OMG OMG AMBER OMG
Jun. 15th, 2005 02:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evilbeejLSV: Between the Essence and the Descent
...lies the Shade. Hello, Thom.
WHO: Star Boy (emits by Cosmic Boy)
WHERE: Opal City, Central Metropolis Megalopolis, Earth
WHAT: Thom is invited to answers, and gets the ones he wasn't even asking questions for.
Written in an elegant hand, on fine parchment in a paper envelope - yes, paper, the kind made from trees - was the invitation, addressed to Thomas Kallor. Underneath the name is his codename, Star Boy; if the invitation is turned over, it's addressed to Daniel Blaine, codenamed Starman.
Inside the envelope, perfectly exquisitely precisely folded paper, when unfolded, revealed the following message in the same elegant script:
Information is yours for the asking;
all you need do is stop believing
that the future is written in stone.
Meet me at the cafe on the corner
of Robinson and Harris
in Old Opal, Central Metropolis.
With the end of the convention, Thom is still around on Earth, finishing up some last minute details. He has been searching for a few Xanthuans, inviting them for a job on Winath for a certain Legionaire. He has also been checking in on a group of Legion fans, making sure they were doing okay. It's the right thing to do to make sure the three were okay. You do a good deed and it effects others, right?
Thom just raises his eyebrows as he feels the texture of the paper envelope. "They still make these things?" He asks before flipping it over in his hands. He just blinks in surprise at the sight of the name. He looks around before carefully opening the letter. What if it is message from the past sent to him? He reads over the lines carefully before tugging the letter away. He doesn't wait long as he takes to the air, making his way to the location. Besides, who else could possibly know about Danny Blaine. Just a few people.
The flight from the convention center to Opal City is gloriously brief; old Metro and Opal were close together, in the same small state, both port cities. Now that the Metropolis megalopolis has eaten the entire East Coast, what once were cities are now districts, still called by their old names. And Opal, the loveliest city the Eastern seaboard had to offer, is still this:
Buildings quaintly low by modern standards, bedecked with whorls and sculpting, marble and granite, lovingly kept up and occasionally restored against the wear of the weather. Some gothic architecture, but mostly modernist, Art Nouveau and Art Deco - the clean lines and curves of Mucha mix with the sharp angles and unexpected arcs of Wright. The city never grew old; the city never stayed young. It is Opal; it is immortal.
Thom lands close to the cafe in Opal City district. He looks around upon the buildings and the landscape, having visited the district once or twice since finding out that he might be spending alot more time here in the future. He looks to the cafe before sighing out and crossing the street to head in.
And the cafe - well. It says 'Idle Idyll 'Caf Cafe'; the door's open, but there's no one inside. It is, in fact, utterly deserted. The decor is marvellous - muted colors and silver fixtures, a long counter running the length of one side of the room, tabletops a dusty rose and seats tan. All the details match those of the city, though the place is obviously fairly modern...
...and there's not even a staff there, keeping the place from being looted or vandalised. And the door, open...
There's another note on the counter, folded down the middle again, standing up in a neat triangle - bright white against the faded sedate colorscheme. This one reads:
Greetings again, fellow navigator;
you come in search of answers
that I alone hold.
Your light is diffuse, obscured.
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion--
Wake the Dreamer, or you will find yourself
waking the Dreamer.
PS: Run.
A ticking sound becomes audible.
Thom looks around the cafe as he steps in. "Not a bad place." He comments outloud to himself. "Could use a staff, though. Hello?" He calls out, cupping a hand. He walks in further until he sees the folded sheet of paper. He looks around again as he walks up to take up the paper. He reads over the words, his brain trying to decipher the words when he hears the tickling. "Oh Nass.." He says before taking out to run as quickly as he can out the door.
The explosion follows Thom, loud and hot and bright--
It's fire and shrapnel, coughing out pieces of shattered tables and splintered chairs along with the massive plate-glass windows, billowing black smoke and heat and acrid fumes--
And there's no one in the street.
