TERRACE Draft - Day 1

[lucetimods]

Who: All Draftees
What: Arrival at TERRACE
When: The first day, from 8AM to the wee hours of the night
Where: TERRACE!
Summary: Information post here
Rating: Varies on thread, please mark explicit material.

This post covers the first day, before the attack. Remember, characters here are not expecting an attack and are under the impression they will be going to Region 1 to fight. During this day, draftees will be restricted to T6 and T7 and not permitted access to other areas.

Be sure to tag this post appropriately: [canon] character name

Comments

[complicatedliar]

Loki fell silent for a moment, hand going to his wrist again. His lips compressed in a thin line as he considered this, the invasion into his secrets, the potential uses and harms of it. But while he doubted Buffy would ever act as an ally of his, she seemed good to not have as an enemy, to have as a potentially neutral party should it come to that.

He carefully unlaced the gauntlet enough to push it back, and his sleeve, revealing a thin scar going around the circumference of his wrist.

"Caught it on a metal fence. Nasty business."

[herotypical]

Her eyebrows lift. She'd seen a scar like that once before -- not that long ago, really. Spike and his severed-then-reattached hand. Cut off by a psychotic Slayer. Buffy cleared her throat.

"That's what you get for climbing metal fences," she added to the mythology.

[complicatedliar]

"Chased by an angry cow. I should never have been there."

[herotypical]

"And -- pray tell -- how did you manage to piss off the cow?"

[complicatedliar]

"By accident. I fell into its enclosure and made a bit too much noise extricating myself from its feed trough. Cows are touchy about such things."

[herotypical]

"See? Now I know all I need to know about that scar. Easy peasy."

[complicatedliar]

"And I will be quite pleased if you believe just that, all told. And I shall believe you have had your neck worried by puppies."

[herotypical]

"Dracula, actually," she spoke the truth while knowing that it was so ridiculous that it might be taken for a lie. "In fact, I was bitten by Dracula."

[complicatedliar]

He paused, not so much listening to the words as mulling over the tone and her expression. "Ah. So you would know how silly the book is."

He paused for a long moment, one hand coming up so he could press a finger above his lips. "I was skinned."

[herotypical]

Her eyes didn't even flicker. She was disgusted -- certainly. How could one not be disgusted at the notion of a flaying? But she could on occasion meet even the goriest thoughts with a steely stoicism.

"From the wrist down or the wrist up?"

[complicatedliar]

"Hah." It wasn't a laugh, just a strange exhalation. "Wrist up."

[herotypical]

Coolly, and because she needed to buy herself time to process this information: "You look alright for a mostly flayed man."

[complicatedliar]

"Hah." That same sound again, and he smiled thinly. "We're rather more durable than humans."

[herotypical]

"So my ribs dimly recall the last time I went toe to toe with a god." A sigh. When the topic of being skinned comes up, it was hard not to remember a particular body. "Even still, I'll bet it stung."

[complicatedliar]

"It is a hot, red, grating feeling. To be naked in a way no one is ever meant to be," he said, head tilted slightly. "And I revisit it every so often in my uneasy nights, I'll admit."

[herotypical]

Her morbid curiousity so often got the better of her: "...Did it take long?"

[complicatedliar]

"They took their time. Wouldn't do to damage such a nice hide, you see."

[herotypical]

"...Why'd they leave the hand?"

[complicatedliar]

Loki spread his fingers and examined them. "I imagine the same reason that when one dresses a deer, one doesn't bother with the legs below the first joint. Too much effort for too little useable leather."

[herotypical]

Still on the chilly side: "Are you telling me that someone's running around with a you-coat?"

Callous? Probably. But Buffy had survived this long by not allowing darker details to sink too deep. It was a thing that happened, and that was unfortunate, but she hoarded her more emotional reactions for those she genuinely loved -- not near-strangers telling stories.

[complicatedliar]

He shrugged, face giving away nothing. "Boots, I believe."

[herotypical]

Boots. Her stomach turned. She grimaced. And she glanced back towards the bunk beds. All of this was far too personal. Far too divulge-heavy. She had to escape.

"Look. I...as much as I love a good cautionary tale about the many ways in which a man can be turned into footwear, I kinda have a kid I should be looking after."

[complicatedliar]

Well, he supposed that meant he'd won, in a way. It was the sort of winning that felt distinctly like losing at the same time.

"Of course. Don't let me keep you."