genessia | [Video/Action | OPEN] death is no barrier to victory

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[Video/Action | OPEN] death is no barrier to victory

xxxxx[VIDEO]

[ The shot opens on the bog unicorn, which seems to be attempting to nip at some of the weeds growing out from the cracks in a sidewalk. There's no tack on it; no saddle, no hackamore. Not so much as a rope around its neck, but it doesn't seem keen on running off. ]

Look, this is Jethro.

[ That's right, for those of you paying very close attention; there's two Jethros in Genessia and they're both 'unicorns'. What a coincidence! ]

I know, he's no Inquisition Barded Charger or Red Hart, I get it. Gruesome looking, right, don't care. He's a loyal thing who never gets tired... and I can apparently still summon him. But the only thing he arrived with when I did it is the rusty broadsword sticking out of his face. All his tack's back on Thedas, I'm guessing.

I know Fayren's the logical choice for horse-related stuff, but with the magical plague going on over there, I'm not keen on it.

[ Look, one of her besties is a mage, she's not infecting Dorian. Also, she knows how powerful his spells are; let's not have him sneezing inferno spells everywhere, okay? ]

I'll just wait if it comes to it, but if anyone knows somewhere that isn't Fayren that makes tack, I'm all ears. Bonus points if they know how to make armored barding.

xxxxx[ACTION - Genessia City]

You know what's more fun than seeing a zombie horse with a sword through its skull on the network? Meeting it in person! Alley's found a park, and she's just sort of standing out in the open with her singular arm folded with the bar that makes up for the other. Jethro the bog unicorn, well, he's having a grand old time rolling around in the grass like a proper horse. Legs kicking in all directions, sword digging big furrows into the dirt.

"Having fun?"

Judging by the enthusiasm with which the zombie rolls back upright and lunges to his feet, and then trots over to her to ram his bony nose into her shoulder, the answer is yes.

And then something catches his eye... eye socket? And like any horse caught off guard, he spooks.

Unlike some horses caught off guard, he charges at whatever it is while Alley curses colorfully in a foreign tongue, shoved aside by the great beast in his quest to defend her honor -- or whatever is going on in that dead head of his.

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[Peter is inside when he turns on the comm, dressed, his interest just a little piqued by a potential opportunity.]

Shame about that restriction on goods, isn't it? Guess they aren't that confident about the decontamination unit they whipped up.

[His smile is a little sympathetic, and a little charismatic.]

By the way - I think that horse is sick.

I could go in person, but I'm not risking it when I hang out with a mage on a regular basis.

[ Mostly because Dorian would be miserable if he got sick. Taking care of her people aside, the man whines at a cool breeze, can you imagine... ]

You think? Just a little sick, maybe around the eyes?

Damn, that's too bad. You know, I could always take an order over there for you - assuming they'd be able to work off of Silver over there's measurements or somethin'. They're only expecting it to take a week or two for things to clear up, and it's gotta take some time to make horse clothes. They'd probably be ready to pick up soon as the embargo's lifted. I've never even met a mage, so I ain't even got anyone to be a danger to.

[It's a gamble, true, but worth a shot. He wants to put off having to find some kind of job as long as he can, and though Rocket mentioned bounty hunting there didn't seem to be anything available just then. Entering a plague zone had to be worth a few bucks, right?]

Around the, uh, the everywhere actually. 'specially the head. I think he might need a vet. Not that I'm a professional.

You know, if you want to play courier, there's a mail service that's always hiring.

[ Look, she was here for months, before. They were hiring all during that time, and they're still hiring. Can't be that hard to get in. ]

I mean, he's only missing half of his face and both eyes, it can't be that serious. I'm sure he'll walk it off. Isn't that right, Jethro? Hey, Jethro. Buddy. Over here, gruesome.

[ Look she only has one hand and it's holding the phone, can't exactly clap at the zombie.

Still, Jethro looks up from chewing on a dandelion -- just chewing, he doesn't have cheeks -- which makes for a better view of how his snout's all skull. ]

Thanks, but I prefer freelancing. [He smiles again, a little more flatly. Swing and a miss, oh well.] I just thought I'd offer, out of the goodness of my heart, since you're out here broadcasting your problems.

[Peter had been joking, mostly, about the horse's health. It was pretty clear that it's owner hadn't been bothered by the appearance, so it was supposed to just look like that. It didn't stop him from making a face when he got a head on view of it.]

Eugh.

[He shakes his head a little, and tries to bring back a straight face. He didn't do bad - too many easily insulted, ugly-ass aliens in the universe, too much practice.]

He's...got some pretty healthy looking teeth there.

[He's nodding his head, a little slowly, and for a little too long. But it's a freaking zombie horse, so he can't really be blamed, right?]

Tell you what, you help take the measurements and I'll let you play freelance messenger.

[ She just wants to make him interact with Jethro after that eugh. That's worth some cash, right there.

Look, the Inquisitor has to have hobbies.

