Kahl (
takestime) wrote in
lastvoyageslogs2024-08-05 07:29 pm
Entry tags:
your friendly neighborhood god of retribution
Who: Kahl and YOU
Where: out and about, all over the barge
When: early august
Warnings: n/a
Kahl is restless. He also likes to watch people. For a hundred years he kept himself secret, mostly unseen, watching the strange teeming interconnected lives of people who had never been truly alone.
It's easiest to watch as a cat.
In the library, he sits atop high shelves; in the chapel he curls up on top of the altar. In the greenhouse, despite his ambivalent feelings about the place, he watches the fish in the pond, or hides in the bushes. He slips between the legs of wardens going up to the lounge.
In other places, he allows himself to be more obtrusive. In the Speakeasy, or on Deck, he lounges as a rangy, adolescent tiger, still larger than than most people would expect, despite not being quite full-grown.
Here and there, he also appears a small child, napping on common room couches or hiding in strange places - in one of the dryers in the laundry room, under the coats in the wardrobe, under the table in the dining hall.
For anyone sleeping in public areas, napping on couches or in unoccupied cabins, he might take a peak inside their dreams. And if anyone on board prays - not necessarily to him, but one of those little if-anyone-out-there-is-listening prayers - he is listening.
Where: out and about, all over the barge
When: early august
Warnings: n/a
Kahl is restless. He also likes to watch people. For a hundred years he kept himself secret, mostly unseen, watching the strange teeming interconnected lives of people who had never been truly alone.
It's easiest to watch as a cat.
In the library, he sits atop high shelves; in the chapel he curls up on top of the altar. In the greenhouse, despite his ambivalent feelings about the place, he watches the fish in the pond, or hides in the bushes. He slips between the legs of wardens going up to the lounge.
In other places, he allows himself to be more obtrusive. In the Speakeasy, or on Deck, he lounges as a rangy, adolescent tiger, still larger than than most people would expect, despite not being quite full-grown.
Here and there, he also appears a small child, napping on common room couches or hiding in strange places - in one of the dryers in the laundry room, under the coats in the wardrobe, under the table in the dining hall.
For anyone sleeping in public areas, napping on couches or in unoccupied cabins, he might take a peak inside their dreams. And if anyone on board prays - not necessarily to him, but one of those little if-anyone-out-there-is-listening prayers - he is listening.

Pond
Yet could not ever recall meeting the large tabby he was seeing today passing by the area.
"Hello there... Do you belong to someone?"
Re: Pond
Says the cat.
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"Is this cat spirit also 10,000 years old?"
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"More like three thousand."
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Dreams
Today he's chosen the level 5 common room that still has a couch - the one with the mural in it. He sits there staring at that mural for a while, half-musing on what it might mean and wondering who painted it and why, but eventually his late nights catch up with him and he ends up slightly curled up on the couch, asleep.
Any passing cats who might be peering into his dreams find themselves watching a young woman pray at an altar that rises out of the water almost like a living thing. Cloud is also here, shouting "Aerith!" and running to try to reach her, but as is so often the case in dreams, he doesn't seem to be getting anywhere no matter how hard he tries.
Re: Dreams
It's a whisper that might almost be Cloud's own thoughts.
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"Aerith! It won't work! Please, stop!" Abruptly, the scenery shifts and he's standing there at the altar with her, huge sword now in hand - but it's not his own. It's Masamune.
She either doesn't hear him or ignores him, and he finds himself lifting the blade in a stance that is also not his own. "Aerith...Aerith, please, you've gotta--no!"
His body interrupts him to lunge forward with Masamune, aiming right for the heart.
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Maybe Cloud can see him, a gangly, unobtrusive teenager who shouldn't be there. Or maybe he's too devastated to notice.
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"Good afternoon," he greets the boy, for he recognizes the energy even if the form is different. "I don't imagine you care for fish snacks when taking this form?"
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He pauses, visibly considering. "I do have some with me if you'd like to try them," he offers. He tends to carry a small ziploc baggy of the ones he makes for Ursula, and shares them with the other barge cats when he runs across them.
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library;
Something sticks out of his routine today, though. Shelving a few DVDs on a high shelf, he catches a cat out of the corner of his eye, causing his line of sight to shift upwards.
Huh.
Well.
Alan does what any other person would when met with a strange if adorable, cat: he finishes shelving the DVD, index finger lightly pressing it's spine back in with the rest of them, and then reaches that same hand up near the feline for it to sniff and (if he's lucky) allow a pet or two.
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He bites, too, but gently. Not breaking the skin, more like a more aggressive hello.
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Then again, he'd have to remember to take care of himself before he takes care of a feline, so maybe not.
"Where'd you come from?"
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wardrobe
His nod is a touch awkward, but less so than usual.
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Dining hall
Avalon goes to the dining hall to watch people and because they like eating, not because they need food to survive. Today, they have a small bowl of soup in their hands. The warmth that it spreads through their body is similar to affection, but stronger.
The child that they find under the table is unexpected, and likely not a child. The Admiral never seems to bring anyone younger than a teenager here. They sit further back in their seat, leaning over to meet the person’s eyes. “Do I know you?”
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"Do you?"
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“You were the one who could sense my lack of a soul.” They mentally file away the fact that he can shapeshift.
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Dreams
Every story is true. Well, true enough.
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"Do you like them?" he asks, a cat lazing in the corner of the bar, a sharp wind carrying the first raindrops of a storm onto gold and stone alike, gangly young man in the crowd, not kneeling, eyes bright, hair almost as read as the dripping blood.
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There's an awkward pause. He debates once again trying to deal with this himself, but... the demon did something. He can't walk. If only he could walk, he'd be able to hide everything.
Damn it, he doesn't want to do this... With great reluctance, he mumbles hoarsely into the device:]
... Hello, could you come to cabin 520, please?
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[He moves himself to the hallway right outside the door.]
I'm here.
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Come in!
[He doesn't think he locked the door, and indeed, Kahl will be able to open it. Once he steps into Pyotr's ascetic little room with yellow wallpaper and minimal personal possessions, he'll find Pyotr sitting on the blood smeared floor, leaning against a 19th century traveling trunk, with his legs curled up beside him. He has a bloody strip of cloth wrapped around one hand, where Blitzø stabbed him through, and, still wearing his boots, is vaguely attempting to put pressure where Blitzø stabbed him through the foot. The demon also slashed up his legs, but he's apparently simply letting those wounds bleed.
The look on his face is a pale, feral, hollow-eyed rage, but he makes an effort to smile at Kahl.]
Hello, hello. As you can see, I'm in need of a bit of healing. Nothing too serious, I don't think! I'd take care of it myself, really, but then I remembered your offer over the network... I always like to meet new people... so...
[He trails off, waving a lightly shaking hand.]
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