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paixaorpg2006-03-10 01:58 am
paperholic.livejournal.com) wrote in paixaorpg2006-03-10 01:58 am
Entry tags:
Bearings. [Closed]
Character(s): Tseng
Content: Our dear Wutaian enters Paixao and tries to get his bearings.
Setting: Both sides of the Joutenheim Gate
Time: Friday, mid-morning.
Warnings: None
Even as he opened his eyes again, it hit Tseng that something was terribly wrong. The Turk, for one, had expected his body to be riddled with bullets and wounds, among other things, or at least not in the pristine condition that he felt he was currently in; although that was not really a bad thing. Secondly, he had been in the Northern Crater just seconds before, not this... somewhat bright and open field of sorts.
What was this place? The Wutaian cautiously brought himself to his feet, half expecting this to be merely an illusion spell cast by one of the black-clad figures who attacked them, and steadying himself in anticipation of a hidden attack.
To his surprise, none came, even after he had held his stand for a grand total of five minutes.
Curiously turning around to inspect his surroundings, Tseng was only just aware of a looming structure, less than fifty yards away from him, that looked suspiciously like an ornate wrought iron gate, only this was at least two hundred times the size a normal gate would be. And a small line of people at its base. Deciding that it looked harmless enough, the Wutaian made his way over, joining the rapidly diminishing line.
It was not long before he found himself at the desk of whoever he assumed to be the gatekeeper, a spindly old man with nothing but a large book and pen, in which he recorded Tseng's name after a flat inquiry for it.
He was hurried through the doorway, allowed to stop briefly only to accept a sleek, black rectangular object that had been handed to him. Before he knew it, he was on the other side, the chilly air making him shiver slightly, idly wondering if this was what the afterlife was like-
... Wait. Tseng could have sworn it was bright and sunny on the other side of the gate. Bright and sunny usually was not accompanied by anything even remotely cold. This place certainly was odd; but he supposed that he would probably have to get used to it. He noticed a number of empty wooden benches nearby, but it was hardly advisable to sit out in the open air in such cold weather. Instead, Tseng opted to take a walk, turning his attention to the little device that he was given.
Noticing a small, flat button on the side, the Turk pressed it to find that a catch was released, enabling him to flip the top of the object open, revealing a very a screen, a tiny keyboard - he was sure that it would kill his fingers should he try to type with it - and in a little groove slightly above the keys, thank goodness, some sort of stylus which he assumed was for writing on the screen with. He managed to get the power on upon his first try, exploring the capabilities of the tiny object as much as he could. If he was indeed dead, then he had all the time in the world to do so.
Half an hour later, he had determined that the little device was a pocket journal that was hooked up to a citywide network here, and that there was a public message board as well as access to other citizens' journal entries. Something did not seem quite right here... he could have sworn he had seen a few names while he was perusing the entries on the message board which seemed all too familiar to him. And who he was quite sure was not dead. Especially those of a couple of people that seemed to be his Turks. Reno? Elena? He wondered if these two were the same Reno and Elena he used to work with. Those names were not exactly the most unique in the world. Still, Tseng thought, it was worth a shot; no harm in asking. He set to work, making posts, asking questions... and waiting for answers.
Content: Our dear Wutaian enters Paixao and tries to get his bearings.
Setting: Both sides of the Joutenheim Gate
Time: Friday, mid-morning.
Warnings: None
Even as he opened his eyes again, it hit Tseng that something was terribly wrong. The Turk, for one, had expected his body to be riddled with bullets and wounds, among other things, or at least not in the pristine condition that he felt he was currently in; although that was not really a bad thing. Secondly, he had been in the Northern Crater just seconds before, not this... somewhat bright and open field of sorts.
What was this place? The Wutaian cautiously brought himself to his feet, half expecting this to be merely an illusion spell cast by one of the black-clad figures who attacked them, and steadying himself in anticipation of a hidden attack.
To his surprise, none came, even after he had held his stand for a grand total of five minutes.
Curiously turning around to inspect his surroundings, Tseng was only just aware of a looming structure, less than fifty yards away from him, that looked suspiciously like an ornate wrought iron gate, only this was at least two hundred times the size a normal gate would be. And a small line of people at its base. Deciding that it looked harmless enough, the Wutaian made his way over, joining the rapidly diminishing line.
It was not long before he found himself at the desk of whoever he assumed to be the gatekeeper, a spindly old man with nothing but a large book and pen, in which he recorded Tseng's name after a flat inquiry for it.
He was hurried through the doorway, allowed to stop briefly only to accept a sleek, black rectangular object that had been handed to him. Before he knew it, he was on the other side, the chilly air making him shiver slightly, idly wondering if this was what the afterlife was like-
... Wait. Tseng could have sworn it was bright and sunny on the other side of the gate. Bright and sunny usually was not accompanied by anything even remotely cold. This place certainly was odd; but he supposed that he would probably have to get used to it. He noticed a number of empty wooden benches nearby, but it was hardly advisable to sit out in the open air in such cold weather. Instead, Tseng opted to take a walk, turning his attention to the little device that he was given.
Noticing a small, flat button on the side, the Turk pressed it to find that a catch was released, enabling him to flip the top of the object open, revealing a very a screen, a tiny keyboard - he was sure that it would kill his fingers should he try to type with it - and in a little groove slightly above the keys, thank goodness, some sort of stylus which he assumed was for writing on the screen with. He managed to get the power on upon his first try, exploring the capabilities of the tiny object as much as he could. If he was indeed dead, then he had all the time in the world to do so.
Half an hour later, he had determined that the little device was a pocket journal that was hooked up to a citywide network here, and that there was a public message board as well as access to other citizens' journal entries. Something did not seem quite right here... he could have sworn he had seen a few names while he was perusing the entries on the message board which seemed all too familiar to him. And who he was quite sure was not dead. Especially those of a couple of people that seemed to be his Turks. Reno? Elena? He wondered if these two were the same Reno and Elena he used to work with. Those names were not exactly the most unique in the world. Still, Tseng thought, it was worth a shot; no harm in asking. He set to work, making posts, asking questions... and waiting for answers.