ext_260359 ([identity profile] deadly-velvet.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] paixaorpg2006-06-16 01:49 am

Where's Mother? [Active]

Character(s): Yazoo, Olette, Ivy, and open to anyone around.
Content: Yazoo enters Paixao and gets a little pushy 'cause, hey, the boy does not do lines.
Setting: Niflheim Gate.
Time: Sunday morning.
Warnings: None at the moment.


With an almost childish scoff, Yazoo realized he hadn't recalled how he'd gotten here. One moment he'd been minding quite a bit of his own business, and the next he'd found himself staring at an excruciatingly long line a good five feet in front of him. Anything that had transpired between the changing of locations conveniently consisted of nothing more than darkness and emptiness; memories that didn't exist, that nagged at him the way confusion and complicated, intelligent matters nagged at a child.

In all honesty, he didn't care where he was. All he wanted to know was where Kadaj and Loz were, and whether or not this -- he took a moment to examine his surroundings with such disinterest he didn't bother retaining much of the information he took in, and stepped up to the back of the line -- place would hinder the plans that were crucial to Reunion.

He had plenty of time to wonder on these important matters, he found. Lots of time. Too much time. So much, in fact, he eventually ran out of things to think about and started all over again from topic #1.

One thing was for certain: this line wasn't cutting it.

With a snarky, holier-than-thou click of his tongue, he stepped from the line and proceeded toward the front, Hell-bent on bypassing anyone who wasn't worth his time, which just so happened to be everyone. Unfortunately, entrance through the oddly attractive gate wasn't so easy, and a hand was held up before him, blocking his passage. He glanced beside and behind him at the several people in the line who looked as though they wanted to rip his head off, then looked back at the man blocking him just in time to hear "Hello! May I have your name, ma'am?"

Insert a blank expression here, please and thank you. Have a nice day!

"Where is mother?" he asked, precise and to the point, as he stared the man down with a deceptively sweet expression. Again, his name was asked, and his question repeated, though the tone of his voice began to grow quite irritated by the fifth cycle.

Eventually, he caved in. "Yazoo- I don't care where I am- Where's Mother?" Again, his question went largely unanswered, instead replied to with a pathetically sympathetic expression as he was handed a small rectangular device, several pamphlets, and enthusiastic "welcome to Paixao!" greetings. This was all regarded with a confused expression, one that only seemed entirely too obvious as he stared up at the icy gate, his arms full of what he was sure was useless garbage.

This was...

He pouted for a moment, figuring Loz and Kadaj had had to endure the same problem and must have already entered the city. The thought was encouraging and he passed through the gate with an alarmingly superior "I couldn't care less~" attitude, without muttering so much as a "thank you" to those who had offered him these strange gifts.

[identity profile] originalnorange.livejournal.com 2006-06-17 12:27 am (UTC)(link)
Well, this was quite a fix Olette had gotten herself into. She'd gotten seperated from her friends somehow the previous day, and had spent most of the rest of it wandering around looking for them. She'd finally spent the night at a less-than-five-star hotel, and found that she needed to get a job... and fast! She was pretty short on cash already. She was checking the messageboards for any job offers when she ran into someone.

Someone tall.

Someone taller than her.

Someone taller than her with silver hair and an attitude.

Olette picked her journal up off of the ground, making a mental note NEVER to play around with it while she was walking. Ever.

"I'm sorry mister, I wasn't looking where I was going...."

[identity profile] originalnorange.livejournal.com 2006-06-17 02:11 am (UTC)(link)
(( No problem~~~~! ))

Well, at least he didn't seem too mad. But the 'getting in her personal space' thing was just a mite bit unnerving.

"-really so interesting you can't pay attention to anything else?"

Face flushing in embarassment, Olette wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Have you seen anyone else with silver hair? Maybe a boy with shoulder-length hair? Eyes like mine? I need to find him. His name is Kadaj. Or-" He half-smiled. Apparently everything he did was done in halves. "A taller man with short hair? He might have been crying if you saw him."

Ah! Somebody else new to Paixao. Well, at least they had that in common. She thought for a moment. Silver hair? She hadn't seen any people like that in Paixao, other than him.... "No, I didn't. I'm sorry.... Oh! But I know where you can look."