All around Star Boy is chaos and confusion and noise and flames and pelting bits of sharp debris, and blackness after the brilliant show the initial explosion caused.
Blackness. Darkness.
The brighter the light, the darker...
...the Shade.
The noise abruptly ceases, the fire crackling away somewhere, to be sure, but certainly not here. Certainly not here in the dark, where Thom is, singed and tainted with smoke - it was all in the air, it was everywhere. Here in the shadows, there's only Star Boy and the man standing in front of him, mildly amused.
Tall and thin, straight-backed and fair of face, though with crow-black hair and equally black clothing. Atop his head is a top hat; his suit (white shirt and all) is dapper and expensive, though over a thousand years out of date. Both hands are outstretched in front of him, loosely holding the cap of a black walking-stick with a silver handle. "Most excellent, my young friend. You follow directions quite well."
Thom leaps into the air, trying to clear some distances from the building as it goes up. His hand is behind him, trying to protect himself by protecting a heavy wave behind him to knock away the debris. He can feel the fire and smoke coming upon him, no matter what his attempt. He lands upon the ground with a soft oof before he looks up and finds....Darkness. He stands up slowly, looking around as the shadows creep around him. "Long time, no see." He calls out to the voice until he finally finds him. "You're not the one set the bomb, are you?"
"Of course I am, dear boy," laughs the Shade, lifting a hand to wave it in front of him, dismissively. Then he's lifting it higher, taking off his hat, blowing ash off of it; while he doesn't wear spectacles, he nevertheless looks down his nose at the hat as he brushes at it afterwards, eyebrows up.
"I imagined that you might have felt somewhat--" Here the Shade pauses, searching for a word and looking absently into the darkness for a second; he replaces his hat and continues, "--left out, shall we say? Unattended, at the very least. And I can't have *that*; I've seen what you become. I can only conclude, given the information at my disposal, that the duty to step up to the role of your antagonist is mine. I *must* see to it that what you *are* develops correctly into what you *will* be, when next your life intertwines with mine."
Smiling encouragingly, the slender Victorian man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of gloves, which he proceeds to delicately pull over his hands. "Thus, I've taken it upon myself to seek out this 'Legion of Super-Villains' with which you and your comrades have had such frightfully ignoble encounters, and see that you're dealt with *properly*. I *do* hope you understand, this is for your own good..."
Thom just looks at the Victorian Man as he tries to explain his reasoning behind his action. He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "No, I haven't been feeling left out. Too busy with other things." He sighs out, shaking his head slowly before reaching a hand out, trying to tug the gloves off his hands. "Want to be my antagonist? You need to get your hands dirty. And...you simply could have answered with a yes."
Laughing again, the Shade lifts his hands away from Thom's reach, one still holding the cane. "Tut-tut, young squire; I *never* get my hands dirty. And you offend me deeply; you wound me to the /quick/ with the suggestion that anything I do could ever sink so low as simplicity." Then, eyebrows up, he adds in a much more quiet, more warning voice, "To every Legionnaire, there is an opposite, Star Boy. I *do* believe you'd rather *me* than someone who wished you ill."
Voice lighter again, the gentleman adds, "Which brings me to the advance apology: you oughtn't have any permanent problems regarding the events of the next minute, but I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, nonetheless."
Swinging his cane around with a jolly, cheerful air and a lightness to his step, the enigma once known as Richard Swift - lifetimes ago - starts to walk off; as he walks, he dissolves into the shadows. "'Let me be no nearer / In death's dream kingdom / Let me also wear / Such deliberate disguises'... ... ...*
Achingly slowly, the darkness fades and ambient sound returns: crackling fire, sirens, shouting, accusations, a news announcer's voice.
"...-gionnaire Star Boy, the Xanthuan hero and savior, the cause of such wanton destruction? He was seen going in, seconds before the explosion that totalled the historic Swift building, currently closed for renovations..."
-FIN-
...lies the Shade. Hello, Thom.
