ataraxion | oo1. t e x t

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oo1. t e x t

Good evening, Tranquility.
Shall we discuss ☺ ?

[ All individual entries are high encryption. Hackable with some work or by extreme skill ( re: JARVIS, etc ]

001 » 012 -- Natasha Romanoff
This seems to be a trend for you.

002 » 083 -- Thor Odinson
Everything leaves in the end. What does that say about you, Odinson?

002 » 023 -- (2009) Sherlock Holmes
If the entity is not human, and passengers on board are not human, what then stops residents from provoking it, exactly?

001 » 198 -- (BBC) Sherlock Holmes
You have been here since the ship began bringing foreign bodies in, correct?

008 » 095 -- Charles Xavier
The child lies, Asgardians are dangerous.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Let's start a club.

There's a silence, then- ]

Nay, I do not think so. The cures we found are on the ship themselves. [ A beat. ] The sickness did not affect all - there are some who are immune, though we do not yet know the reason.

[ Another beat. ]

'Tis perhaps foolish, but the wariness that the ship's inhabitants hold towards the red smile puzzles me. Two amongst the list have died, aye, but I do not think it the cause.

Not that is interesting.

[ There is a small pause ]

He puzzles, himself. He does not seem desirous of murder, but I think he not innocent. I think he wants to play.

'Tis a poor site for games. [ A little dryly. ]

Does the ranger have a name?

Strider.

What of yours?

Lucas.

Well met. [ Pause. ]

You do not seem a man to have so simple a name.

Nor you, I'd say. But what titles hold meaning when worlds are lost?

We're just men, here. [ That was slightly disgusting to say, but it will be worth it. ]

[ He pauses for a long moment. ]

A man once said: 'tis one's duty to acknowledge one's rank, for 'tis insult otherwise.

And what of a King with no people, does his rank yet hold? I bare no crown of fortune, here. Simply I come to the sides of all else taken from what was their own.

So tell me this: with the men amongst us from days where Kingdoms are lost, would my claim make but an empty echo.

Edited 2012-07-15 16:07 (UTC)

Why say you that the Kingdoms are already lost?

That we are here, and not there. What of those with no Heir? What happens to our homes.

I know not. [ That is his worry. ]

There is only a word of one of my home to tell me that it is still safe. [ Beat. ] Yet I would wish to return to it as swiftly as I can.

[ He spares a silence for a moment before speaking. A flawless act, words quiet. Concerned, worried, full of dread; but Prideful as any man in his assumed position. ]

I had none.

My father is old, I fear he could not hold our lands by his own. Not against the forces that came at us barely a day before I found myself here.

[ A pause, then he says- ]

Is this conversation well secured?

Tis best I can do. I had learned from another it is.

Perhaps we should meet, have you concern.
I understand the need of privacy.

I will have to ask for you to come to the gardens, if you know the way.

'Tis not a light matter.

"I will see you there." Were the last words to be spoken for some time. Loki had done enough snooping around to have a general idea of where things were, and while it was easy to get lost.A little magic never hurt.

Although what he did find was the landing was not exactly too smooth. Luckily hidden, but he needed just a moment to regather himself. Just a second. And lodge that away to consider later.

Until then, forward he moved.

The gardens had become much of a refuge for the uncrowned King, but not even a Ranger such as he could know every single corner of the vast place. It was too large and he had been here for too short a time to know it all.

But he knew when there was another presence within the place, and he turned towards the doors that led to the gardens. When Lucas came from another direction, Aragorn's brows furrowed- but he turned, nonetheless.

"'Tis a great ship," he murmured, voice low. He was dressed in his usual Ranger's garb, Anduril strapped by his side and Ring of Barahir gleaming on long fingers, the metal polished still despite the dirt under his nails.

"But you seem to have found your place quickly."

As he forwarded, he felt something. Something hot, something - something he could not quite place. It had power. It had great power but to what he did not know. Yet he followed it, and thus here they were.

He looked ever the part, Aragorn. And in return, as did Loki. Literally full armor. Very well dressed, though. Such immaculate detail and design. Clearly someone of wealth, someone of great power, and someone who were to be in war. The long green cloak at his back. He was armed, but he didn't look it. Not that it would matter anyway.

"I were not far away," his voice is modest, but keeps it's tone steady. Hands come to fold in front of his body.

It was not Loki's armour that convinced Aragorn that his station was as he had saw - no, even the poorest of peasants could be dressed as a King. It was in his carriage, in the steps he took, in the straight lines of his shoulders and back. Aragorn had known Men of renown and Elves of greater fame- and strange, for there was little reason to think Lucas to be aught but a Man- yet there was something in his complexion, in his eyes, that had Aragorn thinking of the Elves.

He inclined his head at the words before he half-turned away, looking out at the plants. His gaze found Lucas's, caught it- "Will you walk with me?"

