[Locked up and kept under guard? It's happened before. Hostile natives? She's dealt with her share of those. Waking up somewhere completely different? Sometimes there was no avoiding it. But clawing her way out of a giant egg, trying to breathe through a thick layer of goop...that's a new one.
Despite everything, Lys doesn't allow herself to panic. While being thrown into a cell without her gear or trusted backup of any kind was never good, so far nobody was acting like they knew what she really was. Otherwise, Lys reasons, they would have already tried to kill her—or at least see that she was dragged away for a "proper" interrogation. Or experimentation. Or interrogation and then experimentation. Since none of that has happened (yet), Lys endures her strange new clothes and the painful lack of her sword, ring and hunting knife without a fuss, licking electric-blue egg goop from her hands as she sits quietly near the bars of the holding cell—the closest spot that nobody else seems to want, curled up in an earnest bid to make herself seem smaller than her six feet, two inches. Space was a premium in confined quarters like these; the last thing anybody needed while they were all trapped, confused and gooey was some stranger clumsily flailing their noodly limbs around.
She keeps to the same spot after every shower and bathroom break, notably hoarding her starchy "rations" instead of eating them. When not sparing a concerned glance or encouraging word for her fellow detainees, she tries to engage the locals in conversation whenever they gather outside the cells: speaking softly, smiling gently, answering their questions as though they had every right to ask them. As though she wasn't their prisoner, trapped on an alien world with no idea of what tomorrow might bring. As far as making herself seem like less of a potential threat, the docile compliance seems to be working—right up until she sticks a hand through the bars to better wave at a small child.
His reaction? A nervous squeak and wide eyes as he hurriedly backs up several steps, ducking behind one of the security officers. Lys promptly deflates, looking disheartened for the first time in nearly three days.]
...didn't think I looked that scary.
2) explore the basecamp ⟴ need more carbs
[Accustomed to navigating through a bustling, jostling crowd, Lys makes it to one of the communal tables with both plate and coffee intact, sliding easily into the nearest empty seat. What's difficult is finding the silver lining in the meal itself; she hasn't seen rations this poor in a long time. She won't complain, not when there was still something for everyone to eat, but it makes faking calm about the whole situation all the harder. No wonder the natives look stressed and underfed; that's exactly what they are.
Chin in hand, she controls the urge to bolt down the food—pitiful and unappetizing though it is—instead glancing over at the unlucky soul she's decided to sit next to.]
I was gonna ask if you wanted to trade, but it looks like everyone's got pretty much the same thing.
[Her stomach takes that opportunity to rumble very loudly. Pretending not to notice, Lys vents a sigh, a familiar tension gathering in her narrow shoulders.]
...maybe they'll let us help with supplies. There's gotta be all kinds of weird plants and animals out there that we could eat.
3) community outreach ⟴ regifting faux pas
[Someone else from her guild might have entertained the thought of keeping up appearances even now—of cleaving to the old lie that they were simple monks devoted to unusual but harmless religious tenets. To that end, perhaps they would have already started building their own little shrine inside one of the many houses of worship. Lys, however, gives those places a wide berth once she realizes their purpose, returning instead to the mess hall just in time to accept a package from the volunteers, exchange a few friendly words, and bear witness a fight breaking out.
Before she can think of how to react, what to do or say—to decide if she, an outsider, should even get involved—it's over, tempers restrained if not truly extinguished. Glancing down at the package she's been handed, Lys frowns. Hesitates. Then, squaring her shoulders, she politely nudges her way back toward the nearest volunteer, pushing almost all of the supplies into their hands: clothes, blanket, soap, straight razor.]
Here, you can have these back.
[Only a toothbrush, a tiny tube of toothpaste, and a mini-roll of dental floss are kept, stuffed into the deep pockets of her own uniform. Shrugging off the volunteer's confused look, she tries for a disarming smile.]
It's fine, it's fine! I don't need them. But I bet you can think of someone who does, right?
[Like the person right behind her, maybe.]
4) wildcard ⟴ you get a prompt, and you get a prompt, and you get a prompt
lys can also be encountered doing the following!
❄ throwing herself whole-heartedly into cleaning dishes and repairing hammocks, to the point of actually humming while she works ❄ avoiding Rémi's frosty stare while curiously (and confusedly) examining the weapons laid out for cleaning, once more dressed in her guild uniform with a sword clipped to her belt ❄ convincing some of the sanitation crew to take a much-needed a break and buckling down to dig a few latrines all by herself ❄ fetch quest!! fetch quest!! let's fight a monster and grab dank herbs and totally not get caught out in horrible acid rain
[open @ sentinelbeach for plotting or friending! feel free to dm me @ sentinelbeach#2105 or ping me in the game disco]
lys skovgaard | original
1) hatching ⟴ a most un-eggcellent adventure
[Locked up and kept under guard? It's happened before. Hostile natives? She's dealt with her share of those. Waking up somewhere completely different? Sometimes there was no avoiding it. But clawing her way out of a giant egg, trying to breathe through a thick layer of goop...that's a new one.