[identity profile] originalnorange.livejournal.com 2006-06-17 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
"You know that little square thing?" Olette motioned to the device in his hands. "Well, you can use it to go to this... message board thingie. Here, look." She opened her own journal and moved over to his side so they could both see the screen. She accessed the messageboard and pointed out how to post.

"See, you can ask about them here. It's really useful! Oh, and you can post on this kind of... public journal. Thing. Get it?" She was fully willing to explain it again; she'd learned to be patient with people, especially with the hot-headed ones like Hayner.

[identity profile] originalnorange.livejournal.com 2006-06-17 02:58 am (UTC)(link)
"You're very welcome." This man seemed so... child-like, somehow, which struck her as odd; he appeared to be older than she was, and yet somehow he seemed younger. Maybe it was the giggle? The curious expression? Whatever it was, it poked at that maternal instinct all females had.

"So, if you don't mind me asking.... What's your name?"

[identity profile] originalnorange.livejournal.com 2006-06-17 04:12 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh, there's one in the journal." Olette pointed to a relatively small, inconspicuous button in the corner of the screen. "Everybody has trouble finding it at first. I'm Olette, by the way."

'Hmm.... Yazoo, huh? Doesn't ring a bell. Well, I guess he's not someone I've forgotten. There seem to be a lot of memory problems going around....'

[identity profile] originalnorange.livejournal.com 2006-06-17 05:31 am (UTC)(link)
"I will be able to contact you through this, right?"

"Yes. You can contact anyone else that has a journal." Olette backed up this statement with an affirmative nod.

"And you- if you see my brothers, you will tell them I am here?"

"Of course! One of them was named Kadaj, right? And the other one's name was...." Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as she tried to remember whether Yazoo had told her his other brother's name.

[identity profile] originalnorange.livejournal.com 2006-06-17 05:58 am (UTC)(link)
...Wow, that smile was kind of... creepy. Well, she couldn't blame the guy for at least trying to smile... and boy was he trying hard.

"You wouldn't want to make them mad."

"Ah." Olette tried hard not to let the sudden rush of nervousness she felt show, and barely succeeded. "Thanks for the warning. I'll keep an eye out for them."

(( ZOMG gotta go ta bed. D: C'YA IN THE MORNING! *will probably be on right after she wakes up* ))

[identity profile] twisting-edge.livejournal.com 2006-06-18 04:23 am (UTC)(link)
Clarity was confused and transient, vanishing in the blink of a squinting eye after sensitive eyes encountered the thick, painful beams of wholesome light. The cool darkness provided by closed lids was a relief fated to be temporary...unlike the sharp, mind-throttling migraine that made its presence known when the sea and the sky met within those same eyes again.

It was a painting, reflective of a dream...

The tensing of muscles, accompanied by the dull ache that seized the majority of muscles within the body, contradicted the previous assumption and dared to dictate otherwise, prompting a startling realization: it wasn't a dream.

Immature panic melted away and allowed room for confusion to rise as slender fingers found the single most important treasure to be had in dream or reality. Clutching her beloved with a gloved hand, Ivy sat up slowly and allowed her eyes to fall upon what should have been the floor of Valentine Mansion. She had meant to move faster, but the contents within her skull lurched forward and warned against it. It was only after she found some solid piece of mind that she opened her eyes and made a startling discovery.

The floor had been misplaced, as well as the ceiling, and the text she had been deciphering for months was nowhere to be seen. Speaking of nowhere...

"The bloody Hell...!" The white-haired woman whispered, pushing the uneven white tresses from her left eye with her free hand as she stood. A quick study was made of her immediate surroundings. There was a gate composed of what appeared to be silver ice, a lengthy line of people likely waiting to enter a massive...structure, and nothing was familiar.

Sheathing her beloved with the utmost care, Ivy made her way to the line and walked alongside it, issuing a thousand 'heartfelt' pardons in passing. Had she received a thousand 'hearfelt' curses in response, she would not have been concerned. She was too busy trying to decipher the new puzzle into which she had fallen.

