[ooc: info and permissions. please also check her opt out as well! canon point is start of Act 3, spoilers will be marked.]
arrival.
She'd exhausted herself fighting the compulsion to follow whatever magic bound her, tried to restrict her movement - whatever it is, it's more powerful than her, and it's not offering any insight onto what happened as she goes through the motions without much choice in the matter. A strange rift in the planes? Something going horrifically awry in the chaos she just left? But all that said, there's one overpowering thing that leaves Fever in a daze above the sheer strangeness and absurdity of the situation, while she waits to regain her strength.
It's quiet in a section of her head that hasn't been silent for weeks now. Moving, stirring, active, its odd little communications - the tadpole is purely silent now, an empty space where it resided behind her eye. Both sheer relief and a deeply unsettled feeling twine in her, slow moving as she shakes her head. The others, of course they'll manage whatever was needed if they got to the right place, but if they ended up here too, or scattered to the winds?
Enough. Time to move, and figure out the hows and whys later. This isn't the smallest structure to comb for anyone familiar, and things still need to be done. She'll figure it out along the way, like anything else. But running over this entire ship is an extended venture, and at any given point, she's liable to be found staring at something - the variety at Photos at Sea, the statue in the Promenade, the infinite cheese shop - with the air of someone who couldn't give a damn if she's going to block the main flow of traffic. What in the hells is this place?
shadows play.
That's the third time that's happened. It's not a coincidence now, that going up the stairs has led to something snagging her as if they grabbed the edge of her clothes and pulled, leading her to stumble and have to right herself. There's something there, and just because she can't see it doesn't mean it's not around. Hidden, veiled, some kind of mischief that nevertheless she's not entirely in the mood to humor without knowing the reason why.
Stopping where she is, Fever keeps one hand on the railing, and turns to fix her eyes on the spot where the change happened. Is it just her, or are the shadows stranger there?
"You're very funny. Show yourself now, before I have to drag you out of hiding."
There's a note of force behind the tone, making it a promise instead of a potential.
unconventional training.
While it had taken a half minute to realize this was not some sort of bizarre training hall, something about the comfortable chaos of Cosmic Bowling is still attractive. It's a simple game, and it provides some opportunity to practice something she just hadn't considering doing in her downtime at camp, usually too keen on talking to others or dealing with the assortment of objects everyone picked up or handling some other matter.
Fever stands at the front of a lane, and a bowling ball seemingly hovers near her, her own hand raised a little before it flicks and a ghostly, phantasmal hand tosses the ball onto the lane, it rolling down to hit a few pins - a sorry showing all around.
"Oh, come on."
It rolls back, and the spectral hand grabs it, but she's too hasty - the ball slams into the wood this time, leaving it in a cracked dent in the lane. Whoops. Don't mind that she's going to pick it up and move to a new one. It was like that when she got here, she'll swear up and down.
wildcard.
Have a different idea? Throw it at me, I'm legitimately up for anything.
fever | baldur's gate 3 | ota
arrival.
She'd exhausted herself fighting the compulsion to follow whatever magic bound her, tried to restrict her movement - whatever it is, it's more powerful than her, and it's not offering any insight onto what happened as she goes through the motions without much choice in the matter. A strange rift in the planes? Something going horrifically awry in the chaos she just left? But all that said, there's one overpowering thing that leaves Fever in a daze above the sheer strangeness and absurdity of the situation, while she waits to regain her strength.
It's quiet in a section of her head that hasn't been silent for weeks now. Moving, stirring, active, its odd little communications - the tadpole is purely silent now, an empty space where it resided behind her eye. Both sheer relief and a deeply unsettled feeling twine in her, slow moving as she shakes her head. The others, of course they'll manage whatever was needed if they got to the right place, but if they ended up here too, or scattered to the winds?
Enough. Time to move, and figure out the hows and whys later. This isn't the smallest structure to comb for anyone familiar, and things still need to be done. She'll figure it out along the way, like anything else. But running over this entire ship is an extended venture, and at any given point, she's liable to be found staring at something - the variety at Photos at Sea, the statue in the Promenade, the infinite cheese shop - with the air of someone who couldn't give a damn if she's going to block the main flow of traffic. What in the hells is this place?
shadows play.
That's the third time that's happened. It's not a coincidence now, that going up the stairs has led to something snagging her as if they grabbed the edge of her clothes and pulled, leading her to stumble and have to right herself. There's something there, and just because she can't see it doesn't mean it's not around. Hidden, veiled, some kind of mischief that nevertheless she's not entirely in the mood to humor without knowing the reason why.
Stopping where she is, Fever keeps one hand on the railing, and turns to fix her eyes on the spot where the change happened. Is it just her, or are the shadows stranger there?
"You're very funny. Show yourself now, before I have to drag you out of hiding."
There's a note of force behind the tone, making it a promise instead of a potential.
unconventional training.
While it had taken a half minute to realize this was not some sort of bizarre training hall, something about the comfortable chaos of Cosmic Bowling is still attractive. It's a simple game, and it provides some opportunity to practice something she just hadn't considering doing in her downtime at camp, usually too keen on talking to others or dealing with the assortment of objects everyone picked up or handling some other matter.
Fever stands at the front of a lane, and a bowling ball seemingly hovers near her, her own hand raised a little before it flicks and a ghostly, phantasmal hand tosses the ball onto the lane, it rolling down to hit a few pins - a sorry showing all around.
"Oh, come on."
It rolls back, and the spectral hand grabs it, but she's too hasty - the ball slams into the wood this time, leaving it in a cracked dent in the lane. Whoops. Don't mind that she's going to pick it up and move to a new one. It was like that when she got here, she'll swear up and down.
wildcard.
Have a different idea? Throw it at me, I'm legitimately up for anything.