One of them just happens to be horrifying humans. ]

[Peter considered for a long moment and then, albeit forcibly, smiled.]

Deal. But if anything falls off, you're not deducting it from my percentage. Where are you? Can't really tell just looking.

[He was, admittedly, already regretting his decision just a little. But everyone knew you had to take the grunt jobs with the creepy undead horses before you could move up in the world, right? He was a little worried about the smell, but figured it couldn't smell worse than some of the Ravagers had. Deep breath, Peter, deep breath.]

[ Poor guy.

Look, treat the Inquisitor like a reward-coughing quest-giving NPC at your own peril, buddy. ]

How about Garden Park in an hour, I have to find something to measure this guy with. It's the park that takes up a whole block, hard to miss it.

[ His nose is wrinkled at the memory of the scent of that thing when the video initializes, and she might even notice the trappings of some sort of magical workshop behind him, though he fills most of the camera. He doesn't put down the book he's reading, or actually look over, when he speaks. ]

Maker's Breath, that repugnant undead equine.

[ He's very glad he's not there. ]

If you want something truly fearsome, I maintain you should use a Dracolisk, not...that. Though I suppose, if intimidation is your endgame, the smell alone should ward away most would-be enemies.

He's dried out, Dorian. Not much to smell.

But if it makes you feel better, I'll steal some of your scented shit to put on him.

Also I can't summon a Dracolisk. Or a Hart. Or... a living horse. Pretty sure he's only here because he's... whatever he is.

[ Literally no one in the Inquisition had ever really figured it out. ]

[He takes opportunity where he sees it. He's also weighing the pros and cons of sharing the terror, versus making sure Rocket never finds out he took this job in the first place.]

Golden Park, got it. Genessia, right? I'll be there.

Yeah, Genessia. Figure I'll be easy to find.

[ She hasn't shown herself on camera, but... undead horse. With a sword through his head.

Not gonna be too hard to spot. ]

[ That caught his attention and he flicked his eyes to the camera. ] Don't you dare. There's no helping that beast.

[ And Dorian still wants to puzzle it out. ]

I believe the going theory is the beast is possessed by a spirit of freedom.

It hadn't taken Peter long to figure out where Golden Park was. It was even on the map he'd been given, and which he would have been thankful for if he was in this place willingly. Still, he was there, and quickly reaching the realization that he had no idea who he was looking for.

Other than a rotting horse, that was.

"Marco?" He calls out, half-jokingly, and far from expecting a response - let alone the right one. Still, it helped him steel himself a little for the job of getting up close and personal with said horse.

The park, like the rest of the city, reminded him of Earth. It put him at ease as much as it didn't, stomping through the grass trying to find his new client, Walkman left, regrettably, back in his room - like he was going to chance the decontamination walkthrough messing it up. No.

He was humming instead, when something charged his way.

"Whoa, Nellie-" Peter called out before he even realized that he'd identified what it was. Then he remembered the sword sticking out of the things head and his hands shot to the booster controls at his thighs, causing the little rockets to burst to life and send him flying up and out of the thing's path.

"WHOA," He repeated, more authoritatively this time, "NELLIE." Catching a brief glimpse of someone who'd been behind the horse while he was in the air before he moved somewhat to the side, and came to a not completely embarrassing landing. His fingers hovered over the buttons though, ready to move again if need be, eyes on the horse.

What can I say? You know I keep mixed company. It's at least half of my charm.

[ Dorian, if Alley wasn't so accepting of weird shit, where would you be? ]

I'd heard that, but Cole never had much to say about it. I guess if it's true, Jethro just never had much to say to him, either.

[ 'Freedom' probably wasn't in much pain, after all. ]

For about a hot quarter of a second, that maneuver made Alleyana think of a Despair demon, and she actually damn near threw her grappling chain after the flying figure. It was all the shouting that spared him, really; she could've dragged Jethro through the air with that one arm of hers.

Instead, she let out a sharp whistle and the undead beast actually reared up, back hooves tearing up grass and dirt as he killed his momentum, then whirled with a grace zombies didn't usually show and came back down onto all fours. The beast had the decency to hang his head a little as he trotted back over to his one-armed Inquisitor.

Yep.

One arm.

Hi.

"--The fuck is a nellie."

Good intro, Alleyana.

Peter watched the zombie horse's walk of shame with confused amazement, and only a slight jerking up of his chin at it. It was fairly easy to tell the one it was walking to was probably it's owner. AKA the person that Peter had been trying to find.

He brushed off his clothing to give his heartbeat a second to calm down, and shrugged as he started towards her.

"It's a thing you call horses." The explanation was simple, because he was used to explaining all the little idioms, phrases and context that had stayed lodged in his head since childhood. "Star-Lord," he introduced himself, holding out a hand in greeting - and then, as his eyes slipped downward quickly jerking them back up and offering his other hand. "And unless there are two of these guys in the park I'm guessing you're the person I'm here to see."