It was not in his way to delay what he wished to say, but Aragorn had been hiding his true self for too long. Not merely on this ship, but back home as well- and not once had he ever claimed with words to be Isildur's heir, to be an uncrowned King. His Ring and his sword had spoken well enough for him, but the words they said now were an unknown language to those here.

And Aragorn would have to find his own.

Such things were his nature. Elegance and grace in his step. He was always the agile one. Quick and slippery, knowing when to strike, where to strike, and how to do it. He was a snake, and those green eyes took in everything. Soaked it all in like a sponge.

This man, a man of time, was just a man in flesh. And Loki had far too great an ego to think more than thus. Perhaps gifted with what lay at his hip, but he were a man, and no matter the status of said man he were simply a man. Like those he fought on Earth, with great power beyond the normal understanding of what a mortal can do, nevertheless were they human. They broke and they bled.

Loki dipped his head, just slight, as he would. And followed forward. "You carry a heavy burden, I feel."

Edited 2012-07-16 15:08 (UTC)

A perceptive Man, as well. Aragorn glanced at him for a moment.

"Aye," he said. And he stopped, reaching out. His readings had told him that this plant was a bamboo, and he would have to take the words for it, for he knew it not. But these plants were aplenty in the gardens, and Aragorn had known it well the past few months.

"I had not lied, Lucas," he begun, "but neither had I spoken the whole truth. 'Strider' was a name given to me by the halflings, a people of great bravery and strength, but my father had named me Aragorn, the last in the line of Isildur's heirs."

He took a deep breath. Kirk and Jarvis and Brendan had known him by his legends, but none here had ever been told of his true self. But Lucas had spoken of kingship and the fears of one who was meant to rule, but was snatched away to this place before they could serve their country.

"Before I came, the White Tree of Gondor had bloomed, heralding the return of her true King." He turned around to meet Lucas full in the eye. "Elessar was to be the name of the crowned King, but the ship had cruelly taken me away from the people who needed me."

He drew Anduril then. The sword had glowed only with the light of the Moon since the time he had set foot on this ship, for there was no sun on the Tranquility.

"Its name is Anduril, and 'twas to be the symbol of my rule." A pause, and he shook his head, "I wish not to lie to one who understands the burdens I hold."

Not Robb Stark, for though he was a King, he was too young- and he was one with his people here, a King who ruled still because he had those whom he served by his side.

It was a simple enough deduction even without being perceptive. If you paid attention, no man who knew little of the subject could relate in such a way unless he is crafted of great knowledge and great skill in lies. No man in no realm lied better than he, as this very meeting would prove. So he allowed the silence to flow as they walked until words came again.

"Many men carry secrets," he would speak. A tone of such understanding, the implied following words: 'men of great burden, men required to lead, need secrets.'

He listened, then. Piecing it all together best he could. About this war, about this man and his skill once had. About the things he would know, the insight he would have as a heir. His entire temperament and history being shared and those he spoke of, these halflings, too.

Then that sword. His body did not wane, he did not show but the slightest - perhaps - intrigue. That was what he felt. It was like Lady Arwen's jewel, almost. He felt uneasy.

What did that say about him? Such a thing of powerful light. He knew what it spoke of him, what it spoke of his very soul. And again he is faced with that trialing thing known as sentiment. A wish he had long ago; barely does it matter now. No, it matters not at all. There was no repenting suit to fit the All-Father's need. He would never be.. he just would never be.

"What language is that?" His brows furrowed, focusing on another point. He would not let such thoughts take hold of him. "Tis familiar, but not quite."

Edited 2012-07-16 17:30 (UTC)

The effect of Anduril on Lucas was not one that Aragorn missed. His eyes narrowed just very slightly, his gaze sharpening almost involuntarily. Unlike Frodo's Sting, Anduril did not glow in response to orcs; it only shone with the light of the moon. Perhaps its light had hurt the man; perhaps Aragorn had trusted too quickly- or maybe he was just surprised by the light.

He turned his mind instead towards the question asked, turning the sword around in his hand and placing it on his hand. Part of him was surprised that Lucas could not read the script, for it seemed that the translator embedded in the numbers on their arms changed all foreign languages to Westron for Aragorn- but he was not much surprised, for he was still capable of teaching Sherlock Holmes Sindarin.

"Quenya," he answered, his voice low. "The script is Tengwar, invented by Fëanor, who created the Silmarils, gems of such great power that the Valar Morgoth had desired them. These are words the Lord of Rivendell had given to me."

He held the sword upwards, two fingers against the sharp blade. From hilt to tip, he moved them carefully, gently- and as he moved, he spoke.

"Anar," his voice had deepened. "Nányë Andúril i né Narsil i macil Elendilo. Lercuvanten i móli Mordórëo. Isil."

In a smooth motion, he swung the sword around, and slid it into its sheathe once more.

"You recognise the words?"

oo1. t e x t

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voice - > Action

action; i would say my prose is rusty but i always prose in action tags so w/e

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