It is Time [Completed]

[dix-des-coeurs.livejournal.com]

Characters: Luxord, Machu Picchu, Albedo, and whoever else is crazy enough to interrupt this menage a trois.
Content: Number X enters Paixao. Chaos ensues.
Setting: Muspelheim Gate
Time: Morning
Warnings: Snark? None yet, really.

It was a beautiful morning.

Ironically, whenever the Organization arrived on a world, it tended to be a beautiful morning.

Those never lasted long.

Luxord idly wondered whether Paixao would share the same fate as other worlds had before it – engulfed by darkness, the remaining fragments scattered across space, congregating and merging to form little half-worlds in the twilight.

Probably.

But for now, it was a beautiful morning, and Luxord had to enter the city before he could do any real damage.

He stood patiently in line, his black cloak the only features setting him apart from the multitudes of blonde, blue-eyed people before and behind him. No sense causing a commotion this early in the game – he didn’t want people remembering him when the real trouble started. No, better to wait patiently for now.

Except he didn’t need to be patient.

He allowed a slight smile to play across his lips as he grasped the threads of time before him and pulled slightly, increasing the speed of the time around the gate and the line he was in. When a twenty-minute wait had passed in five, he released the threads and let time settle back into its normal tempo.

It was then that the gatekeeper addressed him. “Name, sir?”

“Ludor,” he replied smoothly. Well, it wasn’t technically a lie.

Not that he cared.

“Thank you, sir.” The gatekeeper carefully recorded the pseudonym in his records and gestured towards a second booth. “If you’ll go to the second booth, you’ll receive your journal.”

Luxord continued on and picked up a sleek black rectangle from the second booth, barely hearing the gatekeeper’s final words to him: “Welcome to Paixao! Enjoy your stay.”

I rather think I will.

Comments

[cloak-of-white.livejournal.com]

Albedo smirked at the black cloaked stranger, and folded his arms as he levitated a little ways into the air. "That's for me to know and you to find out, now isn't it?" he asked with a sardonic smile.

Taking a moment to float forward, he sized up the bird-winged woman. She was a colorful one, indeed, but he'd seen more impressive beings - being from a time when humanity stretched to the furthest corners of the known universe had its advantages. "Ahhh, but spatial distortions are something of a specialty of mine, ma péche."

He was, of course, hiding quite a bit. But then, when you're dealing with a certifiable madman, who can say what is truth and what is fiction? To someone with Power, anything imaginable is possible.

Albedo had Power. And he also had the imagination of a madman. A truly dangerous combination.

He also didn't care particularly about the weather. The rain still refused to touch him, and he couldn't have cared less about the cold - he was, after all, already dead in a very real sense. But even before that, he'd been more or less immune to temperature... It came with the territory of being designed to kill God.