(option 1:) ( the raven he destroyed his chains yes YES the raven is out
well, alright.
he didn't destroy his chains.
he would never.
but someone did. someone did, and when he woke up, someone had put the world to rights, too. it's just too bad someone couldn't put him to rights while they were at it. but then again—no, this is how it should be. this is what he deserves.
julian wakes up outside the rowdy raven. not the hanged raven, but the rowdy alternative. malak circles overhead, squawking until he comes-to. when he does, he's pecked at insistently until he stands. the world is so... bright. the sun is out, a beautiful day in vesuvia. for a few moments he can only stand there, hunched over on bent legs, feathered arms hanging at his sides, wings limp, shoulders slumped, squinting in the daylight. it... almost burns. it does burn. someone comes around the corner and gives a startled gasp at the sight of him. then after the initial shock wears off, a terrified scream. they run away, but so does julian. if you can even call it a "run," the way he staggers and stumbles through the alleys. it's been so long, it's a wonder he can even recall where to go. to his home that's still there just the way he left it, desperately hiding in the shadows whenever he hears anyone walking around nearby. he doesn't have the key anymore, when he gets there. he's too big to fit through the window. he yanks and pulls at the door in desperation, swearing, but can't get it open. he could pull it off its hinges, but before he gets the chance somebody comes around the corner and he flees again.
malak screams overhead, circling. he wonders briefly whether he can fly. he's never tried. he's too afraid to try now, either. instead he frantically ditches town, escaping into the woods where the other monsters live. it's the only place he can think to hide. by the time he's arrived he's terrified half a dozen people and it'd be no surprise if the city guard comes looking for him. defending himself is simple, but he doesn't want to hurt anyone. or scare anyone.
no. nobody can know he's here. not anyone, ever. )
(option 2:) ( everything is as it's been. for years and years and ages and ages and seconds and seconds. monsters outside, monsters inside. illusions, tricks, traps, tragedy. all his friends, probably dead. and if not dead, he can only pray their suffering is minimal. he can only pray that he is doing all the suffering for them instead. he would give anything for that to be true. anything, anything, anything. even though he has already given everything, he would give even more to know—
but he never will. so here he sits.
the hanged raven. it's happy hour. but it's always happy hour. the drinks magically refill. there's food, there's music, there's an endless array of wandering souls to come and go and keep him company a spell, although few ever do. fewer still are real. still, there's drinks. endless drinks. there's a chair with his name on it, practically. there's glass all over the floor, barbed branches winding all throughout the space. an ominous wind filters in through a window that looks open but isn't, really. the light is reddish-orange, flickering. like hellfire.
someone outside screams. probably not real.
he never ever leaves this place. doesn't want to. couldn't, he thinks, if he wanted to. but when the sounds outside continue, something inhuman mixed with something a little too human, a struggle, he can't help wandering to the door. he hasn't opened it in a long time. the door feels heavy as he pulls the handle and peers out into the gloom. from the outside, he's nothing but a towering black shadow, too big even to fit properly in the doorway, bathed in miserly firelight. he feels despondent and stupid, bothering with this. it's only going to be something unreal again. but he calls out anyway, his voice raw and thick with irony: )
Come now, this is no way to behave. Why don't you come settle your differences with a drink?
OPEN: BIRD TIME
( the raven
he destroyed his chains
yes
YES
the raven is out
well, alright.
he didn't destroy his chains.
he would never.
but someone did. someone did, and when he woke up, someone had put the world to rights, too. it's just too bad someone couldn't put him to rights while they were at it. but then again—no, this is how it should be. this is what he deserves.
julian wakes up outside the rowdy raven. not the hanged raven, but the rowdy alternative. malak circles overhead, squawking until he comes-to. when he does, he's pecked at insistently until he stands. the world is so... bright. the sun is out, a beautiful day in vesuvia. for a few moments he can only stand there, hunched over on bent legs, feathered arms hanging at his sides, wings limp, shoulders slumped, squinting in the daylight. it... almost burns. it does burn. someone comes around the corner and gives a startled gasp at the sight of him. then after the initial shock wears off, a terrified scream. they run away, but so does julian. if you can even call it a "run," the way he staggers and stumbles through the alleys. it's been so long, it's a wonder he can even recall where to go. to his home that's still there just the way he left it, desperately hiding in the shadows whenever he hears anyone walking around nearby. he doesn't have the key anymore, when he gets there. he's too big to fit through the window. he yanks and pulls at the door in desperation, swearing, but can't get it open. he could pull it off its hinges, but before he gets the chance somebody comes around the corner and he flees again.
malak screams overhead, circling. he wonders briefly whether he can fly. he's never tried. he's too afraid to try now, either. instead he frantically ditches town, escaping into the woods where the other monsters live. it's the only place he can think to hide. by the time he's arrived he's terrified half a dozen people and it'd be no surprise if the city guard comes looking for him. defending himself is simple, but he doesn't want to hurt anyone. or scare anyone.
no. nobody can know he's here. not anyone, ever. )
(option 2:)
( everything is as it's been. for years and years and ages and ages and seconds and seconds. monsters outside, monsters inside. illusions, tricks, traps, tragedy. all his friends, probably dead. and if not dead, he can only pray their suffering is minimal. he can only pray that he is doing all the suffering for them instead. he would give anything for that to be true. anything, anything, anything. even though he has already given everything, he would give even more to know—
but he never will. so here he sits.
the hanged raven. it's happy hour. but it's always happy hour. the drinks magically refill. there's food, there's music, there's an endless array of wandering souls to come and go and keep him company a spell, although few ever do. fewer still are real. still, there's drinks. endless drinks. there's a chair with his name on it, practically. there's glass all over the floor, barbed branches winding all throughout the space. an ominous wind filters in through a window that looks open but isn't, really. the light is reddish-orange, flickering. like hellfire.
someone outside screams. probably not real.
he never ever leaves this place. doesn't want to. couldn't, he thinks, if he wanted to. but when the sounds outside continue, something inhuman mixed with something a little too human, a struggle, he can't help wandering to the door. he hasn't opened it in a long time. the door feels heavy as he pulls the handle and peers out into the gloom. from the outside, he's nothing but a towering black shadow, too big even to fit properly in the doorway, bathed in miserly firelight. he feels despondent and stupid, bothering with this. it's only going to be something unreal again. but he calls out anyway, his voice raw and thick with irony: )
Come now, this is no way to behave. Why don't you come settle your differences with a drink?