sixthiterationlogs | It's Not the Waking It's the Rising

WHO: Kurt Wagner, You!
WHERE: Fountain (Open to 1), Inn, Various Outdoor Locations
WHEN: Nov. 27 - Dec 4
OPEN TO: OTA, Arrival Locked to 1
WARNINGS: None yet.

Arrival

Yellow eyes open in the dark. It's cold. And he's weightless- wait, no, he's in water. Did he teleport in his sleep? No, that hasn't happened since he was a teenager. He struggles for a few precious seconds to locate the light, and bamfs-

Or not. His movements feel clumsier too, though that might be the oxygen deprivation. It takes him several more seconds to truly register the full extent of his situation as he struggles to the surface- he can't even cling to the stone walls of the well! This is strange.

He gasps loudly as he breaks the surface, groping one arm over the ledge of the fountain and spitting out a mouthful of water. "Scheisse," he coughs as he begins to haul himself over the ledge- and noticing just how much harder it is than it should be to do so. The laws of gravity are not meant to be so restrictive where he is concerned, and he feels downright clumsy. This isn't right.

Also, it is definitely not Central Park.

Inn

Dressed in the dry set of light grey scrubs he'd found in his pack, Kurt has made his way to the social center of the village, even if he's not feeling too much like his usual social self. But there's hot food and, most importantly a roaring fire that he's gotten himself as close to as one can without risking burning off one's fuzz off.

He's got a bowl of something hot that someone was kind enough to spare, and it reminds him enough of the big pots of stew or curry that they'd leave bubbling in big pots around the clock when the circus was performing that it's bringing him some modicum of comfort.

The Great Outdoors

This feeling of unbalance, this simply will not do. If he is to function here as anyone else, he has to get used to life without the superhuman agility he's been used to since his very first steps. So he's found somewhere nice and empty aside from a few felled trees, and clad in sadly very drab scrubs, he's doing what he would with any other setback-

Pushing past it, and with style.

Even with the loss of his powers, he still has his tail. That lends him more balance than most would have, and he's making the most of it as he makes running leap after running leap, pushing himself into handsprings, backflips, using the tree trunks as balance beams.

And, every so often, falling on his fuzzy blue butt. Or face.

The muscle memory of years in the circus and cross-time swashbuckling is still there, it just feels hindered. He can work with hindered. Hindered just means it's harder, not that it can't be done. The effort of having to work these muscles and his spacial awareness this hard means- well, he's not as aware of the rest of his surroundings than he might be.

He does not realize he's being watched until he stops to perch on a sufficiently stable rock to catch his breath.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Kurt offers Bull a fangy smile, and if it's a tired one, the fuzz hides it well. "Please, be my guest." He speaks with some sort of accent, more guttural than Orlesian or Antivan.

"I only arrived here a few hours ago. I have not met many people yet. I am Kurt Wagner, a pleasure, I'm sure."

"Indeed it is" Bull grins. "I am the Iron Bull. And you'll get to know people soon enough" Bull's got an accent as well, though it is hard to place. Just that of someone who isn't a native speaker of English even if he knows it well.

"You've gotten the whole explanation of where you are?"

"I am sometimes also called Nightcrawler," he adds, assuming The Iron Bull is some sort of codename- it looks like it would be an apt one. "And ja, mostly? A man named Zevran pulled me out of the water when I arrived."

"Nightcrawler? You a thief or spy or something with that name? And I know Zevran, he is from the same world as me."

"No, a superhero. But I am normally capable of blending in to the shadows, and my night vision is a bit better than most thanks to the glowing eyes thing. I am never truly in total darkness unless I wish to be." Which is a very optimistic way of looking at the fact that his eyes do in produce bio-luminescence, which a very large percentage of people see as creepy as fuck if not some genuine sign of demonic heritage.

Bull raises an eyebrow at that. "I get what a hero of stories and stuff is, or even the title hero of Ferelden but what is a superhero? Do they all have special names?"

"Mostly, ja. Those who have the luxury do it mostly to keep their identity hidden from public. It is often a thing that places one at odds with the law, and earns you powerful enemies. I can't exactly hide beyond disguising myself in public. I just think it sounds more memorable. And perhaps a mercy to the enemies I best. It sounds much less humiliating to be defeated by the astonishing Nightcrawler than 'Kurt Wagner.'"

He smiles and shrugs after that last bit.

He laughs a little at that. "That is why I picked this name too. Because the Iron Bull brings certain images to mind and I want that. Makes the nobles more likely to hire me and my men."

"Nobility?" Kurt perks up a little. Tales of swords and sorcery are always extra-engaging when they're told from firsthand experience. Visions of bands of mercenaries and pirates dance in his head from the context Bull's given him alone. "I take it you're not a caterer."

Bull laughs at that. "No, no I am not. I am the leader of a mercenary group called Bull's Chargers. We're not cheap but we're worth it."

It's Not the Waking It's the Rising

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