WHO: Star Boy (emits by Cosmic Boy)
WHERE: Opal City, Central Metropolis Megalopolis, Earth
WHAT: Thom is invited to answers, and gets the ones he wasn't even asking questions for.
Written in an elegant hand, on fine parchment in a paper envelope - yes, paper, the kind made from trees - was the invitation, addressed to Thomas Kallor. Underneath the name is his codename, Star Boy; if the invitation is turned over, it's addressed to Daniel Blaine, codenamed Starman.
Inside the envelope, perfectly exquisitely precisely folded paper, when unfolded, revealed the following message in the same elegant script:
Information is yours for the asking;
all you need do is stop believing
that the future is written in stone.
Meet me at the cafe on the corner
of Robinson and Harris
in Old Opal, Central Metropolis.
With the end of the convention, Thom is still around on Earth, finishing up some last minute details. He has been searching for a few Xanthuans, inviting them for a job on Winath for a certain Legionaire. He has also been checking in on a group of Legion fans, making sure they were doing okay. It's the right thing to do to make sure the three were okay. You do a good deed and it effects others, right?
Thom just raises his eyebrows as he feels the texture of the paper envelope. "They still make these things?" He asks before flipping it over in his hands. He just blinks in surprise at the sight of the name. He looks around before carefully opening the letter. What if it is message from the past sent to him? He reads over the lines carefully before tugging the letter away. He doesn't wait long as he takes to the air, making his way to the location. Besides, who else could possibly know about Danny Blaine. Just a few people.
The flight from the convention center to Opal City is gloriously brief; old Metro and Opal were close together, in the same small state, both port cities. Now that the Metropolis megalopolis has eaten the entire East Coast, what once were cities are now districts, still called by their old names. And Opal, the loveliest city the Eastern seaboard had to offer, is still this:
Buildings quaintly low by modern standards, bedecked with whorls and sculpting, marble and granite, lovingly kept up and occasionally restored against the wear of the weather. Some gothic architecture, but mostly modernist, Art Nouveau and Art Deco - the clean lines and curves of Mucha mix with the sharp angles and unexpected arcs of Wright. The city never grew old; the city never stayed young. It is Opal; it is immortal.
Thom lands close to the cafe in Opal City district. He looks around upon the buildings and the landscape, having visited the district once or twice since finding out that he might be spending alot more time here in the future. He looks to the cafe before sighing out and crossing the street to head in.
And the cafe - well. It says 'Idle Idyll 'Caf Cafe'; the door's open, but there's no one inside. It is, in fact, utterly deserted. The decor is marvellous - muted colors and silver fixtures, a long counter running the length of one side of the room, tabletops a dusty rose and seats tan. All the details match those of the city, though the place is obviously fairly modern...
...and there's not even a staff there, keeping the place from being looted or vandalised. And the door, open...
There's another note on the counter, folded down the middle again, standing up in a neat triangle - bright white against the faded sedate colorscheme. This one reads:
Greetings again, fellow navigator;
you come in search of answers
that I alone hold.
Your light is diffuse, obscured.
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion--
Wake the Dreamer, or you will find yourself
waking the Dreamer.
PS: Run.
A ticking sound becomes audible.
Thom looks around the cafe as he steps in. "Not a bad place." He comments outloud to himself. "Could use a staff, though. Hello?" He calls out, cupping a hand. He walks in further until he sees the folded sheet of paper. He looks around again as he walks up to take up the paper. He reads over the words, his brain trying to decipher the words when he hears the tickling. "Oh Nass.." He says before taking out to run as quickly as he can out the door.
The explosion follows Thom, loud and hot and bright--
It's fire and shrapnel, coughing out pieces of shattered tables and splintered chairs along with the massive plate-glass windows, billowing black smoke and heat and acrid fumes--
And there's no one in the street.
All around Star Boy is chaos and confusion and noise and flames and pelting bits of sharp debris, and blackness after the brilliant show the initial explosion caused.
Blackness. Darkness.
The brighter the light, the darker...
...the Shade.