Ivy continued alongside the line, sparing the strangers a glance every now and then as if studying them...until she happened upon a rather cheeky looking fellow with a voice that grated upon her nerves.

"Hello! May I have your name, ma'am?"

"Where am I?" The thick British accent was as rich and thick as honey, but not quite as pleasant. A sliver of irritation was audible in her voice. Despite her...feelings, she managed to tack a semi-polite "sir" to the end of her question. The man, in turn, countered with his first question.

Same song, four verses later...

"Ivy. Now, where the bloody hell am I?" Irritation and frustration had won out. Ivy wanted an answer to the single, simple question. The least the man could do was tell her where--"Welcome to Paixao!" The man exclaimed with all the enthusiasm of an underpaid actor...perhaps not so much an underpaid actor as a comedically challenged clown--she was.

Several pamphlets and a small rectangular device were thrust into her hands with fervor, resulting in the raising of a slender brow. She opened her mouth to speak, but wasn't given the opportunity to do so due to the man's prompt cry of, "Next, please!"

Confusion, coupled with exasperation, encouraged her to take those few steps through the gate and into this "Paixao" place. It wasn't as if there was another place she could have gone. She didn't even know where on Earth she was. "Paixao" was a very vague answer. It was also useless to her, considering she had never heard of a "Paixao"; though, the dialect sounded vaguely familiar. The migraine discouraged her from considering the matter further as she studied her surroundings with care, her blue eyes dropping to the pamphlet every few moments to soak in what little -- and prevailingly useless -- knowledge the paper offered.

The people were...monotonous. Blond hair, blue eyes, and startlingly pale skin were constant features of the city's inhabitants. The style of clothing was unfamiliar, as well. She hadn't seen anything quite like it in her travels. Such monotony was absurd.

[identity profile] twisting-edge.livejournal.com 2006-06-18 04:23 am (UTC)(link)


The longer she walked, the more solid her belief that she would find no one that wasn't blond-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned, and oddly dressed. Just as she was about to give up, a sliver of brown caught her eye. There were two of them, two deviants standing on the walkway. They, too, were unfamiliar; however, Ivy hadn't thought to look for anyone she knew. People that she knew were not the sort one would seek willingly, certainly not under the present circumstances.

Slowing her pace a bit, Ivy continued to approach the duo at a slightly slower pace. She noted what appeared to be nervousness clouding the brunette's features; though, she couldn't imagine why. The silver-haired girl didn't seem hostile to be hostile...or perhaps the two were in a situation similar to her own? Perhaps...

There was only one way to find out.

"Pardon me, ladies," Ivy said, coming to a halt a few steps from the two, "I couldn't help but notice...you aren't from around here." She didn't bother questioning an apparent fact. Their clothing was different, yes, but not the same as the monotonous individuals. Lifting her eyes to meet theirs, she did not bother softening her accent; though, she did allow some softness into her features. After all, she didn't want to scare the poor dears. "Would you happen to know anything about this place? ...Other than the name?"

[identity profile] originalnorange.livejournal.com 2006-06-18 05:26 am (UTC)(link)
Olette turned to look at this newcomer. Before the woman even spoke, she knew that she was not a native; the different coloring always gave it away.

"Pardon me, ladies," Ivy said, coming to a halt a few steps from the two, "I couldn't help but notice...you aren't from around here."

"...Ladies?" She blinked, a confused expression slipping onto her face. She looked over at Yazoo, as if to ask for help, but then realized why the newcomer had been confused; he was rather... feminine. She cleared her throat, cheeks reddening slightly in embarassment; embarassment for the woman, that she made such a mistake, and embarassment for Yazoo that he was mistaken for a woman.

She cleared her throat, attempting to frame her next statement in the least embarassing or offending way possible. "Um...." Very eloquent.

"Would you happen to know anything about this place? ...Other than the name?"

"He'saguy." she blurted out, immediately afterwards changing the subject to the woman's question. "I don't know all THAT much about this place, but that thing," She motioned to the little square. "is a journal. An electronic journal. There's this... messageboard. Thing." She cleared her throat again. It was a little hard to talk with that embarassing moment still fresh in her mind; she'd never dealt particularly well with things like that.