Despite everything, Lys doesn't allow herself to panic. While being thrown into a cell without her gear or trusted backup of any kind was never good, so far nobody was acting like they knew what she really was. Otherwise, Lys reasons, they would have already tried to kill her—or at least see that she was dragged away for a "proper" interrogation. Or experimentation. Or interrogation and then experimentation. Since none of that has happened (yet), Lys endures her strange new clothes and the painful lack of her sword, ring and hunting knife without a fuss, licking electric-blue egg goop from her hands as she sits quietly near the bars of the holding cell—the closest spot that nobody else seems to want, curled up in an earnest bid to make herself seem smaller than her six feet, two inches. Space was a premium in confined quarters like these; the last thing anybody needed while they were all trapped, confused and gooey was some stranger clumsily flailing their noodly limbs around.
She keeps to the same spot after every shower and bathroom break, notably hoarding her starchy "rations" instead of eating them. When not sparing a concerned glance or encouraging word for her fellow detainees, she tries to engage the locals in conversation whenever they gather outside the cells: speaking softly, smiling gently, answering their questions as though they had every right to ask them. As though she wasn't their prisoner, trapped on an alien world with no idea of what tomorrow might bring. As far as making herself seem like less of a potential threat, the docile compliance seems to be working—right up until she sticks a hand through the bars to better wave at a small child.
His reaction? A nervous squeak and wide eyes as he hurriedly backs up several steps, ducking behind one of the security officers. Lys promptly deflates, looking disheartened for the first time in nearly three days.]
...didn't think I looked that scary.
2) explore the basecamp ⟴ need more carbs
[Accustomed to navigating through a bustling, jostling crowd, Lys makes it to one of the communal tables with both plate and coffee intact, sliding easily into the nearest empty seat. What's difficult is finding the silver lining in the meal itself; she hasn't seen rations this poor in a long time. She won't complain, not when there was still something for everyone to eat, but it makes faking calm about the whole situation all the harder. No wonder the natives look stressed and underfed; that's exactly what they are.
Chin in hand, she controls the urge to bolt down the food—pitiful and unappetizing though it is—instead glancing over at the unlucky soul she's decided to sit next to.]
I was gonna ask if you wanted to trade, but it looks like everyone's got pretty much the same thing.
[Her stomach takes that opportunity to rumble very loudly. Pretending not to notice, Lys vents a sigh, a familiar tension gathering in her narrow shoulders.]
...maybe they'll let us help with supplies. There's gotta be all kinds of weird plants and animals out there that we could eat.
3) community outreach ⟴ regifting faux pas
[Someone else from her guild might have entertained the thought of keeping up appearances even now—of cleaving to the old lie that they were simple monks devoted to unusual but harmless religious tenets. To that end, perhaps they would have already started building their own little shrine inside one of the many houses of worship. Lys, however, gives those places a wide berth once she realizes their purpose, returning instead to the mess hall just in time to accept a package from the volunteers, exchange a few friendly words, and bear witness a fight breaking out.
Before she can think of how to react, what to do or say—to decide if she, an outsider, should even get involved—it's over, tempers restrained if not truly extinguished. Glancing down at the package she's been handed, Lys frowns. Hesitates. Then, squaring her shoulders, she politely nudges her way back toward the nearest volunteer, pushing almost all of the supplies into their hands: clothes, blanket, soap, straight razor.]
Here, you can have these back.
[Only a toothbrush, a tiny tube of toothpaste, and a mini-roll of dental floss are kept, stuffed into the deep pockets of her own uniform. Shrugging off the volunteer's confused look, she tries for a disarming smile.]
It's fine, it's fine! I don't need them. But I bet you can think of someone who does, right?
[Like the person right behind her, maybe.]
4) wildcard ⟴ you get a prompt, and you get a prompt, and you get a prompt
lys can also be encountered doing the following!
❄ throwing herself whole-heartedly into cleaning dishes and repairing hammocks, to the point of actually humming while she works
❄ avoiding Rémi's frosty stare while curiously (and confusedly) examining the weapons laid out for cleaning, once more dressed in her guild uniform with a sword clipped to her belt
❄ convincing some of the sanitation crew to take a much-needed a break and buckling down to dig a few latrines all by herself
❄ fetch quest!! fetch quest!! let's fight a monster and grab dank herbs and totally not get caught out in horrible acid rain