The noise abruptly ceases, the fire crackling away somewhere, to be sure, but certainly not here. Certainly not here in the dark, where Thom is, singed and tainted with smoke - it was all in the air, it was everywhere. Here in the shadows, there's only Star Boy and the man standing in front of him, mildly amused.
Tall and thin, straight-backed and fair of face, though with crow-black hair and equally black clothing. Atop his head is a top hat; his suit (white shirt and all) is dapper and expensive, though over a thousand years out of date. Both hands are outstretched in front of him, loosely holding the cap of a black walking-stick with a silver handle. "Most excellent, my young friend. You follow directions quite well."
Thom leaps into the air, trying to clear some distances from the building as it goes up. His hand is behind him, trying to protect himself by protecting a heavy wave behind him to knock away the debris. He can feel the fire and smoke coming upon him, no matter what his attempt. He lands upon the ground with a soft oof before he looks up and finds....Darkness. He stands up slowly, looking around as the shadows creep around him. "Long time, no see." He calls out to the voice until he finally finds him. "You're not the one set the bomb, are you?"
"Of course I am, dear boy," laughs the Shade, lifting a hand to wave it in front of him, dismissively. Then he's lifting it higher, taking off his hat, blowing ash off of it; while he doesn't wear spectacles, he nevertheless looks down his nose at the hat as he brushes at it afterwards, eyebrows up.
"I imagined that you might have felt somewhat--" Here the Shade pauses, searching for a word and looking absently into the darkness for a second; he replaces his hat and continues, "--left out, shall we say? Unattended, at the very least. And I can't have *that*; I've seen what you become. I can only conclude, given the information at my disposal, that the duty to step up to the role of your antagonist is mine. I *must* see to it that what you *are* develops correctly into what you *will* be, when next your life intertwines with mine."
Smiling encouragingly, the slender Victorian man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of gloves, which he proceeds to delicately pull over his hands. "Thus, I've taken it upon myself to seek out this 'Legion of Super-Villains' with which you and your comrades have had such frightfully ignoble encounters, and see that you're dealt with *properly*. I *do* hope you understand, this is for your own good..."
Thom just looks at the Victorian Man as he tries to explain his reasoning behind his action. He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "No, I haven't been feeling left out. Too busy with other things." He sighs out, shaking his head slowly before reaching a hand out, trying to tug the gloves off his hands. "Want to be my antagonist? You need to get your hands dirty. And...you simply could have answered with a yes."
Laughing again, the Shade lifts his hands away from Thom's reach, one still holding the cane. "Tut-tut, young squire; I *never* get my hands dirty. And you offend me deeply; you wound me to the /quick/ with the suggestion that anything I do could ever sink so low as simplicity." Then, eyebrows up, he adds in a much more quiet, more warning voice, "To every Legionnaire, there is an opposite, Star Boy. I *do* believe you'd rather *me* than someone who wished you ill."
Voice lighter again, the gentleman adds, "Which brings me to the advance apology: you oughtn't have any permanent problems regarding the events of the next minute, but I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, nonetheless."
Swinging his cane around with a jolly, cheerful air and a lightness to his step, the enigma once known as Richard Swift - lifetimes ago - starts to walk off; as he walks, he dissolves into the shadows. "'Let me be no nearer / In death's dream kingdom / Let me also wear / Such deliberate disguises'... ... ...*
Achingly slowly, the darkness fades and ambient sound returns: crackling fire, sirens, shouting, accusations, a news announcer's voice.
"...-gionnaire Star Boy, the Xanthuan hero and savior, the cause of such wanton destruction? He was seen going in, seconds before the explosion that totalled the historic Swift building, currently closed for renovations..."
-FIN-
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-07-14 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-29 10:18 pm (UTC)Metro: OM NOM NOM
Opal: Eek! But I'm little and pretty!
Metro: Ok you can be your own little district. Like Gotham.
Opal: *weeps*
Metro: NOM NOM NOM
no subject
Date: 2008-07-30 01:23 am (UTC)