact he'd sarcastically told someone he would set up a warning sign, there is no sign at all, as that would completely defeat the purpose of traps, but the elf seated high up on his lofted landing in the tree, partly camouflaged in the branches and leaves, is keeping an eye down at the area below. Just in case some idiot actually comes wandering out here. As much as he'd love to let them right into the trap that will ignite and light them up like a bonfire, A.) he doesn't want to waste the trap on an unobservant simpleton and B.) he doesn't want to have to evade guards without knowing the land well enough to hide somewhere and/or be wanted for murder quite yet.
So, with bow placed over his lap and quiver close by on the landing, he's idly playing at a wooden flute - a simple, soothing kind of tune that echoes nicely through the forest. It's something of home that relieves the tension a little that he'd been holding off since arrive. The woods here aren't like those in Temeria or Aedirn. They aren't as full, and the air still smells weirdly of sea. But he'll have to get used to it. He doesn't have a choice. If the phenomenon is what he thinks it is, he could be here for a short time, or he could be here forever. He can't know. At least not yet. ]
Date: 2/12
Location: Outskirts of the Wood sector
Situation: Elf sits in tree doing typical elf shit like having pointy ears and playing his manly elf flute and leaving traps that will set you on fire.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing really? He won't let anyone actually step on the traps :| Unless anyone is Dean Winchester.
[ A suitable tree hadn't been hard to find, nor had been setting out the sturdy enough, thick enough branches and wooden planks over a couple level enough arms of the tree, nor the subsequently lashing them down with rope to make a makeshift sort of lofted platform with room enough for him and his pack alone. Setting the traps had been more of the difficult part. It wasn't that making and setting them were particularly hard - the crafting second nature to him after so many years - but it was more trying to find materials for the last few, after he exhausted the ones he had with them. That, and, listening to a bunch of humans telling him how horrible he is for wanting to put up fortifications where he sleeps. It's been laughable how absurd it is, and he almost wishes another Scoia'tael, or Geralt were around just to hear it. The day he sleeps without a bow in hand and something around to wake him if another approaches is the day he finds himself in a free Elven state, far out of Nordling or Nilfgaardian lands. He wouldn't even had mentioned it if he wasn't concerned a Kedan might wander by.
Despite the fact he'd sarcastically told someone he would set up a warning sign, there is no sign at all, as that would completely defeat the purpose of traps, but the elf seated high up on his lofted landing in the tree, partly camouflaged in the branches and leaves, is keeping an eye down at the area below. Just in case some idiot actually comes wandering out here. As much as he'd love to let them right into the trap that will ignite and light them up like a bonfire, A.) he doesn't want to waste the trap on an unobservant simpleton and B.) he doesn't want to have to evade guards without knowing the land well enough to hide somewhere and/or be wanted for murder quite yet.
So, with bow placed over his lap and quiver close by on the landing, he's idly playing at a wooden flute - a simple, soothing kind of tune that echoes nicely through the forest. It's something of home that relieves the tension a little that he'd been holding off since arrive. The woods here aren't like those in Temeria or Aedirn. They aren't as full, and the air still smells weirdly of sea. But he'll have to get used to it. He doesn't have a choice. If the phenomenon is what he thinks it is, he could be here for a short time, or he could be here forever. He can't know. At least not yet. ]
no subject
He has focused on the central parts of the city up, but now he ventures further afield, taking care to keep a close watch on his surroundings so he doesn't become lost.
Not enough of a watch to spot any traps that may be about, however.]
no subject
At least, up until he comes a bit to close to one of the set traps. He considers, for a moment, just letting the man walk into it, as he's apparently that oblivious, but that's one of the combustable traps and he'd really rather not let it go to waist. So, with something like a tired sigh, he notches an arrow and snaps it out, the bolt thunking into the grass and dirt about an inch from the man's left foot. He calls out from his spot in the tree after. ]
You may not wish to step there. I don't imagine conflagration would brighten your day. The way you wish, at least. [ Lol brighten. Geddit. ]
no subject
He searches for the one who has shot at him, frustrated to find no one at ground level to vent his frustration on.]
Where I am from, monsieur, it is courtesy to greet strangers with a 'good day.'
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[ And the source of the voice hops down a couple branches to be within sight, bow held out to point at the ground just before Enjolras. Trap. There. Don't step on it. ]
no subject
Then I thank you, Monsieur, though I do wonder to what end you are sitting in such a place, angrily warning passing men from stepping into traps.
no subject
Is all life in your world so docile you can sleep outdoors with no concerns for your safety, or is man merely so feared you have no need to?
no subject
[And most traps in Paris are not the kind Enjolras has almost stumbled into. No, they are traps for people's lives and freedoms.]
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I am not other men. Nor 'man' in the least. [ This is the part where he reveals he's trans. No, its the ears, bro. ] Though were this my world I'd likely allow them to serve their purpose. Fortunately for you, I don't wish to be a criminal a mere days after arriving.
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I can see plainly that you are no woman. What are you, if not a man?
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Aen Seidhe. [ Not actually translated by Tu Vishan because that's the actual name of the race. 'Elf' is something made up by humans. This said in a sarcastic drawl ] We are fewer yet longer lived, with pointed ears and better aim.
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What is it that you fear from your world that causes you to set traps here?
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And to answer - it is you. Mankind. In my world, you've come to spread across the globe like a plague, driving all others to near extinction. [ He crouches on the branch, arms resting on bent knees as his tone bitters. ] In my world, a man's courteous greeting to an elf- [ the term spat out ] -is a noose.
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I have no desire to be take part in such unjust behaviour, and I am ashamed that my fellow men commit such injustices and dare still call themselves human. Such actions are those of beasts, nothing more.
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I hardly expect better, as 'human' may well be synonymous to 'beast'. The Aen Seidhe do not need your hollow sympathizes, dh'oine. Your shame is words alone.
[[ dh'oine = human ]]
no subject
What good is sympathy? Will undo the injustice comited by my fellow men? No, I will not offer you such a worthless thing.
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In a century, I've only met a single man worthy of the promises he made. We shall see.
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In a century? How long lived are your people?
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Three hundred years, on average. Five hundred for some. [ A thoughtful pause. ] We do not multiply like vermin as men do, thus making it easier to dwindle our numbers if serious effort is put into it.
[ 'Which it has been' is what is implied. ]
no subject
How old are you?
no subject
One hundred and twenty-seven.
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Is it difficult, to live so long?
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[ It's just how he is. His people haven't known shorter lives. ]