Alleyana glanced down at the hand -- and then the other one -- but didn't seem inclined to take it. Her singular, right hand was covered in sharp plate; touching people wasn't something she did much.

If she even knew what a handshake was.

Which...

Well. Between the pointy ears, the plate and chain and leather armor, and the zombie horse...

"I am," she agreed, however, even as Jethro nose-butted against her mail-covered shoulder again. Affectionate zombie, apparently. And dry, not rotting. No real stench to be had, the mysterious animal just kinda smelled like... old leather. And rust, because holy shit was that broadsword through his head a mess of it.

"That sounds like an Avvarian legend-mark."

Peter realized that there was not going to be a handshake and in a now practiced motion lifted his hand to run through his hair instead. Handshakes were always a gamble.

The scent, or lack thereof was a relief, even if something about the zombie horse's presence made his skin crawl. He smiled anyway, if thinly.

"Can't say I've heard of those. It's just a name." One he was going to stick with until he had no other choice. "Now, can I ask who I'm working for or would you rather stay anonymous and we get right to measuring the zombie horse?"

The Inquisitor actually rolled her eyes at that, and reached into her sash for the long cloth measuring tape she'd found at a tailor's shop, a notepad, and a pen. "Alleyana Lavellan," she tossed the lot of it at the human, "just Alley will do. You know anything about horses other than, apparently, they're all nellies?"

"You can ride them?" Peter offered with a half smile. "Oh, and don't walk behind them." That was the brunt of what he remembered, and he hadn't been on the same planet as a horse for a long time so he figured it wasn't his fault.

"I'm a fast learner though. Just tell me what I've got to do."

Well, this was going to be interesting.

Alley turned to Jethro, first. Tapped him on the nose-bone with a gauntleted fingertip. "Hey." Look, it was hard to tell when Jethro was paying attention, between the lack of eyes and the tiny little stubs that was all he had for ears left. "Hold still, yeah? And don't hold your damn breath. You don't even need it."

The zombie horse snorted in response. Hey, he needed breath to do that!

...And a nasal cavity, but whatever. Logic wasn't the most important thing when it came to spirit-possessed bog mummies.

"Alright, so," Alleyana walked around the front of the creature, and reached up to tap Jethro's back. "Pass the measuring... thing," was it called a tape when it was flexible for clothing measurements? Shit, she didn't know, okay. "...over his back, I'll pass it to you under him, since I'm less likely to get kicked for it. This is for the girth strap. Important bit, keeps the saddle in one spot under most circumstances. Doesn't have to be super precise, they adjust like a belt. If he had as much flesh to him as a regular horse I could just get something... standard."

Peter did his best to refuse to show how much the impossible horse was bothering him. He could handle incorporeal breathing. He could also handle listening intently and following simple instructions so he reached over the horse with the end of the tape that had the lower numbers on it, making sure not to twist it. Measuring things, he had the idea of.

"Girth strap, got it." Whether he'd remember it in a minute was another question, but that's what the paper was for. He waited until the tape was handed back, trying his best not to imagine what the texture of the thing's remaining skin must be - despite his sudden curiosity. Once everything was lined up, he could call out the number and hope there weren't too many measurements needed. "What's next?"

"Write it down," she'd thrown the notepad and pen at him too, after all. Laziness? Just bossy like that?

Actually, she couldn't hold something as small as a pen with any degree of precision. Her remaining hand was... not... in good condition. The other one hadn't been either, even before the Anchor. The armor hid its deformed shape, but it couldn't do jack shit for its actual limitations.

Once that was out of the way, Alley came back around again and pinned the end of the tape where she wanted it. "Hold that there."

Then she went walking back to the other side again, under Jethro's obligingly uplifted neck. A second later, there was another number to write down.

"Chest strap. I don't know if there's a proper term for it, but they ought to know what it means. Keeps the saddle from slipping back when he rears up." On a healthy, live horse, a girth strap might be enough. Jethro was too skinny, however. And also... a war-horse capable of crisp, sharp maneuvers like that earlier about-face he'd done at Alley's whistle.

If Peter did end up touching any of that skin, it was... well, leather. Cool to the touch; no blood pumping through this creature.

"That should do it. A standard hackamore ought to fit his head, and I can modify it if it doesn't."

Wasn't like it needed to be super fancy, that bit. Jethro didn't have to be man-handled, just guided. She could 'steer' him with just her legs, but reins came in handy for a lot of things. Like having your horse drag you out of a muck-pit in the bloody Fallow Mire.

Oh hey, Alley's back. That's...good, he guesses? She supposedly saved the world, or something, which is always nice. You'd think such a splendid hero would be less cranky, on the whole, but maybe it's trying work. What's she-

Good god! Whoever stuck that sword in there clearly did not finish the job. Disgusting! And yet, he can't help but feel that they go together. In the worst way.

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[Video/Action | OPEN] death is no barrier to victory

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